To Decadent Poets - Chapter 5

To Decadent Poets - Chapter 5

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

Once upon a time, there was a girl no one called for. No one uttered her name. (She didn’t have one) - Isabela Penov, The Impossible Lullaby.

Annie Wood was filled with expectation to meet the boys who’d be her company in Taigh Hill during the years of war but none of them seemed comfortable enough to start a conversation. Despite the terrible situation, she couldn’t say she hadn’t been expecting anxiously for the arrival of her uncle’s godson and the children of his two closest employees.

She was tired of walking around Taigh Hill alone like a too-colorful ghost haunting the sunny mansion, considering her sister, Ellen, seemed to be too busy with the clothes and jewelry she could lend from her mother to go to the city balls — and with her fiancée, of course.

Even Annie’s mother was more worried about the balls than her own youngest daughter, so Annie spent her days passing from one adult to the other. Sometimes she’d stay with her uncle Elijah in his office or the library but it wasn’t healthy for a teenager to be always inside the house, so it wasn’t rare that he ended up making her get out. Other times her father could spare some time with her but those were rare and, therefore, very loved also.

She didn’t think there was a human being she liked more than her dad.

Jamie Turner, however, was a close second. When he wasn’t working as a butler in Taigh Hill, he usually distracted Annie with his magic tricks and taught her to play poker (under the condition that she’d never bet, of course). But his obligations to the huge mansion usually didn’t allow Jamie to elongate those moments.

So, anyone could imagine how much Annie was excited to have some company her age to shake things up a bit. However, the boys didn’t seem at all comfortable and two of them didn’t even seem to be trustworthy.

She liked Noah and his shy, and calm manners. It didn’t take long for him to grab a book from the suitcase he’d brought, burying his face in it through the rest of the journey. Judging by the cover, Annie could see it was a book of poems and she got curious, just like the other two boys, Oliver and Christian.

She noticed when Evans poked Krause, pointing at Noah reading, and they exchanged a look like they were laughing at the fact the boy was reading. Annie frowned almost immediately, guessing the two were mocking the poor third boy.

Annie hated that kind of boy, who mocked everyone else because they thought so highly of themselves. But at least she already knew who she was gonna befriend: uncle’s godson wasn’t as interesting as she thought he’d be.

“Miss Wood, please!” Marjorie, her housekeeper, took Annie from her stream of thoughts and she soon realized why: while she was thinking, her body had been slowly sliding until she was seated at the edge of her seat, not even a bit worried about her posture.

Annie didn’t care that much but Marjorie, although loving, had always been very rigid regarding “christian” morals. Which basically meant Annie simply needed to, in the older woman’s mind, be a virginal lady at fourteen (almost fifteen) years old.

Which was obviously just a delusion. Teenagers were stupid and they’d always be stupid. This was the premise of being one, after all: making a lot of idiotic mistakes and regret bitterly, having their hearts broken by someone who wasn’t even worth it, fighting with their families, slamming their bedroom doors when they were made… things like that.

It was simply Annie’s purpose to be anything by a well-behaved lady.

But, of course, to her mother, whatever Annie firmly believed (or didn’t believe in) at her young age wasn’t important. So, she was tossed aside to etiquette lessons and to catechism with Marjorie during at least one-third of her week. Which was very, very boring.

Lest you misunderstood her, she knew it was important to learn about Jesus’ story and how he cared for the poor and vulnerable but there was just something in the way Marjorie spoke about it Annie couldn’t bear. She meant, how did the same man who preached about loving thy neighbor could dictate she couldn’t wear pants and more, punish her for it?

Uncle Elijah used to say Marjory had too much religion and too little faith but Annie wasn’t sure about that either. She’d seen the housekeeper getting emotional while she prayed, she’d seen her feeling God. Annie thought Marjorie let religion dictate her faith and that was dangerous: the Woman trusted more on others than herself — that was the problem.

At least, that was what Annie thought.

