"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters."
Genesis 1:2
Katarina Viola Kingsley.
Duchess wrote in perfect calligraphy at the top of her lined paper. She paused, twitched her mouth to the side, then exhaled. She ripped the paper from the pad and neatly folded it as small as it could go.
Katarina "Duchess" Viola Kingsley. She wrote instead.
She looked at it with her head cocked to the side. She had always wavered back and forth in her mind whether she liked her nickname or preferred her real name. Not that it mattered. When Duchess was born her mother named her after her two favorite female Shakespeare characters. Katherina from The Taming of the Shrew and Viola from The Twelfth Night. But by the time she turned 2, her father took notice of the way she held herself. She didn't cry, nor shouted, or even laughed. She stared with a permanent look of silent judgement on her face. She naturally held her head up, with her nose actually pointed towards the sky. And so her father, who believed that you were what people called you, decided that she looked more like a Duchess than a Katarina. So he made sure that everyone called her that, stopping short of legally changing her name only because he knew that his wife still liked it.
She was 19, nearly 20 now and she still held the judgmental glare in her eyes. From looking at her, you could say she looked to be Aphrodite's daughter, for she had pools of dark sapphire eyes that glinted under the moonlight like the steel of a fabled prince's sword, and curly brown hair that fell in swirls around her shoulders and down her back and burned golden under the sun. But speaking to her, or knowing her at all, it became obvious that she was Athena's daughter. She was highly intelligent, cunning and strategic. And everyone had mistaken her pensive stare as judgement.
She had no friends in her childhood nor siblings to keep her company. Her parents were her only social interaction, aside from the boring parties and dinners she was forced to attend. And without the company of friends, she sought companionship through the characters in novels. Of which she considered Jo March and Elizabeth Bennet to be her best friends of all.
Though she had no reference, she liked it compared to the alternative. It wasn't that she felt better or less than the other children in their social circle. She just didn't find them interesting, not nearly as interesting as the heroes in the well worn pages of her books. And she enjoyed her parents company. They were particular people, but still bemusing.
Her father, Jack Kingsley, began as an oil miner in Louisiana. And managed to work his way all the way to the top of the company by the time he was only 28. Eventually, he moved north and settled in Boston, Massachusetts. Where he continued and expanded the company. Even taking stock in other good such as coal, steel, and textiles. He wasn't necessarily a smart man. But he was charming and to those who didn't find him charming, he was a bully. He was ambition, opportunistic, and overall just lucky. Duchess's mother, Frances, was a highly educated British woman, who came from old money. And was seen as quite rebellious by her family when she left England and married the self-made American.
Jack and Frances Kingsley were not only madly in love but best of friends. Jack always hated dumb girls, despite not being very bright himself. And Frances thought smart men had a tendency of being conceited. As far as they were concerned, their daughter Duchess inherited the best qualities of both of them. And they made sure of it. They never had other children, for no other reason than an insatiable desire to give Duchess everything she could ever want. Jack's business partners and friends often tried to convince Jack he should sire a son, to take over the business. And they would often gestured to their own sons. Jack would then always lean over to his daughter and whisper in her ear,
"none of which are smarter than my Duchess". And if he was tipsy, he would plant a gentle kiss on her temple. It was known as one of the few moments where a smile could be seen sneakily etched on the otherwise stoic beauty's face.
Duchess leaned back in her chair, and lazily strummed on the harp in the corner. Sour notes pickled the otherwise quiet room. Her mother's heavy footsteps tramped from downstairs. Duchess flexed her jaw. Her mother was not very happy about the decision to return to their summer spot. She considered themselves lucky they weren't here during pearl harbor, and Frances thought it was not only irresponsible but asinine to go to the pacific when there was a war on. They were only in New Guinea, but Frances did not feel comfortable with how close they were to Japan.
But Jack was bull headed and a man who loved traditions. And they had vacationed in the pacific every summer for the past ten years- Jack was also superstitious of even numbers so he wanted to make it an odd eleven. A compromise was made. Frances agreed to the vacation if they would never leave the safety of their home. Jack agreed, grateful for the alone time with his favorite girls.
The first two months were not bad, but now they were in August and Frances wanted nothing more than to be home in Massachusetts. Tensions were getting higher and higher and Frances spent most of the days and nights dreading another surprise attack.
That night at dinner, Duchess sat in between the heads of the table where her parents bookended her. Frances was miserably pushing her food around her plate, only willing to unpurse her lips to take a sip of wine. Jack exchanged a look with his daughter. Duchess raised her eyebrows at him. Jack threw his napkin on the table and pushed his chair out.
"that's it. We're going home." He announced as if it had been his idea all along.
Frances looked up at him from the other side of the table. "Really, Jacky?" She cooed at him.
"Yes, Ma'am . No sense in us moping around here anymore. We came here to keep a tradition and we've kept it. The summer's nearly over anyways. Pack your bags. We'll leave tomorrow after lunch."
"Oh, Darling!" Frances rushed to Jack's side, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her cheek to his.
A smile tugged at the corner of Duchess' mouth. Her father winked at her. Happy wife, happy life, was a motto that Jack tried to practice. In these moments, Duchess was always proud of her father. He could be demanding and a bully but never towards her or her mother. He valued their opinions and advice and had no qualms with the idea that they were most likely the smartest people he knew.
Once dinner and dessert were cleared, Duchess eagerly went off to pack her things. She wanted to leave New Guinea the minute they came. Her mother was right, as usual, things were not the same after pearl harbor. And, God, how could they be? Massachusetts was just as hot and sticky in the summer as here, anyways. And Duchess had already read every book she brought from home.
