Chapter Two – House of Hope


Susanna had no clear recollection of the long journey that had taken them to their new life in the manor. She took no notice of the succession of lonely grey roads, at first flanked by decaying buildings as they drove further from the outskirts of the city, then bordered by grayish-green bushes scattered here and there, as the winter countryside still awaited the first signs of spring.

She had grown quite skilled during the past week at shutting her ears to whatever conversation was taking place around her, so any of her mother's attempts to start a chat were dismissed by mumbled monosyllables.

Yet she was genuinely startled by the sight of the old iron gate, a giant phantom rib cage of dark metal crowned by the grey dim of sunset. The same feeling remained as she crossed the wooden porch. However, it seemed to her, after a couple of seconds, somewhat smaller and less frightening than the first time.

Mrs. Cameron, a round, sturdy woman about her mother’s age, welcomed them warmly, yet awkwardly conveying her condolences as solemnly as her husband had, a week ago. Susanna could tell that the woman was being honest, though, and wondered that the Professor had been really lucky to have found good people to fill in the position left open by the sudden death, a couple of years ago, of the old couple who had taken care of the manor since he was a little boy. First, the lady, of heart attack, her husband a mere couple of weeks later, of heartbreak, rumor had it.

The warm bath had unfrozen her joints. The simple, but substantial meal, served, at her request, in the cozy kitchen, had restored some of her strength.

Now, she stood by the window of the bedroom carefully arranged for her by Mrs. Cameron, the glow and warmth of the fireplace reaching gently the back of her night gown from the opposite side of the room. As she looked at the misty meadows that glimmered by the faint crescent moon, the dark silhouette of the woods beyond, the wavy curves of the hills yonder, she felt almost at peace.

But the warm feeling, instead of allowing her to enjoy the moment, suddenly began to melt the black poisonous cement that had hardened her within. Unfrozen, a torrent of tears not cried flooded towards her eyes. As the tears rolled down her cheeks, she felt terribly nauseous and, in pain, rushed to the toilet. There, on her knees, she vomited, over and over, until only the greenish blackness of bile came out of her mouth. Amongst the bitterness in her tongue and the cramp in her diaphragm, she found a sense of relief. Somehow the manor had purged away the pain turned to stone inside her. In her exhaustion, sitting on the cold bathroom floor, weak by the cleansing effort, she couldn’t tell yet what it was that she was feeling.

Later that night, her body relaxed on a perfect mattress and heavenly pillows, under soft white lavender-scented lace linen, she slept the deepest sleep of her entire life, immersed in a sensation that closely resembled hope.

* * *


“When the fairy child sings
Hear the secret that she brings
Look inside and you will see
All the things that used to be.”


Susanna hummed herself to awareness, mumbling the last words with her eyes still closed. Her face tickled mildly as though she had been sitting by a fireplace or taking a stroll on a sunlit road. As she stretched her arms and legs, moaning as one or two joints snapped, she realized that, unlike her gloomy expectations, she felt surprisingly well, even after the bumpy drive the day before and the ordeal she had been through later at night. Yet, drowsy as she was, she could tell that something was quite odd in that fine awakening, though she could not make out what it was at first. Suddenly, it struck her and she jumped out of the bed and rushed to the window.

For she could still hear the lullaby of her dream coming from outside and fading in the distance. She tried to figure out the source of the sound, but couldn’t see anything or anyone, just the silver lining of the morning dew on the lonely garden by the side of the house.

“How strange.” She said to herself. Maybe some children had been playing somewhere nearby. She made a mental note about asking Mrs. Cameron whether there were children living in the neighboring estates. Then she got ready for breakfast, humming bits and pieces of the tune that seemed to have got stuck in her mind.

* * *


She knocked on her mother’s door on the way downstairs. When there was no answer, she thought it was for the best that her mother should sleep as long as she pleased; God knows how badly she needed to.

As for herself, she would try to explore the property, to see if it had changed much since her last stay, while she waited for the meeting her mother had appointed to discuss the current situation of the household, with the Camerons and the Leo character, whom they had not met the night before. Mrs. Cameron had told then that he had volunteered to fetch all their heavy luggage and the few boxes sent earlier by train and had brought everything to the manor in a horse-pulled wagon, instead of waiting for the car, in order that they would have all their things at hand when they arrived. “How nice of him”, she thought, rather sardonically.