“We’re not far now,” said Marjorie suddenly, looking at the lawn that surrounded Taigh Hill. Annie followed the woman’s eyes when she grimaced and smiled as she saw Jack with his giant case on his back entering the property.

She couldn’t wait to get to know him but she needed to distract Marjorie first, since she thought the wanderer wasn’t a good influence on her. He mom as well didn’t think it was right of Annie to talk to someone from a lower social class. Elliott, on the other hand, was always making conversation with the man and Annie simply adored Jack.

Fortunately, Marjorie was too busy with the boy’s arrival and guiding them through the mansion, so Annie could manage to escape an run around. The first thing she did was run to Jack, who was ringing a little bell.

“Jack, I’m so glad you came!” She greeted him joyfully, watching as the man with a gray, thick beard, smiled at her, good-humored as always. “Do you have another quatrain for me?”

“Oh, Wood girl,” he greeted her with the same enthusiasm as she did even though he was almost thirty years older, his discreetly toothless smile illuminating his face through the thick beard. “Of course, I always have a quatrain for such a smart girl like yourself!”

“Declaim it, please!” She asked as he took off the bag from his shoulders, putting it on the ground. He opened the bag to reveal at least a dozen leather books, all of them about different matters, and the letters of their titles shining in gold on the covers.

She got to her knees to look at the volumes, listening intently as the vendor’s voice got deeper as he declaimed the small, funny little quatrain:

I’ll put your portrait On the pig stall So when me pigs need aid I’ll remember your love conquers all.

Annie laughed at the little rhyme, which Jack declaimed with an improvised and funny performance, throwing his arms around as he acted what he was declaiming.

“This was the worst love quatrain I’ve ever heard, Jack,” she said as her laughter died, and the old man, who was already laughing with her, laughed even more. He had a loud laughter, as happy as an adult could have.

Annie smiled at the books in the bag but soon the old salesman squeezed the tip of her nose between two curved fingers, daring her:

“I bet you can’t come up with one better right here and now, Wood girl.”

Annie smiled and looked around, watching the gardens of Taigh Hill’s property attentively, the quatrain rolling off of her tongue with scary ease:

Don’t give me yellow flowers For desperation is yet to come Give me little pink flowers So, I may yet return home

Jack, who always wore a black hat, took it off from his balding head and saluted her quatrain, clapping like a proud grandfather. It warmed Annie’s heart immediately and she didn’t hesitate to get up and thank her small, loved audience.

It was at that moment she saw Noah walking through the lawn. Annie didn’t know exactly what Marjorie had said or where she went with the boys but it seemed it didn’t take much time after all. Noah had a book in his hand and he was walking towards one of the huge willow trees next to the maze’s bush wall.

According to the map Annie had seen at the library, the maze on Taigh Hill’s property was gigantic and it even had a small stone fort in the Middle — a reminder of its feudal times, forgotten now — but she never managed to find it for real. On the other side of the mansion, there was a long set of lawn and a lake, in which Annie loved to swim when it was warm enough, which didn’t occur often.

Impulsively, Annie called, raising her voice:

“Kurtz!” The boy looked around, seemingly confused for being called by anyone.

When his eyes found Jack, who watched curiously, and Annie, the girl gestured for him to get closer.

Hesitant, Noah went to them, his skinny body seemed to shake in the breeze, which had gotten the tip of Annie’s nose cold and the joints of her fingers hurt. He was really pale, enough for the wind to make his cheeks blush, and he was tall. Annie reached just his chest, as she realized when he got close enough.

Noah also had bright brown eyes like those Annie had seen when she did charity work with underprivileged kids. It didn’t make sense but that wasn’t a matter to ask about in a casual conversation. He didn’t say anything as he got close, maybe too shy to strike up a conversation, so Annie turned back to Jack, smiling.

“Jack, this is Noah Kurtz, he’ll live with us for a while.”

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Noah,” said Jack, taking off his hat once more as he smiled in a friendly manner. “Why don’t you pick a book from my magic bag, huh?”

