Collection of Older Works

Flashbacks of a Fool: Chapter Nineteen

Doubt thou, the Starres are fire,

Doubt, that the Sunne doth move:

Doubt Truth to be a Lier,

But never Doubt, I love.

-William Shakespeare

Chapter Nineteen

Nathaniel stared down at his wife, her green eyes overcome with a maddening black. Her hands tightly gripped her nightgown, suggesting a slipping restraint--a dangerous, wavering limitation. He didn't know this girl, her appearance was similar yes, but the stark guise of hate in her eyes rendered her a vessel of fury and pain; not his sweet wife. Not his Annabelle. Christ, what could have possibly pushed her to such bounds?

Casting his eyes past her, he noted his mother equally flustered, though her diagnosis was less severe; shivering and incessant sobs afflicting her as she cradled her arm against her bosom. Typical, but alarming nonetheless.

Brows joined in deep confusion, Nathaniel slid his gaze back at his wife--speechless. Not because he didn't know what to say, that being only a slight part of the dilemma. But because walking into the room, he knew with dreaded certainty as would any man with a dose of reason, that he would lose;  those of his sex never winning when breaking apart a scuffle between two women, especially that between a wife and a mother.

There was also the matter of the choice in words. He meant to speak, yes, the intentions were all there naturally, but with Annabelle tensing upon his every breath it became cleart that the wrong words could prove hazardous in this already precarious situation where facts were of essence yet the bearers of the truth, though present, were in their own respect, indisposed.  Behind him, his mother with her sobering and hitched breathing could offer nothing but frantic prayers to the heavens and whatever other saints she remembered. Annabelle on the other hand--well she offered nothing; No prayers, no tears...no breaths. Just a violent silence that like the gold timepiece in Nathaniel's pocket, ticked; waiting for his next words as if her very last beats of sanity depended on it.

 Rubbing his fingers, Nathaniel's body grew rigid with indecision. Great care had to be taken to assure the right words--the right gestures be employed but which? Before having the mind to choose, his mother swept beside him, the brushing of her gown penetrating the tense silence,

"She has gone mad!" she bellowed, manically tugging at his arm, "Look! Look at what she's done! She meant to kill me--"but Nathaniel refused his mother his gaze as he remained focused on his wife.

Gasping, Annabelle's restraint finally shattered, "You murderous liar!" she growled, her face alarmingly flushed. Annabelle whipped toward his mother, but in noting the fury in her eyes, Nathaniel quickly shifted his mother behind him,

"Annabelle!" he finally managed with an unintentional sharpness, stretching a hand between them to keep her from further madness. Her eyes widened in horror--

Brilliant, his conscience mocked.  What on earth had he just done? Wrong words and gesture indeed!  To his defense, he hadn't meant for the harshness but Annabelle moved with such a determined speed, what could he have possibly done? Forcing the clip from his voice, he exhaled slowly, regaining his normal tenderness in regarding his wife,

 "Darling please, calm yourself." Surely she had to know he hadn't meant for the harshness but in looking at the glare of betrayal spread across her paling face, his conscience echoed a painful truth--

Too late....

 Indeed it was. Annabelle barely shook her head, "You mean," she paused, her hands releasing her nightgown, dropping defeated at her sides as if the words she was about to utter would simply destroy her, "You mean to defend her?"