She met Mrs. Cameron in the kitchen, accepted a cup of tea and went off to her walk in the cold morning. Before stepping outside, she put on her old mackintosh over the turtleneck knitted sweater and woolen skirt she was wearing. Together with the thick woolen stockings and a pair of heavily worn leather boots, her garments would keep her warm enough. A red felt beret on top of the dark brown wavy hair just roughly plaited and she was ready to face the cold.

She breathed in the cool air with pleasure. No stench from the gutters, no greasy smell of fried fish, no smoke from the exhaust of automobiles. Nothing in the country air, scented with late winter grass, a touch of vanilla, a note here and there of milk recently milked and of bread in the oven, and even the acrid stable smell could ever remind her of the unpleasant odor of the city.

She walked clockwise around the house and headed east towards the tenants cottage. Not far from it there was the greenhouse, where Mrs. Cameron tended on samples of a considerable variety of trees, flowers, herbs and vegetables, protecting them from the lower temperature.

Beyond the greenhouse and the barn not far from it, she was touched by the sight of the old lake formed by a larger portion of the creek that crossed the property from the northwestern mountain range to the northeastern plains. At that time in the morning, haze hung above the surface of the water mirror, hiding the silent currents beneath, invisible, but strong enough to move the heavy wooden wheel of the old stone mill, on the opposite side of the bank. Wondering that it would be lovely when the heather blossomed again on the walls of the round structure, that once had been a castle and a fort in the imagination of her brothers, she approached the edge of the bank to look into the deep water, distracted by the mysterious effect of the currents on the submersed weeds, combing them like a siren’s hair.

Lost in that vision, she didn’t notice the figure coming towards her.

“They say there’s a dead witch hauntin' this lake”.

She was so startled by the deep baritone voice behind her that she swung swiftly on both heels to face its owner. By doing so, she lost her balance and began to lean back. The man tried to hold her, but her weight, the steep bank and the slippery grass made him lose his balance as well, and the two of them fell with a splash in the lake, swirling the hovering fog.

She struggled to break free from him and keep her head above the surface at the same time, but the siren’s hair underwater entangled one of her feet. She screamed and fought even harder, what made her sink twice before he could grip her wrists.

“What are you bloody trying to do?” she gasped, as he tried to pull her above the bank.

“Right now, lass, I’m trying to save ye”, he panted, grabbing her by the waist with one arm and grasping both her wrists with one iron hand.

“You take your d-dirty hands of m-me, you blood-dy b-bastard!” She screamed, her chin shaking because of the cold.

“Aye, lassie, but my ‘ands ‘re no dirty as yer mouth, I can tell”, he said, frowning, but the twitch on the corner of his mouth showed that he was having fun.

Furious, she pushed him as hard as she could and he let her go. The sudden release made her be pulled underwater in a dark whirl. He dived quickly and managed to set her foot free from the weed. This time he was angry himself and gave her no chance to argue, just grabbed her firmly and dragged her out of the water. He practically dropped her with a thump on the wet grass.

“Are ye mad, lass? Trying to kill yerself, aye?” He looked down still angry with concern and began to check if there was no part missing of the young woman. His expression softened when he realized her pitiful situation, shaking, bluish skin with the cold. He offered her a hand but she stubbornly refused it.

“Who the bloody hell are you?”, she asked, standing up clumsily, defiant out of embarrassment, although, or maybe because of that, she was aware that the stranger had probably saved her life.

“I’m Leo McDoghann. I work here. And who ‘re ye?” By the expression on her face, eyes wide open, chin down, it took him a second to realize who she was. “Ye ’re the new boss, right?”, he said, hoping she would say she wasn’t. Then he mumbled something that she didn’t understand, hanging his head down hopelessly and wavering slowly.

The silence became unbearable to her and she just walked, soaked and dripping, towards the manor, her wet boots making a squeaking sound on the grass. She didn’t see when he walked away towards the stable, still mumbling and moving his arm as though he was sweeping bad thoughts from his worried mind.