“I’m grateful, but...” the boy began to say, biting his lower lip hard. Je kept one hand in the pocket of his old tweed jacket while holding the same book from the carriage with the other. In general, Noah seemed hesitant, as if afraid of being himself. Annie could almost see his stiffened back through the fabric of his jacket. “I don’t have money to buy any of them.”

“Well, good thing my books are not for sale, then, Master Noah,” said the salesman as he’d once said to Annie the first time they’d met in the nearest city. “I’m a dream-sower, an enemy of the ignorance that plagues our lands. All of my books are a gift, not a product.”

“He lives off of selling antiques,” Annie kindly explained to Noah, smiling when she noticed the boy’s brown eyes shining in excitement. “You can choose one.”

“Just one per month,” Jack warned as he often did, and then he turned to Annie. “Oh, Wood girl here is quick as a little mouse at her reading. No doubt she already finished the one she got last week.”

Innocently, Annie smiled, knowing Jack’s accusation was right on track. The book (which had been great, by the way) was already tucked away in the small library she was slowly building for herself.

As she saw the timid smile on Noah’s face, however, all Annie could think of was that she might actually gain a friend from all of this.

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To Decadent Poets - Chapter 6

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

The man, the beast and the insect, at its shadow Live, away from hunger and fatigue: In its branches take shelter the ditties And the loves of the mockingbird. — Olavo Bilac, Old Trees

Although he was used to a comfortable life, Chris wasn’t prepared for Taigh Hill: that wasn’t any mansion, it was a manor. Just the entry hall could encapsulate his entire house with space to spare, and he didn’t even talk about the decoration.

If anyone told Chris a king had lived there, he wouldn’t hesitate to believe it. The stairs to the second and third floors, which began across the hall, formed the shape of a tree, splitting into branches to reach each side of the two floors up. In the middle of the first store, a huge tapestry that had a story sewn into it was laid on the wall above a fireplace.

The housekeeper, however, didn’t allow any of them to take in their initial surprise, walking towards the stairs as if the place was nothing at all. For her, who took care of the place every day and all day long, it might not be, but fuck, Chris thought while the three of them jogged side by side to keep up with the rigid woman while still trying to take in everything, wishing they had a thousand eyes just so they could see it all.

There was a huge chandelier hanging from the high ceiling of the entry hall and the sounds spread, sounded, echoed throughout the place, especially because Miss Turner couldn’t stop talking, the echoes heightening the annoying tone of her voice. Chris was an inch away from telling her off when the echoes faded away and they entered a closeted corridor.

“You mustn’t make much noise because Mister Elliott’s wife has regular migraines and, if you do make noise, you’ll go to bed without dinner,” said Miss Turner severely without turning, as if she was sure she’d be heard, it didn’t matter by who. Chris considered some old people really sounded like that, shrugging to his thoughts while exchanging an exasperated look with Oliver. The boy smirked a bit, sarcastic, just like Chris had seen a couple of times during their trip together. “Oh, and I was warned that Mister Elliott’s eldest, Miss Ellen, doesn’t want you going inside her saloon. I ask that you respect it.”

“She has a saloon?” Chris asked the only one of the three there who seemed akin to breaking a couple of rules. Of course, he was the only one who could question them: he was somewhat akin to family, after all.

“Yes, she has, Mister Evans,” said the housekeeper, turning a bit, her voice polite. “It was a request from Miss Ellen herself to her father and uncle she matured.”

Although Chris thought the idea of giving a saloon to a nineteen-year-old girl was ridiculous, he didn’t say anything, shrinking back to the horizontal line, which was formed by him, Oliver, and Noah Kurtz, not realizing his shoulder brushing the second’s for a moment.

When Noah seemed to shrink, however, Chris looked at him. The boy, however, didn’t look back, making it clear as day he had no interest in speaking with Chris. The boy, for once, just shrugged internally and stopped so as not to bum pinto Miss Turner. She, on the other hand, had stopped in front of the fourth door to the right in the corridor.

