Young Writers Society

Entry XII – March 2nd 1949

We started from the beginning.

It was a long trek up a filthy and series of paths, leading high into the verdant hills; we had hours to pour out our stories, shed tears.

When we had finished our narratives, we trod in silence. Helena had seemingly softened thought the course of our epic tale; she wore a look of complete solemnity upon her face. The only noise audible was the constant clacking of the horses’ hooves on the uneven, stony ground.

Hannah stirred occasionally. Her forehead was burning hot, and she murmured nonsensical mumblings in her subconscious state.

When Helena’s home – apparently named ‘Magnum Opus’ , or ‘Master Work’ – peaked on the horizon, a sharp intake of breath ensued.

It was astonishingly beautiful; picturesque, the stuff of stories and prose.

As we approached and it came clearly into view, my heart began to pound softly, and blood pulsed in my ears. It was grand, ornate, and slightly intimidating: never had I been so close to a structure of such scope and magnitude.

The building was glossy white; possessed a sheen belonging to a property which had just been freshly painted. Indeed, the clean, chemical smell of the stuff still lingered in the air. A string of stained-glass windows glinted from the very top-floor of Helena’s home, and centuries-worth of ivy clung to the front of it in sprawled clusters. Both gave the mansion an element of maturity and age; a stark contrast between the fresh, bright white of the building and the glassy marble vestibule. Smooth, slim columns of the pure mineral supported a block of the same stone, intricately carved to as to resemble the Grecian Parthenon.

‘When the war was over,’ Helena had explained, a hint of pride in her voice, ‘we decided that the old place deserved a new lick of paint.’

‘A new beginning,’ I had replied quietly, assertively.

‘Indeed.’

Surrounding the home were immaculately kept gardens; verdant bushes trimmed to precision, and a clean, vast lawn.

It was all so magical, and, I know it sounds clichéd, but I felt like I was dreaming. Then all of a sudden a wave of nausea hit me. I felt a deep, writhing knot clench and twist inside my stomach. I didn’t want to go any further. I felt as though the roots of my heart were being torn from their strings, wrenched away by greedy hands. I rebuked myself; tried to suppress the emotions that had begun raging inside of me.

My knees became numb and heavy. I knew they were going to give way. I braced myself for a fall, when suddenly I felt arms clutch my middle. I fell back into Petrus’s chest. I felt dizzy. Vomit sloshed up my throat, and I swallowed it weakly back down.

I abruptly regained control of my limbs, and made an effort to stand. Petrus gave me a gentle push, and steadied me by the shoulders. Although my face was icy white, I felt hot and sticky. I glanced anxiously up ahead; Hannah and Helena were gingerly making conversation, and Justus was lingering behind, dragging his feet along the ground, clearly exhausted. Gratefully, nobody had noticed my swooning into the arms of the man I had loved for so long.

I murmured a queasy-toned ‘thank-you’, and fumbled with my feet. He linked his arm with mine, and helped me on my way. A sensation of Euphoria rippled though my body, and my breasts began to throb. I tried to push the thrusts of passion away, but they kept coming, quicker and faster, pulsating through my abdomen and twitching me between the legs. I had the desire to cry out, expound the moment of pleasure with a flick of my tongue.

Up ahead, a stable boy had appeared from around the back of the house, evidently to take the mare back to her hay. He was only young, probably about twelve or thirteen. Hannah twisted and beckoned for us to catch up.

We rushed to the mares’ flank, and between us we eased Hannah down off the horse and into Justus’s open arms. She stirred and groaned as we shifted her worryingly light form, and then hunched silently into the warmth of Justus’s chest. I had always suspected that Justus had had ‘a thing’ for my sister, but I was not inclined to believe that the feeling was mutual.

Helena slid off her horse with a certain elegance belonging only to someone with money; trained in the way of the higher class. The stable boy made a sharp click with his tongue, and ushered the mare swiftly away.

‘Come,’ cried Helena, striding forward.

A small, pale face appeared in the window of the mansion: that of a girl, perhaps in her teens. It disappeared as quickly as it came. A few moments later, the front door was flung open, and the same girl appeared. She had petite features; a small frame, and her mousy hair was pulled back tightly into a bun. She lifted her cream skirts, and ran to meet us. Helena shrugged off her riding jacket, and extended it to her. The girl snatched it away. Her gaze fell upon the four of us. She looked at a loss as to what she should do. Her eyebrows rose and her lips tightened as a sign of her apparent disgust.

I stiffened under her piercing, imposing stare, and my eyes fell to the floor. At once I felt ashamed of my disgraceful state.

‘Magdela,’ Helena barked. ‘Make up the beds in four of the upstairs rooms. Lay out clean towels and bathrobes, and heat the water in the baths. And tell Mrs Huber to prepare a platter of cheeses and crackers and fruits of some description: hurry!’

The servant obeyed at once, scurrying back inside.

