The English Descendants

5

The child is a few days old when Alan is called to attend to one of his patients- a judge in Ann Arbor. He will not be home until late. She settles in for a quiet evening with the baby and Regina, the neighbour girl she has hired to help during Alan's absence. The child is dozing on her chest and Edith is drifting in and out of sleep when she hears a soft knock on the bedroom door. She calls for Regina to enter, but when the door swings open, no one is there. Edith calls for whomever it is to show themselves and he does, breaking his promise to himself to only make his presence known if she wants to see him. But he knows he needs this moment. She stares.

"Thomas."

"Edith."

"Don't touch her."

He stares at the tiny bundle sleeping on Edith, "What did you name her?" He already knows, but he wants to hear it from her lips.

"Charlotte Enola Cushing McMichael."

"Is she...?"

"Yours? Yes. And she is beautiful."

He cannot help himself. He bends low and gently kisses the child's dark hair. She stirs in her sleep. He steps away, knowing Edith won't want him to stay so near.

"That she is. May she be so brave as well, in exploring this wide world. Tell me, have you received my letter?"

"What letter?" He vanishes. Someone knocks on the door, "Who is it?"

"Who else would be, ma'am?" Regina asks as she enters with evening coffee.

"Has there been a letter today?"

"Yes, ma'am. I have it right here. It appears to have been through some poor weather, to say the least, and, if I might venture a guess, perhaps it was in an accident or two...or the mail ship sank." It is battered so badly that it appears to have been placed in a second envelope, the original wax seal bulging beneath the paper.

Edith takes it and carefully slits the flap, "Thank you, Regina. May I have a moment alone?"

"Of course."

Edith examines the waxed inner envelope first. It is addressed to her, care of her father. That has been crossed out, her father's attorney's address written between the lines. From there, it was sent on to Detroit, but based on its condition, it appears to have been lost enroute, the enveloped damaged, and tucked in the new envelope for the remainder of its journey. There is no return address, but the handwriting on the original address is familiar. She draws the letter out, a single sheet, and smooths it on her drawing table.

I, Sir Thomas Sharpe, do declare that on this day, I, in sound mind and body, will my estate, in whatever sense it remains, to my beloved Edith. If my sister is yet living, may this be the confession that damns her.

Lucille killed Lady Sharpe with a cleaver to the head.

I watched in horror, but with little I could do to stop her.

I let Lucille convince me to marry four women to steal their inheritances or fortunes.

She poisoned them with toxic tea.

There are bodies in the mine vats.

I had a son. He died after but a few days. I did love him.

His mother was my sister. This is our deep shame. I am not blameless, but I could not stop it when it began in my childhood and could not escape it as I grew older.

Lucille killed Carter Cushing.

She will kill me, this I know. I only hope Edith is still living. And that Lucille is not.

I deeply regret most of my life for these reasons. May what I leave behind be placed in the hands of the single bright light in it all.

Sir Thomas Sharpe

There is another letter on the back of this one.

My beloved Edith.

I sent this from the post office when we went out together- a letter written hastily in advance, anticipating that you would live at least long enough for my parts to come. I addressed it so it would meet you in America, for I know you will, if you survive this place, return there soon. Your father was a good man, this I know, and there are those who will look after this letter if it is addressed to him. I grieve deeply for what she did to him. There was a brutality to the act that did not expect. I suspect it was because I chose you and rejected the prey she wanted. She wanted to be sure you were firmly broken. Or that is my guess. He also discovered that I had been married before and I suspect his request that I reject you also was on her mind. But I admired him for his work in steel as a self made man- he was everything I could not be, everything I wanted so desperately. And I even admired his dedication and great love for you when he told me that I was to break your heart and leave Boston, never to return. I did not know that kind of love of father to child, nor did Lucille. We are the children of the opposite. Your genuine belief in my heart is proof that he did the best by you that any man could do for his daughter. Should you ever bear children, I hope they are so lucky to have a man so faithful to call their father. Knowing you, they will. You will settle for no less in the man you choose to raise a family beside. But it will not be me- I will not have that much time, nor do I think I am so good a man. I cannot be, not with what I have done.

Lucille wants to finish her work. I can do little to stand in her way. But I will, and I know she will kill me for choosing you and not solely her. And it will be soon. I hope this letter finds you well and recovering from whatever ordeal she put you through after my death. If you have not found it, there is a diary in my watchmaker's cabinet. Please, if it is not too late, retrieve it and keep it safe, even if you never open it. If you do, it will be the closest to knowing me you have ever been. Let it stand as my confession.

I am so sorry.

I love you, Edith, and I hope I am given one chance to show you that I mean this. Please, if you ever think of me, think of me at least as honest in this one moment.

Thomas.

Edith stares at the letter, then gently traces the edges, "Oh, Thomas...I know you are...and you did."

She calls for Regina, "Will you watch Charlotte for a moment? I have something I'd like to retrieve from the attic."