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usa-manors-library · 1 year

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The Mystery Visitor

Breathlessness. I'm not even sure if it could be considered an emotion, but... It felt like one. It felt like one crushing me as I stood in front of the manor. The manor that looked almost unrecognizable after so many years.

It was nighttime. Not a single light illuminated the world, except for the silver rays of the moon, partly obscured by passing clouds.

The sounds the soft wind caused were all I heard other than my heart pounding. They were welcoming noises. The tree branches swaying and the grass rustling reminded me that this was real. That this wasn't a dream.

It almost felt like one. The scene was idealistic enough to be a painting displayed only in establishments as distinguished as the Louvre.

I stared at the house in complete silence.

I promised myself that I wouldn't tear up. Reminding myself of that, I wiped the trembling back of my hand against my watery eyes and took a single deep, shaky breath. I couldn't fathom what I was about to do...

But I knew I had to get moving before dawn and... well, I was already here. It would be a waste to not follow through with it. With another deep breath, I went forward on my journey.

As stealthy as a hunted mouse, I circled around the house. Anyone and everyone inside the building should be fast asleep by now, but I didn't want to take that chance...

I couldn't quite find what I was looking for. All the windows and doors were locked... It seemed like my mission had run into a wall.

Quite literally, I thought to myself as my gaze traced up the unfamiliar structure. Shaking away my doubts, I began my ascent to the top.

A small smile bloomed on my face as I climbed over the stone garden walls. The rumors were true. New Jersey grew up to love gardening, that much was obvious by the condition of the walled-in paradise. I could see it was cherished dearly, almost as if my little brother dedicated himself to making it the sequel of the Garden of Eden.

After sliding my legs over the top, I dropped down in the soft dirt below quietly, fulfilling my goal to miss the nearby flower bed. The dirt smelled damp and fresh, most likely watered the previous evening.

I took in the sight for a moment more before creeping my way to the main garden path.

It wasn't long before the kitchen door stood before me. I softly wiped the dirt off my shoes as I reached for the handle.

I abruptly paused as my breath hitched.

It was left unlocked.

After all these years, the family still hasn't quite mastered the art of remembering to lock the kitchen door.

A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I processed the fact. It was such a tiny detail, but... it was enough to make me want to tear up again.

I stood in the open doorway, staring into the dark kitchen. My legs were trembling.

I hovered in the doorway for a moment more as I tried to gather my thoughts, my emotions... Myself, essentially.

Swallowing my bitter doubts, I shakily stepped into my old home. Suddenly, the song of the wind outside wasn't enough to convince me that this wasn't a dream.

Feeling as if I were in a trance, I drifted across the floor mutely.

Despite the renovated appearance of the kitchen, everything felt the same. The scratches Virginia's old cat left on the sides of the door of the kitchen were still there, now joined by some new ones. I wondered how many more she owned after the one I knew passed.

Everything was a blur. The rooms, the thoughts, the memories, my eyes... I vaguely realized in hindsight of the ordeal that the blur might of been tears.

Before long, I was in the dining room. I didn't even know that I walked away from the kitchen until I stood by a chair.

His chair. It was in the center of everything.

I felt my hand trace over the chair and the scratches on it. It was the same one he sat on when he placed me on his knee when I was small. The same one he prayed a blessing over the food from before every family meal. The same one he lectured us about food fights from.

The old portrait of Britain and the even older portrait of England still sat on either side of the dining room's fireplace, although they've since been vandalized. Most likely at a post-Revolutionary War party, considering the messages scrawled on the paintings.

I looked down at the long table. Yet again; it was the same, despite the two new ones joining it looking like they were made more recently. At least more recently than the 1600s.

I pulled Dad's chair out slightly and crouched down. I crawled under the table and looked up at the bottom of it.

Names. So many carvings of names. Familiar and unfamiliar.

I laid on my back and looked up at them. There was my name, right where I left it... There were carvings of flowers around it this time. That was new.

All the new names checked out with the family members that have been added since my departure. Even one that was mostly scratched out read 'Dixie.'

I crawled out from under the table and stood once more.

I don't exactly remember how I got there, but soon I was in Dad's study.

It was the same as always; bookshelves and paintings lining the walls, a nice carpet laying over the wood floor, and two seats facing Dad's dark oak desk, illuminated in the moon's glow by a large window behind his desk chair.

As always, the desk was disheveled. I remembered he always tried his best to keep it neat, but he had trouble with that when he was working.

Folders were scattered, three empty mugs were collecting dust, crumpled notes were tossed to the side...

The only thing that seemed to be in order were the two framed pictures.

One seemed to be a recent family photo taken on the front steps of the manor, including everyone from the territories to West— Ehm, regular Germany. Getting everyone to pose for that picture must of been quite a feat.

The second was a smaller pencil drawing of all his other children who never had the chance to get in the family photo. Popham, Saybrook, West Jersey, and... You get the idea.

The room smelled faintly of vanilla and smoke. I had no idea if it was recent or not... I wondered if he ever quit smoking.

Quickly and quietly, I tidied up his office for him. I told myself going into this that I wouldn't touch anything, just look, but... I couldn't leave without showing him I still cared, even if he would have no idea that I was the one to clean up.

Softly closing the study's door as I left, there was only one last room I wanted to see before bolting; my own.

I was almost certain they turned it into something new. I couldn't help but be curious on what it might be now.

It was a stressful trip to get there. It was right in the middle of a hallway where some of my siblings' rooms were located, and I had no way of knowing who was there or not. My heart was pounding like a drum as I crept through the dangerous zone. A single noisy floorboard would be this situation's equivalent of a land mine.

