Work Text:
Pearls
by Gail
gem225@hotmail.com
My father's not coming back. Mother was crying before she excused herself to her room, and there's a man, no, three men now, standing in the parlor and looking around all the time, and they've got my father's eyes.
He's not coming back. Not this time.
I wish they'd tell me what he did before he died, if he died. I knew that it was a dangerous mission. He told me before he left to be the man of the family, and he even hugged me after he said it. Father didn't hug me. Mother, yes, often, and he kissed her, and she laughed and kissed him back, but not when they thought I was around.
I'm good at not letting people see me. Father never scolded me for that, so I know it's a good thing.
The man who's in charge looks at me. "Go play, sonny."
I'm not his son. "Is my father dead?"
He says flatly, "You ask too many questions."
I don't like him. Father wouldn't have liked him either. "Answer this one."
"You don't need to know."
I grab one of Mother's vases and throw it at him. He doesn't dodge quickly enough, and the blood seeping from the cut on his face makes me smile, although I don't show it.
"You little bastard!" He moves toward me, but I pick up another vase, and he freezes.
"Get Mrs. Webb." His voice is flat, and the man he addresses takes a minute to nod and walk by me. I ignore him. He's not the problem. I'm dealing with the problem.
Father never would have let him in our house. He despised people with no manners.
Mother comes in with the man who was sent to get her following in her wake. Her eyes widen when she sees me with the vase.
"Clayton, what is the meaning of this?"
The man in charge smiles. I should throw this vase at him, too, but Mother's there. She'll handle this.
I put the vase down. "They won't tell me if Father is dead."
"He doesn't need to know. You know that." It's the man I hit, and the blood is flowing more quickly now.
She turns to them. "Leave my house."
"Mrs. Webb..."
"Leave. My. House."
"Neville would want it this way."
"Neville would want his son to know the *truth*." I've never heard Mother's voice so quiet and angry. "And he would not approve of your behavior toward his son."
"You can tell him when he comes back." He's sneering at Mother. I shouldn't have put down the vase, but before I can pick it up again, Mother turns to me.
"Clayton, get my gun."
I take two steps toward the door, then the man issues an order, and they leave. Good thing, because Mother doesn't have a gun, or if she does, I have no idea where she keeps it.
She puts her arm around my shoulders and holds me tightly, then urges me over to the sofa.
"Darling, your father isn't dead, but they want us to act as though he is, because if his captors think we believe their lies, they may let him come home."
What price will they ask for him? I want to ask her that, but I can't.
I take my mother's free hand. I haven't done that in years. "You need to put on your pearls, Mother."
Father always said that pearls went best with black and skin.
Mother doesn't smile, but she squeezes my hand. "Of course, Clayton."
I'm the man of the house now.
The End
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