“The… nerve of that… man!”, she said to herself as she walked. “Just appear like that, behind a person, without a single noise, like some… cat, what on earth was he thinking?” She tucked her hands in the pockets of her wet coat and pressed her arms against the side of her body, trying to keep from shaking. “Oh, no, not a good thing was he up to, oh, no.”

She was still mumbling when a very surprised Mrs. Cameron welcomed her into the warm kitchen. The lady helped her out of the wet clothing, offering her a flannel robe and a cup of tea, before she went upstairs for a hot bath.

“Oh, dear, drink this. There. Oh, yer ‘ands ‘re freezing!” Mrs. Cameron, exclaimed, as their hands touched over the teacup. “Tell, me dear, what happened?”

Susanna told her briefly about her first encounter with the mysterious handy man of the manor. Mrs. Cameron could not conceal a smile.

“Oh, sorry, my dear, but, did ye really… Both of ye, in the lake… The poor lad, imagine how he must have felt… He’s such a fine young man, ye know, hard working, always ready to help Mr. Cameron and myself… He certainly didna mean to scare ye or anything of the sort…”

The slightly anxious look on the face of the other woman made her feel really annoyed. Her position as mistress of the house had not yet been clear to her, not until that moment, and she felt really uncomfortable in those shoes. “What is she thinking, that I’ll sack the man on account of that, like some spoiled brat?”, she thought, really upset. After all, her mother had all legal powers while she was underage and, of course, there was some clause in the will about the employees that she could not recall.

However, she decided to ignore her own distress and the fact that the other woman was more concerned about the fellow than about her, who had nearly drowned…

“Of course, I’m quite sure he meant no harm, Mrs. Cameron”, she said so reassuringly that the lady let out a slight sigh of relief and resumed her merry disposition.

“There, there, my dear, ye should have a bath now? Ye don’t want to catch a cold, do ye?” She said, taking the empty cup from her hands. “See, ‘ands ‘re warm now, aye?

Susanna nodded with a sneeze.

“Go, dear, upstairs now, will ye? She practically pushed her out of the kitchen. Susanna waved a response and climbed up the staircase to her bedroom, wiping her nose on the sleeve of the robe.

* * *


When she finally came down again, everybody had already gathered in the kitchen. As she came in, her mother, a slice of buttered toast halfway to her mouth, stood up and gave her a warm good morning.

“There you are! How are you feeling? Mrs. Cameron just told me … You didn’t catch a cold, did you?” Her mother took her by the hand and made her sit beside her. “So, you already know Mr… Leo.” Her mother hesitated. “This is my daughter Susanna.”

“I’m fine”, she said softly, uncomfortable again for being the centre of attention and carefully avoiding to look at the man sitting at the far corner of the table.

Her mother began her little speech, on how we had so unfortunately been cast in our current situation and how blessed we were to have been welcomed there. Although we were supposed to be thoroughly informed of the affairs of the estate, for we had a legal obligation to take full responsibility for it, not only didn’t we mean to impose ours ways on the daily life of the manor, but also we didn’t expect to be treated as mistresses of the house. We had lived in poverty long enough and had our share of hard work in our lives to know what it was worth. In short, we were hopeful that we would soon find a way to belong.

As she spoke, Susanna took time to observe the people who would be a part of their lives from now on. The Camerons sat upright sipping tea. She could read signs of both awkwardness and relief on their faces, as her mother spoke.

And then there was Mr. Leogan McDomhann. He was a true riddle, she thought. Beginning with his name, which no one seemed to be able to pronounce. When introduced to her mother, he had said something that sounded like Logan McDuval, yet everybody had soon agreed on addressing him as Leo.

He looked neat and uncomfortable in a clean flannel shirt, woolen trousers and a tweed coat. An improvement, she had to admit, from the worn-out denim overalls he was wearing earlier. He kept his head down respectfully, but she could see that his eyes were sparkling beneath the lids. That, and the rather old-fashioned long chestnut hair tied in a plait, hidden under the collar of his shirt, gave him a Heathcliff-ish look that brought a smile to her face, soon disguised behind the teacup. He couldn’t be much older than herself, but he actually looked so, especially because of the long thin scar that came down from the third portion of his left eyebrow to rest on his check bone. The rough skin on his face spoke of a lot of heavy work in the open, and so did the large shoulders, the strong arms, the fists whose strength she had already experimented, and the swollen knuckles on his fingers. So different from the hands of young clerks and students she had know in the city, so soft and warm on her naked skin… The memory made her shrug, and she found refuge again behind the cup.