After washing up, and changing into her silk nightgown, she excitedly went to bed earlier than usual. Usually she would stay up reading, embroidering, practicing the harp, or painting. Her parents room was on the other side of the rather large vacation home so they never minded her staying up late. But that night, Duchess tucked herself underneath the large comforter and quilted blanket and stared at the hand painted stars on the ceiling, before dreaming of Massachusetts by the bay.
Not but a few hours later, Duchess was woken up in the middle of the night to her father desperately shaking her awake. Duchess tried to adjust her eyes in the darkness to see his face. He ripped the covers off the bed and pulled her up. He was speaking frantically and was out of breath.
"Duchess get up! Hurry! We have to leave right now!" He exclaimed in exasperated whispers and grabbed her by the wrist.
Was the house on fire?
"Dad?" Duchess shouted in a whisper. He shushed her.
"There's no time, Duchess! Quick put on your shoes!" He exclaimed as Duchess scrambled to find her house slippers.
Hopping on one foot to put on her shoes, in the hall Duchess could now see her father's face in the moonlight. And it terrified her. She had never seen him so scared in her entire life. Worry lines dug deep into his forehead and sweat was leaking from his sideburns. His hands were clammy and he kept breathing heavy. Suddenly a loud noise shook the house and cement dust sprinkled from the ceiling. Gunshots were firing down the block. Although she didn't fully understand and was still half asleep, Duchess began to catch up to her father's pace.
Jack pulled her out the back entrance of the house that lead out to the dock. Their boat was waiting, a sailboat with the name "The Duchess" painted on the bow. Jack helped Duchess get on. The two shared a brief moment of sobering eye contact, when Jack didn't get on the boat as well.
"I'm going back for your mother!" He shouted over the sound of artillery. Duchess could feel tears welling up in her eyes and her body began to shake. The night air was cold and she hadn't put her jacket on.
"Dad-" She began. She didn't want to leave her mother behind but she didn't want to be left alone. Jack took off his house coat and placed it on Duchess' shoulders than he removed his watch and shoved it into the palm of her hand.
"Listen to me, if your mother and I are not back in 5 minutes... You leave without us, do you understand me?" Jack was yelling louder now and squeezing Duchess by the arm.
Leave without them?
"What! No, No I won't. I can't-" Duchess' head was spinning. Everything was so awful. What was going on?
Jack grabbed her other arm and pressed his forehead to hers. The pressure made Duchess calm down the smallest bit. "Katarina, I need you to be the bravest you've ever been in your entire life. You are the smartest person I know, and somewhere inside of you I know you have the courage of a thousand good men. You just have to find it. I know you can, my love." Jack let go and kissed his daughter on the cheek. "Okay? You promise me you'll be brave?" Jack was getting even more eager to go back for Frances.
Duchess nodded vigorously as tears poured from her eyes. Her father had never called her by her real name. Never. Not once.
"Five minutes." He repeated and disappeared in the mist that surrounded the house.
In those five minutes, Duchess focused on the hands of her father's watch. She was shaking and shivering and crying. With each loud bang of gunfire she jumped and cried harder. What was taking them so long?
Jack had a habit of Falling asleep in the study. The study was far closer to Duchess' room than his and Frances's. He must've woken to the sound of the distant gunfire and thought to get Duchess out safe first. Or maybe he wasn't thinking at all. Maybe his fatherly instincts forced him to save his child first before he went back for his wife. If he had the choice to do it all over again, he would've got them both and then gone to the boat and then maybe they would have all been safe.
Finally, the noises subsided and the fog was beginning to dissipate. Duchess allowed the thought that perhaps the British or Americans had open fire back and won the battle, enter the realm of possibilities. But as the long hand on her father's watch ticked over to 12 for the 5th time, Duchess looked up to find no one coming through the fog. She felt like fainting or vomiting or simply dying. She felt kike a boulder had just rolled her over and flattened her to the ground.
But she had promised her father, and Duchess never broke promises.
With every resolve in her she found the strength to tie the boat off of the dock and run to the steering wheel. Her father had always let her drive the boat, ever since she was old enough to stretch her arms across the diameter of the wheel. But it was different when he was standing right there, with his strong protective arm cast around her, and her mother laying relaxed on the stern.
Now it was dark and she was alone and had no idea where she was going. But somehow, she pressed on.
...
Australia. That was the closest place. If Duchess could make it from New Guinea to Australia, she would be safe. She could tell someone about her parents and they would help her find them. Duchess reached, with trembling hands, for the map. Opening it up, she tried reading the coordinates. It was useless. The moon moved underneath dark clouds and the night was now pitch-black. There was no telling where she was going. But still she pressed on.
The clouds began to rumble and Duchess couldn't be sure if it was thunder or enemy airplanes. She closed her father's house coat tightly around her chest. It still smelled of his cuban cigars and aged Brandy.
Giant, golf ball sized, drops of rain began to pour from the sky and splash on the ship's deck. Soon the boat began to sway and rock uncontrollably. The waters grew rougher, and Duchess wasn't equipped to handle them as well as she needed to be. The panic rushing through her body sent her brain into a frenzy. As more and more water splashed onto the deck, the feeling of wanting to give up and die was rising within her chest.
The sail flapped and howled loudly in the storm. Duchess whipped her head around to look just as the rope that held the sail up snapped with a whistling sound and hissed its way off of the mast. Duchess yelped in surprise and quickly went to fix it. In her state of panic and confusion, she didn't see the boom swinging its way towards her. The end of the hard wooden pole clipped Duchess right in the back of the head, knocking her unconscious and sending her face first, down the hatch of the boat.