But it’s just one chapter.
I remember September 11, 2001. It was the day after my birthday. I requested both the 10th and the 11th off, because I wanted to stay up late on my birthday and not get up early to go to work in the box office the next morning.
I had fun on my birthday and had a quiet day at home on the 11th. I heard more than one neighbor in my apartment building come home around noon, and I thought nothing of it—I juggled part-time jobs, so I didn’t assume most people work 9 to 5 in an office. It wasn’t until about eight in the evening that I turned on my new computer… and learned the news.
I remember a Black friend saying, to paraphrase, that the United States mistreats people from the Middle East, so of course people from the Middle East will retaliate. You can’t expect to treat people horribly with no consequences.
Nonetheless, I’d never before heard that the USA treats people in other countries terribly—perhaps a sign of not only my ignorance but also white privilege (and yes, someone who’s part Ashkenazi has white privilege). On the other hand, American schools like the one I attended—elementary, junior high, and high school—teach a deceitful version of U. S. history that puts powerful white males on pedestals & erases women’s history and the histories of people of color. U.S. mainstream media doesn’t want us to know how the U.S. government abuses people of color from other countries—not that I kept up on news much back then. And it wouldn’t have occurred to me to seek such information in the 1990s or in 2001. Most books I read during that time were fiction or Wiccan nonfiction.
In any case, I felt shocked by the terrorist attack. Though I didn’t know anyone involved, I grieved. For years, I’d think of it and tears came to my eyes. Beginning in 2002, I pointedly avoided all news on my birthday, because for years 9/11 came up annually in the media.
Since then, I’ve learned about the US government interfering in South American governments—demonizing socialists to such an extreme that the US federal government deposed elected politicians in favor of fascist dictators. When I travel in other countries, I feel embarrassed about being an American.
Chapter 1:
Chapter 59:
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Hauntings of Claverton Castle, Chapter 60
Reginald stepped from behind Samantha and grabbed Uncle Bradford by both elbows and held him back.
“Hold on, now, sir!” Reginald shook Uncle Bradford. “That is no way to talk to a lady!”
“You call this strumpet a lady?” Uncle Bradford barked, struggling and trying to shake off the boy’s firm grip.
“No strumpet is present,” Reginald said. “Miss Ponsonby is above reproach, and unless you take back that comment, I must challenge you to a duel, blackguard!”
Samantha’s feet were no longer frozen in place, and she could breathe. She stepped slightly back. Out of the corner of her eye, she espied Harriet scurrying further into the room; she’d apparently entered with Reginald.
“Ha! Duels are illegal, pup! I’ve a mind to horsewhip you for your insolence!” Uncle Bradford’s words were not supported by his obvious inability to extricate from Reginald’s grip.
Samantha’s panic dissolved, replaced with righteous indignation. She hissed, “Insolence! Hypocrite.” She glared at Uncle Bradford and clenched both her fists. Mr. Prendregast seemed downright kindly and loving in comparison. She scarcely believed she’d ever equated Harriet’s father with Uncle Bradford.
Margot and Roland entered the room, stepping around Samantha and staring at her uncle. Margot touched Samantha’s shoulder as she passed, and Samantha smiled at her, as her confidence rose and her heartbeat slowed. My friends are here for me.
Samantha observed Harriet standing by the fireplace and staring with wide, horrified eyes at Uncle Bradford. He appeared remarkably short of stature in the presence of Margot and Roland. Customarily Samantha respected anyone regardless of their height, but Uncle Bradford’s stature seemingly represented his internal smallness.
“You are a disgrace to our family, you harlot!” Uncle Bradford barked. “You ungrateful, spoiled and shiftless brat! You should be at home darning my socks, not gallivanting across the country so you can attend parties with dandies like this! I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if you’ve been sharing this one’s bed—”
Samantha clenched her fists. “Go ahead and continue hurling insults at me, Uncle. And slanderous lies, too, for that matter. Do continue, since the more witnesses to your absurd and abusive behavior, the better. Keep making a fool of yourself.” Samantha spoke in a deeper voice than usual, and Harriet tugged on the bell pull. Samantha surprised herself with her ability to speak steadily.
“Why, you—I ought to—I ought to—” Uncle Bradford couldn’t conjure anything creative enough to finish his sentence.