It was time for the Camerons to speak of their activities. They gave a brief but thorough description of the household life. The manor was practically self-supporting, from the making of fruit and vegetable preserves in the fall, to the breeding of sheep for milk, cheese and, of course, wool, which was dyed and weaved into clothing, blankets and rugs. There was a cow for milk and cheese and poultry that provided eggs. Some of the production was used in the household; the rest was then sold in the fair at the nearest village or exchanged for other goods in the neighborhood. The lake provided fish, cooked fresh or salted and smoked for preserve. There was one horse that took shifts pulling the wagon or just being ridden by Leo to check an occasional breach in the fence, chase a wolf in the woods or gather the sheep.

“Oh, this is interesting. Leo, tell them the name of the horse.” Mrs. Cameron asked, amused.

He raised his head and a glimpse of a smile lit his face as he thought of his workmate. Susanna was touched by the sweet display of affection amongst all his unease.

“Mhmmm…”, he grunted, a hoarse voice betraying tension for the sudden attention. “His name is Faol Mhòr.”

“What? Ulvor? Strange name… What does it mean?” Her mother asked, curious.

“Aye, that’s it. It means Big Wolf”. He explained, a sign of pride on his face. “He was still a colt when he escaped from the stable and was attacked by a young wolf beyond the borders of the woods. He was brave… Kicked the beast, broke his skull…”

He was brought from his pleasant memories by a shriek of Susanna’s mother. “Oh, sorry, ma'am…”. Susanna was surprised when she noticed that he was flushing. She felt sorry for him; his day had not been an easy one so far.

“Who is this man?” She thought, intrigued by the stranger. She kept her empty cup in front of her mouth, unable to dismantle a persistent smile.

Then the meeting was off and Mrs. Cameron invited Susanna and her mother to a tour of the property.

“No coming too near the lake, right, dear?” Mrs. Cameron teased her with a wink, as Leo disappeared through the door.

She gave a rather yellowish smile, but played along. “No, not with that dead witch haunting it.” She joked. Her mother looked at her inquisitively, but she had already gone outside, missing the moment when Mrs. Cameron quickly crossed her chest.

* * *


The two older women walked almost the same path Susanna had walked earlier, chatting as Mrs. Cameron showed her mother the side garden and the backyard. Susanna left them a while later, talking in the greenhouse. After their little house had been bombed, causing the children to be sent to the manor that first time, they had never had a garden again, in the gloomy apartment they shared above a grocery store in the city. So, her mother seemed delighted at the sight of Mrs. Cameron’s talent with plants.

She moved eastwards, keeping a safe distance from the bank of the lake, and crossed the narrow wooden bridge to the other side. To the west, she could see where the round hills grew up into sky-scraping moors. To the east, the meadow unfolded in grayish-green pastures where she saw the pen and the stable house. As she wandered across the still dumpy ground, it crossed her mind that the building could have sheltered about half a dozen families, at least, in the city…

She looked around and, seeing no sign of that man, walked straight ahead inside the stable.

She waited until her eyes got used to the dark and followed the thumping of restless hoofs. Apparently, Faol Mhòar had smelled her already. A big shining black head came out of the stall, the steam of his breath catching the few beams of light that passed through the cracks between the wood planks of the wall. She came slowly near.

“There, lad.” She raised her hands slowly and reached for his nostrils, so he could smell her. “There, Big Wolf. You’re really a beauty…”, she said softly, as she reached for the top of his head and caressed his mane. He neighed a little but accepted her caress. “Good lad. What a handsome gentleman you are.” She smiled and reached for a couple of sugar cubes in her pocket, carefully taking them near his mouth. He picked them gently between his teeth and chewed with pleasure. “You like it, don’t you?”

She was so enraptured with the magnificent being that she didn’t notice that Leo had been observing the scene from a distance. This time he didn’t say anything, just waited until she said goodbye and turned his way.

She was just a little surprised. “Here’s the cat again…”, she thought.

“Want a ride?”, he invited softly.

