Hardship Post

Author: * Bridgette Cormac - 3 Posts on this thread out of 1,231 Posts sitewide.
Date: Oct 9, 2007 - 00:43

The chaos of moving trunks and scurrying people filled the entrance of the brownstone near Massachusetts Avenue. The girls, tired and whiny from all of the miserable travel, were about to grate upon Rebecca’s last nerve. She was happy to rush them to the kitchen and get some food into them and soon trundle them off to bed.

It wasn’t that she disliked children, she just was so disinterested. But, they needed someone for now, until a nanny could be properly hired for the baby. The limited staff seemed harried and surprised at their appearance though she was sure Mr. Jamieson had wired ahead once they landed in Lakehurst. It was one of the few cogent moments he had between the rounds of questions from the authorities and rounds of mental self-flagellation. He did seem better now. Watching him briefly from the door of the sitting room, she discerned that he was still sad but less consumed with events, as if he was beginning to see a fresh start might be had here.

Turning, Rebecca ascended the stairs to attend to the children and get them properly ensconced in the nursery.

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Stanley Jamieson lay on his bed, fully clothed. The room of the house in Washington City was dark save for a single gas light turned low. There was a brief knock on his door.

"Mr. Jamieson?" Rebecca Stapleton called through the door.

"Yes?" he replied, his voice still low. The door opened and Miss Stapleton stepped in.

"I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't quite hear you. I hope you don't mind?"

"No, no. Is there something wrong with the children?" A brief strain of concern entered what had been a near monotone.

"I merely wanted to tell you I put them to bed after making them dinner."

"Oh, yes. I do apologize, it can be difficult to arrange servants sight-unseen and Mildred—" he choked up a bit. "She had wanted to oversee the hiring." Rebecca pulled a desk chair from across the room and placed it next to the bed before seating herself.

"You will deal with what needs to be done," Rebecca said, taking his right hand between her palms in a warm clasp. "Your children need you."

"Yes, everyone needs me…" he sighed. "I feel so guilty, though."

"For living?" She brought his hand under her breast. "You don't need to feel guilty for surviving. Everyone wants to survive."

"No. Well, yes, perhaps somewhat. But really I was never truly the husband I felt Mildred wanted. I had my mind on other things." He quickly glanced up at Rebecca and then away. "I wish…" He stopped. She almost thought he flushed. "You have taken very good care of the girls. I feel I can trust you."

"Of course you can trust me," she replied, her voice a warm caress.

"I am glad." He took his free hand and placed it atop her hands for a moment. "Would you… no, no." He grew hesitant.

"What is it? You can trust me," she purred. She watched his face steadily and calmly, as if she knew what he was about to ask. "You have seen me take care of your household, and your children. You know you can trust me to take care of your needs, too."

"Would… would you…" he began slowly, and then finished in a rush. "Would you beat me?"
“What?" she couldn't help saying.
"I feel so guilty… like when I was boy. Could you... well, you're a governess.” His voice trailed off into a series of ums, and quickly into awkward silence. He continued after a moment. “Could you use a switch, as you might on a naughty boy?" He stopped. "Maybe I shouldn't ask this of you." Rebecca thought quickly. Clearly he wanted her to do this. And it would give her a handle on him.
She thought for a moment, and slowly said, "Well, I don't have a switch. Would a hair brush do? I could use it as a paddle."

"Yes, that would work. Thank you." His depression and lethargy seemed to lift now that she had agreed to his request. Rebecca stared steadily at him for a moment and then went to retrieve the hairbrush from her room. She returned more quickly than Stanley could have expected.

The punishment was soon over and Rebecca had managed to readjust herself to the strict composure she had displayed entering the room. The experience was strangely liberating for her. She had been told what to do all her life, and now for a brief moment she was giving orders and being obeyed.

"Will you be at breakfast?" she inquired, her mind still whirling.

"Yes, but since there is no help, please just prepare something simple." He paused, and he and Rebecca looked at each other, both trying to get a grasp on the situation. "Could you see to hiring the serving staff?" he asked her tentatively.

"I will. Good night, sir." Rebecca closed the door and fled to her room.