The Journeys of John and Julia: Genesis (Book 1) ~Complete~

Line 24

Line 24

In her old room back at Fragrant Meadows, Elizabeth Livingston-Banes woke up with a feeling of dread very similar to the feeling of dread her daughter had experienced upon waking. The feeling was worse for the fact that the countless unmet desires every new day had brought in the course of her life piled up into an ever-bigger mountain of disappointment, settling on top of her chest, making it hard to breathe. If she could just beam herself to Japan or at least to her own bedroom in the city! Or, for that matter almost anywhere would do, as long as it was far enough away from her mother's presence and Fragrant Meadows' memories. Waking up was never pleasant for her, but with a busy schedule to keep, it was a lot easier to deny the tragedy of such a condition. As far as she could think back, the pressure of having to radiate confidence when all she felt was helplessness greeted her every morning, like a shadow standing at the side of her bed. This shadow followed her wherever she went throughout the day until, passing out from exhaustion, at night she fell asleep. In doing so, the shadow retreated for brief moments only to meet her again in her dreams.

When Julia was little, waking up was especially terrifying. Faced with the responsibility to care for another human being, her thumbs were no more than grooves of raw flesh for months at a time. And whenever Peter tried to reassure her, they inevitably ended up fighting. Peter. One thing less to worry about. Despite of what her mother thought, Elizabeth felt great relief to be unmarried. She never wanted to get married anyway, nor did she ever want to be a mother. All she wanted for herself was to make a difference in the world. But this kind of passion was lost on a mother whose whole sense of self climaxed in putting on a clean apron, baking cookies and keeping house. Elizabeth did not even think there was anything wrong with it, it just was not for her and as much as she had tried to please Amelia, in the long run her efforts had done nothing but bring harm to all. Now, many years and a fortune spent on therapists later, she finally got her chance and she'd be damned if she wasted one more minute to fulfill her dream. She'd go to Japan rain, shine or tidal wave, as her father used to say. Yet in the paradoxical way our emotions have a separate life from our rationale, the profound sense of being a failure for losing her husband to another woman remained very much alive.

A deep sigh shooed the shadow of the new day out of sight, but the thought of having to deal with her mother after last night's fight brought it right back - she could feel it lurking from the corner by the door, making her want to pull the covers over her head and go back to sleep. "Come on Elizabeth, you can do it," her mantra of countless mornings, "it's only a few more days and then you're off to Japan to do what you are meant to do. So get up and smile."

Never realizing that she followed Amelia's instructions on how to behave one hundred percent, she got up and smiled.

Amelia Livingston stood at the stove in her huge kitchen, where five of the eight burners sported happily dancing flames in various sizes, right now cooking anything from pancakes to sausages into a state of perfect tastiness. She was humming to a cheerful tune coming from the radio that was built into the communications-console on the wall by the back door. The device had long been disconnected, a remnant of the time when Sam was a little boy, a time when hosts of servants were in charge of Fragrant Meadows Estates.

Amelia was happy these days were gone. She thought it terrible to delegate the care for her loved ones to maids and cooks the way her mother had done; her task of mistress of the house reduced to organizing a fleet of workers and events. In a flash of clarity she realized that this was not at all so very different from what her daughter did: while she managed hordes of employees her own daughter was cared for by strangers. All that had changed were the names of those strangers - wet nurses and governesses of days past had become babysitters, day-care-centers and therapists while food manufacturers did the cooking. The difference is Elizabeth doesn't have to do this, she told herself eliminating this sympathetic way of looking at her daughter's situation. But mother had to?

Elizabeth's entrance stopped her reveries, and the timid objection of the abandoned little girl suffering in the dark cavern of Amelia's past was easily ignored.

"Good morning mom. Can I get some coffee?"

"Good morning dear. Breakfast will be ready in about twenty minutes. You can help and set the table," Amelia turned the radio off, not interested in the announcement that a brand new state of the art communications satellite was going to be launched in a few hours.

"Can't do anything without my coffee. Don't you know that after all these years?" Oh no, Elizabeth thought, do I have to start the day with another accusation?

Giving up on the lost cause her daughter had become, Amelia sighed. "Do you have to start the day with accusing me of yet one more thing I do wrong? I so hoped a good night's sleep would help to improve your mood, but I guess that was wishing for the impossible."

"Funny you should say that. I think I did sleep quite deeply. Delicious dreamless sleep! There is something to be said for the darkness this place is surrounded by," and attempting to correct her former misbehavior she added, "where do you want me to set the table? Breakfast room? Dining room? Or do you think it's warm enough to eat outside? I'm sure Julia will love that."

Though Amelia hated to interrupt her cooking she equally hated another debate. Turning down the gas on a few of the burners, she started for the breakfast room, Elizabeth in tow. The breakfast room was one of Elizabeth's favorite rooms in the whole house. Built into what looked like an oversized bay window, three walls were made entirely of glass and gave the room the feeling of a winter garden. The house was technically more than one hundred years old but it had been gutted, remodeled and modernized many times over. His 'little Italian villa' is what her father lovingly called the mansion in a manner of great understatement, and as long as she could remember, one part or the other was always under construction.

They opened the French doors and the smell of irresistible freshness entered the room on a wave of clean country air. With that smell came the memory of a story her father had told her as a child, when waking up was the most exciting thing, a time when the shadow of the new day was nothing but a distant stranger, never imagined to arrive at the doors of her mind.

The story was about how the many varieties of plants gave some of their aromas to the dew in gratitude for nourishing them with water while adorning them with the brilliance of countless diamonds. Then, when the fire of the diamonds, stoked by the warm rays of the morning sun, coaxed drops of dew to surrender their individual forms and dissolve into union with surrounding space, the fragrance was released and carried by the wind to the last corners of the earth. She smiled at the memory. No wonder she was drawn to aromatherapy.

"Oh, this is so beautiful," face soft, voice gentle, the beauty of the scene reflected in her being.

"Yes, papa always enjoyed this view a lot."

Hearing the old-fashioned endearment made Elizabeth choke up. She used to call her father papa until this moment of adolescent spite when she started to say dad. Instinctively she had always known this single statement, intended to show how different she was from life at Fragrant Meadows, had altered their relationship, taking away some of its special, magical quality.

"Yeah. Papa," she whispered. "I miss you very much. I go to Japan and make you proud." Avoiding her mother's eyes in an effort to keep the moment between her and her father private she said in a firm voice, "This is great. I'll set the table here."

Amelia, concealing tears of her own, turned to go back into the kitchen and the soothing reassuring duty of caring for her loved ones in the only way she knew.