“Oh, no. I can’t ride. I certainly can swim…” she teased him with a smile. “And shoot with bow and arrow, but I can’t ride. Not in this life, anyways…”, she said, rather to her own surprise, as flashes of long hidden memories crossed her mind.

He took the tease with a smile, though he did not quite understand what she had meant by the last phrase.

“I can teach ye, if ye ‘ave the time”.

“I guess I’ll have plenty of time. Thanks…”

“Ye ‘re welcome.” He answered awkwardly and hesitated. “ Er… about earlier…”

“Please”, she flipped a hand to dismiss the matter. “I mean, I don’t think your bitchy new boss is going to give you the sack for that, right?” She paused. “Although she’s known to be a dirty-mouthed lady”, she added, frowning to conceal a smile.

His brows rose slightly with surprise and he surrendered to the tease, both hands waving and dropping to his side.

They laughed, finally at ease with each other.

At the sound of voices approaching the stable, Leo nodded a farewell and took to his heels, jumping over the fence of the pen.

“Who is this man?” She asked herself once more.

* * *


Susanna and her mother had been living in the manor for almost a month. The water level in the lake had been rising imperceptibly until it reached the border of the bank, providing solid evidence of the arrival of spring. So did the blossoming flowers all over the lawn of the property, an explosion of purples from the meadow cranesbills and the heather covering the walls of the old mill, blues from the daffodils, yellows from primroses, reds and pinks from the wild pansies. Mrs. Cameron’s efforts in the greenhouse were rewarded as dog-roses, thistles, bogweed and wild orchids blossomed where they did not belong.

Things were slowly falling into place, as they got more and more involved in the life of the household. Both of them were glad to wake up early every morning to engage in the daily activities.

As far as Susanna was concerned, even cleaning toilets in the manor felt like a feat, because it was their own toilets they were cleaning. She felt full of energy, and soon she was milking the cow and helping Leo with the sheep. Her cooking improved. She and her mother would spent long afternoons in the fruit garden, the vegetable garden and the greenhouse with Mrs. Cameron, who was happy to share with them her knowledge of the care and properties of plants. The three women would spent surprisingly pleasant evenings together in the family room, listening to the old radio or old records in the antique gramophone, and every time Susanna either learned new skills or remembered old ones: knitting, embroidering, weaving, sewing.

At night, Susanna would sometimes stay up late and hide in the library, which used to be the Professor’s office. There, surrounded by bookshelves that covered all four walls up to the ceiling and exquisite antiques from exotic foreign lands, she would catch upon her reading, write her journal, or just sink in one of the leather upholstered armchairs, staring at the crackling fire in the small fireplace or looking through the two high windows on the other side of the room, from where she could see the east side of the property and, beyond, the light in the stable house where Leo lived.

And she would think. About the past and all the events that had taken her to that point in her life. She allowed herself to cry sometimes, when the memories of sorrow became too strong. Then, when those began to hurt too much, they were gone, making room for older memories she had supposed long lost. She wasn’t sure she could call them so, because they were so unbelievable that could only exist in dreams and fairy tales. Yet they came to her, night after night, when she was alone in the dark.

However, soon she realized that those memories were also the matter of which her morning dreams were made of. But not only of memories were they made of, she noticed after some time. By now she could recite the words of the dream tune by heart and she was quite sure it conveyed some kind of message. A calling.

Was there room in her life for that kind of thought? After all she had done, all the distress she had brought upon her family, all the bad choices she had made? After she had lost the innocence, was there room for faith in something magical? Had she not more than once ridiculed her brothers and her sister every time they tried to bring her into their “game of make believe”, as she called it? How cruel she had been, bringing her bitterness instead into their pitiful attempts, as she believed, to allow some beauty and happiness in their miserable lives.

Often those thoughts would hang above her head as she wandered along the hallways from the library to her bedroom, on the exact opposite side of the house.

In time, a not quite unfamiliar calm descended warmly upon her worried mind and she finally came to terms with her questions. Life was good again and she decided to enjoy the feeling, for a change. She had the feeling that something was coming her way. She just opened herself to whatever came, hoping she would be ready and brave enough to embrace it.