Margot crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “You ought to cease speaking and leave quietly.” Now her brother clasped Uncle Bradford’s right elbow, and Reginald released it but gripped his left arm with both hands. Roland and Reginald began to drag the older man toward the door.
Uncle Bradford struggled and continued yelling. “You’ll regret this, you insolent slut! You viper! You strumpet! You’ll learn to respect your elders!” He attempted to flail his arms around in the air, but all he could accomplish was stiffly jerking his arms a bit. “This is an outrage!”
Samantha put her hands on her hips and stared him down. “Your behavior is indeed an outrage, Uncle. Now let us straighten out the facts. Since my aunt was no longer between us, you hit me repeatedly during one of your drunken evenings.” Samantha heard more than one audible gasp of horror. “Of course, all of your evenings are drunken. You chased me to my room, where I barricaded the door. You have never paid me the rent from the tenants in the cottage I shall inherit. You have no right whatsoever to treat me as you have. The same applies to how you always have treated me—all your insults and accusations. All of it was wrong and ghastly. There is no justification whatsoever for how you have ever treated me.”
Samantha stepped far from the door, and the two young men nearly succeeded in dragging Uncle Bradford to the threshold. The footmen entered, glanced at each other in some hesitation, and hastily bowed to the young men holding Uncle Brandon.
Samantha espied Gwydion Ewen, and she smiled slightly as she caught his eye. She wished they could become friends, though she had no notion how she might develop friendship with a footman.
“Ewen and Barrowman,” Reginald said, “Pray show this brute to the door.” The servants approached Uncle Bradford.
Uncle Bradford thrashed considerably more before Ewen, who was the same height as Samantha’s uncle, firmly took the arm Roland had been holding; Roland released Samantha’s uncle and stepped back. Ewen clenched both hands around the bully’s arm. The other footman, Barrowman, approached Uncle Bradford’s other side, and Reginald let him take over.
Reginald placed his hands on his hips and glared down at Uncle Bradford. “Thou art a plague-sore!”
Uncle Bradford snorted whilst struggling in vain against the footman. “You, impudent boy, are appropriate company for that hoyden!”
“Thank you!”
Both footmen, each gripping one of Uncle Bradford’s arms, practically dragged him out of the drawing room. Samantha, Roland, and Reginald stood silently watching as the footmen took away the struggling bully. Samantha watched him make futile attempts to wrench his arms away from the younger men. Samantha’s eyes remained on Uncle Bradford until they disappeared. She drifted toward Margot with a glance back toward the drawing room’s threshold.
Reginald strode to the doorway and called after Uncle Bradford. “Veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth! Thou clod of wayward marl! Thou mountain of foul deformity!”
“That is ‘lump of foul deformity,’” Roland corrected.
“Oh, not you, too.” Samantha clung to the back of a wing chair. She felt her knees buckle, but at least her heart rate was regular now. She noticed her limbs were shaking, yet she couldn’t decide whether to sit. Perhaps she needed to remain alert.
“Blast!” Reginald snapped his fingers. “I got one wrong. And fear not, Miss Ponsonby, Roland and I are nothing alike, aside from our both wearing finely tailored garments. He’s quite a queer nab, though I allow a fine-looking—”
Harriet rolled her eyes. “What a horror it would be to associate with two of you, Reginald.”
Scowling, Reginald faced Harriet and shook his finger at his sister. “Thou art an anointed sovereign of sighs and groans. Take that, ye varmint!” He glanced toward the door. “Nay, I cannot abide your presence for another moment!”
Harriet smirked. “That is sufficient, dear brother.”
Reginald’s eyes lit up as though something crossed his mind. “I must excuse myself for but an instant.” Casting his eyes on Samantha before turning back to the exit, Reginald left the room.
Samantha gasped and allowed her shoulders to sag. She could breathe. Feeling dizzy, she slipped toward the front of the wing chair. Before she sat, Margot took her in her arms and embraced her. Though somewhat embarrassed before their audience, Samantha allowed tears of relief to stream down her cheeks.
Roland and Harriet sank into chairs by the fireplace. Samantha exhaled. Her limbs ceased trembling. She felt infinitely grateful that she had friends who helped her banish her worst demon. Margot, with one arm around Samantha’s shoulders, led her to a sofa near the fire, so that they gathered into a half circle. Samantha clasped her arms together and rested her head. She closed her eyes. Despite everything, she felt acutely aware of Margot’s presence inches away, beside her on the sofa.