How the other half live, I thought. I shot a glance at Petrus, and he wiggled his eyebrows. I could tell he was thinking exactly the same as I.

As we made it to the front double-doors of pure mahogany, Helena gestured the way ahead of her. ‘Straight up the staircase, turn left, one hundred yards down the corridor, last room on the right. You can lay Hannah down in there.’

With that, we took our first steps inside another world.

***

Justus lead the way, his thick snow boots clanking onto the cool, stone stairs. It was all too beautiful to be real. Nearly everything was shiny or gold, or both. Polished glass glistened everywhere I turned. A string of lovely oils, gold plated, hung on the walls of the hallway with a certain pride and dignity. A large, elegantly curved mirror took centre stage at the end of the corridor, poised above a wooden table, on which sat a steely telephone. Its presence hit me with the reality that freedom was at my fingertips. I could ring people; contact people…the idea seemed so strange, so surreal.

‘These must be the guest rooms,’ I whispered to Petrus in his ear. Being so close to him made the hairs of my neck stand on end and a chill slither down my front. He nodded his agreement.

Magdela shot out from the last room on the right. She left the door open, indicating that this was where we were to go. The snobbish servant-girl did not meet our eyes, simply swept past us, her skirts flailing behind her. Justus, his muscles straining, quickened his pace and slipped into the room. We followed suit, and helped him place Hannah gently onto the large bed. The bedcovers were that of red silk, the carpet a plush cream. It was certainly a luxurious room, a gauzy yellow film draping from mirror-polished bed-poles. Tentatively, I reached out and touched the golden fabric; so soft between my coarse fingertips.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

The voice came from behind. I twisted sharply to find Helena leaning in the doorway, a large bowl of steamy hot water in her hands. ‘Persian; from the east – my mother brought it back many years ago.’

She strided forward and set the bowl down. ‘Right, let’s strip your sister and get her into bed. Boys,’ here she turned to Justus and Petrus, ‘Magdela has prepared the baths for you. Go out of this room, end of the corridor, out onto the landing, turn right, right again, and you’re there.’

They nodded briskly, and shuffled out, shutting the door behind them. Helena put her hands to her hips, and gave a long, deep sigh. We locked eyes for a moment, hers a steely blue. In the same moment, we both stood, and moved toward Hannah. Her fingers fiddled with the flannel. She wrung it out, her hands turning pink with the heat of the water, and swathed it upon my siblings’ forehead. I peeled Hannah’s sodden clothes from her body. What was underneath was painful to see. She was skeletal; her skin pasty and gossamer, like that of a spirit.

Helena kept her eyes avert, and began to make idle conversation, seemingly to lighten the solemn mood. ‘We’ve just had our bathhouse re-done, in the Roman style. It’s only small, but rather lovely.’

I smiled awkwardly, not exactly sure of how I should respond. ‘I’m sure it’s beautiful, Miss. I can’t wait to see it.’ Immediately, I wished I hadn’t said the last. Did it sound presumptuous; expecting? We were depending on this strangers’ kindness; I had to show myself courteous and humble. I was being honest, I suppose. I truly couldn’t wait to have a clean-up. I was filthy and my body let off a disgusting odour.

Helena didn’t seem to notice my slip-up. ‘I’ll get a servant to sit with your sister and we can go and have a bath, if you like. Once Justus and Petrus have finished, that is.’

‘No,’ I cried, the word just falling out of my mouth. Helena stopped and looked at me. I felt my cheeks redden. ‘I mean, I’d rather the boys stay with her, if you don’t mind. If she comes round she might not where she is; it’d be better is someone was there that she knew.’

I couldn’t help my reaction. I didn’t want a servant, especially not Magdela, sitting with my sister. I have trust issues, I’ll admit it. I suppose it’s because I can read people so well. I have warmed deeply to Helena because when we first met I could sense the fact that her sympathy toward us was genuine. I am, though, still wary. I have only known this woman for mere hours. Perhaps my cynicisms will ware off in due time.

‘Forgive my tongue,’ I muttered, retuning my attention to Hannah.

Helena let out a bark of laughter. ‘No need for apologies. You need forgive me for my bossy ways, Gretal. Of course ‘the boys’ can stay with your sister. You’re very close to them, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, yes. They’re like my brothers. We’ve been through a lot together. When you spend all your time together, twenty-four hours, seven days a week, you become like a close knit family.’

Helena grinned. ‘I would imagine that such a situation would drive me crazy: didn’t you get on each-other’s nerves?’

‘Of course we did,’ I murmured, ‘but we relied on each-other to survive. That’s when bonds like glue formed between us: when our lives depended on sticking together.’ I was surprised at how the expressions I had uttered had so bluntly hit my heart. Tears sprung to my eyes. I blinked them away with annoyance.

Helena was quiet, as if silenced by my words. Then she said tentatively, ‘he’s rather dashing, do you agree?’

‘Who?’ I replied sharply.

‘Why, your friend Petrus.’