* * *

She was in that mood on night in the library, going once more through the accounting books of the property, carefully tended by Mr. Cameron, something practical she had decided to do, both to learn and to ease her mind from philosophical mazes, when Leo suddenly stepped in. He was really surprised to find her there and for a while he just stared, standing in the middle of the room.

“Er… Sorry, lass, I didna know… Mhm… Mrs. Cameron let me in. I came to return a book an’ get another… The Professor used to let me borrow…”

“Come in”, she said and felt stupid the next second, as he was already in. “Help yourself…”

He nodded swiftly and walked towards one of the high shelves on each side of the fireplace. He was having a hard time trying to read the bindings in the dim light of the lamp on the old oak desk where Susanna was sitting, at the far side of the room.

“You’d better turn the light on”, she said softly.

“All, right.” He crossed the space to the switch with three large steps.
“There.” He said and walked back to the shelf.

She watched as he concentrated on the titles, occasionally picking a book from the shelf, opening it, leafing through the pages, placing it back, and picking another. He finally seemed satisfied with the one he had in his hand. He was about to leave with a nod when she stopped him.

“What did you pick?”

“Mhmm… Russian poetry.”

“Interesting choice…” She said, wondering that, though her formal education had been interrupted a couple of years ago, she had never abandoned the books, ferociously devouring everything she could lay hands on. She was just surprised that he would be interested in poetry.

“Mhmm… I ‘ave this… reading plan, ye know… The Greeks and the Romans… England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales... ” As he talked he would indicate the respective bookshelves, his hand moving anticlockwise from the wall at her back around the room. “The French… The Germans and Russians…”, on one side of the fireplace. “Spanish, Italian, Portuguese…”, on the other side of the fireplace. He turned his back to her showing the shelves on both sides of the door. “Americas, India, Africa, Egypt…” He turned around and indicated the shelves by the twin windows. China, Japan, Middle East, Far East… “, until he was facing her again.

“Brilliant… And you plan to live up to your eighties? She smiled friendly.

“O’, nay!” He laughed. “I mean, I ‘ave already gone through that wall”, he indicated the one at her back. “And ‘alf this one.” He pointed at the fireplace wall. “I just ‘ave a ‘alf and two to go.” He smiled, gazing around the room, considering the enormous task, but confident he could succeed at it.

She was really impressed. She could tell that he was proud, but he had this humble quality about his achievements that was somewhat touching.

“And how long did it take you to finish the one and half wall?”

“Mhmm… “ He counted, looking up in search of his memory. ”About two years, give an’ take, since I came to work here.”

“But that’s amazing!”

“Nay… I ‘ad already read some o’ ‘em before I came here, so it dinna count…” Still no sign of arrogance, as he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

“Well, maybe you could make a suggestion of a book.”

“To ye?” He seemed puzzled for a second.

“Aye!” She teased him. She waited as he hesitated for a while and then wandered through the shelves, a little concerned about the task.

“Mhmm… Maybe ‘is one… If ye ‘ave no’ read it… “ He handed her the thick volume.

“Oh! This is one of my favorite books! She exclaimed, holding the book in her hands tenderly.

“Nay… I’ll get another…”, he reached for the book, but she held it closer to her heart.

“No, it’s fine! I would love to read it again!” she smiled.

“All right, ‘en. ‘Tis one o’ my favorite too.” he smiled shyly and turned to leave. “Good night, ‘en.”

“Good night, Leo.” She watched him go, switching off the light before he left.

She sat there in the soft glow of the lamp, smiling, caressing the cover of the book.

It was Wuthering Heights.


*end of Chapter Two*

edited version...

I only read over this, have to spend more time on this... want to, not have to.... but... your images are amazing, as always, and the atmosphere you're creating is really unique. I will comment more after giving it a second read.

hey dea, I love the way this has been pieced together. Your imagery is beautiful and the story is woven together almost effortlessly. the tone is comfortable and fluid which is what grabbed me and made me read on. I will also have to go back and have another read but I like it alot

tks, guys. i really need your feedback. english is my second language, so it's been some effort to convey the message that has been flooding inside me. most of the time i just think in english and it comes easier. but sometimes there are just not enough words... and synonyms...

so, again, another edition... i had forgotten the cow. and the poultry. they had to have eggs, right?

and... the lullaby changed too...

and Chapter Two is finally over.