Miraculously, I made it without having a heart attack. Resisting the urge to breath a sigh of relief, I turned the handle and entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind me.

I turned around and faced my small, old room. I felt my heart freeze.

I was expecting it to be storage, a sitting room, possibly a guest bedroom...

But nothing could've prepared me for it to look exactly like it did when I left it.

My wardrobe. My bed. My books.

The sight I saw before me was the same sight I saw before running away to save my family's reputation...

Unmoved. Undisturbed. Untouched.

Almost untouched, at least. There was a fresh vase of roses left on my desk... Someone's been in here recently.

In addition to that, a piece of paper was peaking out of one of the drawers.

Curiosity overtook me and I went over to the desk, feeling like I was floating in a hazy dream instead of walking in a very real room. I opened the drawer and felt a lump in my throat as I realized what was inside. A smell of paper filled the room.

Dad's written me letters. Hundreds of them.

'Dearest Haven.'

'Good Morning, New Haven.'

'Happy First Independence Day, Haven.'

I stumbled back ever so slightly, unable to control my surprise.

'The Country Is Split, Haven.'

'God End Me Now, Haven.'

'The World War's Over, Haven.'

I sat at my bed, eyes darting from one random title I saw to another.

'Prohibition Sucks, Haven.'

'Haven You Would Not BELIEVE Which War's Getting a Sequel.'

'You'd Laugh At Me If You Saw Where I Was Now, Haven.'

It was the same thing he did with Poppy... With Saybrook...

'Haven, Pardon My French But Soviet's a Little B**ch.'

'AYYY! HE'S DEAD, HAVEN! :D"

'Happy Birthday, Haven (2022).'

The letters started to blur and swirl together as a heavy feeling of guilt and bitterness overwhelmed me.

He missed me. Gosh, he missed me so much.

I knew he did something similar after Popham and Saybrook died. He must of did the same thing for West Jersey and I.

It was his way of coping. Whenever Dad needed to clear his mind, I would see him writing letters to his deceased kids. He'd write them advice, updates, stories... as if they were still with him.

I felt terrible. I didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve any of this mourning. I wasn't dead. I was only hiding...

I used to be the embarrassment of my family, when I lived with them. A colony without even a mere charter. Easily pushed around by Connecticut's larger forces.

I was ashamed of myself. I hated that I embarrassed my own family's reputation, so I ran.

After a couple of decades and some desperate searching... They finally assumed me dead.

I didn't show my face to anyone until my colors changed, when I could finally pass myself off as a new person; Connecticut's city of New Haven.

I've been living a lie for years now. The only relative I've seen since is Connecticut, who thankfully can't seem to see past my newly made appearance and mannerisms.

I was a coward. I was a filthy coward, and it resulted in me giving my father extra pain to burden over the years.

I thought he would've been relieved to get rid of the family's weakest link... What now?

I stared at the drawer filled to the brim with letters as dozens of ideas and scenarios rushed through my head.

I could tell the truth. I could go back to my family... My home, which I've longed for since leaving.

But... would they even let me back in?

I've hurt them... My Dad, at the very least. I gave them all this pointless grief. They'd be angry if I came back now, especially when I take back my role of being the family disappointment... Everyone else would be states, territories, federal districts... And what am I? Another random city of my brother's? One that isn't even the biggest?

I can never face my family now. My return would cause more harm than good.

I love them, though... I love them to the point that it hurts. Watching them grow and flourish on the sidelines has been difficult for me, but I don't want to be selfish and go with the alternative.

I stood from my old bed, eyes locked on the letters. I was itching to take them. At least a single one. I wanted to hear what my Dad would've told me if I was around. It was the closest thing to talking to him in person I'd ever achieve now.

I felt a stab in my heart as I realized I couldn't. He might look back on his letters. One shouldn't be missing or crinkled.

I looked at them longingly as they disappeared into the desk once more as I shut the drawer.

I smelled a single whiff of the flowers (roses; Dad's favorite) before backing out of the room. Yet again; the hallway was barren of other life.

I noiselessly rushed back through the house, pushing down the memories this time. It didn't take long for me to get back to the kitchen door.

I couldn't help it. I started running.

I slammed the door behind me as I practically jumped over the garden wall. I slid off the stones this time. It seems like the clouds covering the moon before had finally started a storm.

The second I was back on my feet, I bolted. Away from the house, away from the memories, away from my family. The ground was slick, but I didn't know if I kept slipping because of the weather conditions or if the night had stressed and exhausted me to the point of my knees giving out.

I raced out the large, unlocked front gate. I raced down the road. I raced and raced until I found my car where I left it; hidden behind some bushes.

I immediately got in, started it, and sped off. The storm raged outside as I took some deep breaths to calm down. I shakily turned on the radio as I drove home.

I had a hard time finding a song that wouldn't make me break down immediately. Fed up with all the lyrics, I switched to a piano station. The slow version of New Home by Austin Farwell filled the car. Not exactly cheery, but... I guess it

With a sigh, I shook my head and drove off into the night.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

Connecticut had no idea who that shadow of a man was, or what he wanted... But he didn't seem to hurt anything. It was probably just one of his brothers, collecting something he left at the manor after a visit.

Despite agreeing with this conclusion, Connecticut lingered at the window for a while more. For whatever reason, he felt the need to... follow it... As if something precious was escaping him...

He didn't move an inch. He stayed at the window until the mystery visitor disappeared into the rain.

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