“Your room is here. Mister Elijah wanted to put you in separate rooms but Mister Elliott thought it’d be best if you were sleeping in the same room so you could socialize and not being stuck in your own worlds.”

The woman obviously respected the two men she was speaking about and that made Chris feel a little less apprehensive about the godfather he never met and his family. If their employees liked them, that was enough to say they were likable enough. The housekeeper let them pass by her and scan the room while she kept speaking:

“Dinner will be ready at six pm and I’ll come get you when the time has come for you to go downstair today. For now, I’d suggest you use your time correctly and unpack or go explore the garden before it’s dark. And don’t forget to be quiet around the library!”

“Why do we have to...” but Chris didn’t have the chance to make his question, once the housekeeper closed the door behind her as she left before he could speak. The red-haired boy frowned, then whistled. “Is it me, or she doesn’t seem to like us very much?”

He was left to laugh alone and, when he turned to know the reason why at least Oliver didn’t comment, he found the boy turned to the bed he’d chosen, the one nearest the window. Meanwhile, Noah put his bag on the bed nearest to the door, leaving Chris with the bed by the wall. Even weirded out by the silence, Chris resigned himself to unpacking just like Miss Turner had suggested.

The beds in the room he’d share with the Other two boys could accommodate him and the others, plus at least more nine people put side by side. Chris didn’t doubt they could sleep the three of them in the same one with space to spare. It seemed the bed of a king, just like everything about that manor seemed to reek of royalty. There were even curtains on the beds: they were golden, just like the sheets and the blankets.

Chris wanted to say something to break the ice he felt around the two boys behind him but, before he could think of something, Noah left the room leaving his suitcase on the bed without unpacking it or saying anything.

“Kinda rude,” Chris commented quietly, raising an eyebrow at Oliver, who was still in the same position, silent as a crypt. Weirded out by this behavior, Chris went to his friend, brushing his shoulder gently with his own. “Hey, is there a problem? You can talk to me if you want.”

“It’s nothing, it’s just…” Oliver said, no doubt trying to lie because it was obvious there was something wrong. The boy sighed mourningfully, and said: “I miss my dad.”

There was more about it Oliver wasn’t telling him but Chris didn’t pressure him for more information. He couldn’t forget that, as much as it didn’t seem like it, he had met the other boy just some hours ago and there were limits Chris didn’t really know whether he could cross or not.

Therefore, all he did was sigh while sitting in his bed and smiled at his joined hands and separated knees.

“I also miss my mom.” Chris scrunched his nose at the reminder of Maxwell but didn’t say anything out loud. Instead, Chris talked about Jane and how amazing she was. Oliver looked over at him for the moment Chris began to describe his mother, his blank eyes making him look more German than ever but the boy still took a seat by his side, listening silently: “My mom loves to paint. She’s great and has always dreamed of being a painter but she gave up this dream when she married my dad, considering my grandpa wanted her to stay home to take care of me. My dad… I’ve never seen him agreeing with my grandpa but he also doesn’t disagree with him. My mom has the prettiest, softest hair I’ve ever seen and she smells like rosemary.”

Chris closed his eyes to imagine Jeane by his side, smiling at him the way just a mother could do. Looking at him the same way she smiled when Chris was younger and his biggest worry was whether or not she had made ginger biscuits.

Oliver stayed quiet for a long time after that, allowing Chris to recover from the onslaught of feelings after he talked about Jeane. He gulped, swallowing down the tears.

“My mother’s name was Liora,” the blond boy said in a murmur, so low it seemed like a whisper, his eyes staring at something Chris couldn’t see. Then, hesitating, as if he feared Chris was going to start yelling at him or something, Oliver added: “She was taken by the Führer before we left Germany.”

Chris knew “Führer” was a word they used to refer to Hitler. So the magnitude of it all hit him like a punch, comprehension making his heart beat painfully, cutting his airways. He couldn’t help but look at Oliver with pity, although he knew that was certainly not the desired reaction. It was just that Chris couldn’t help it: it was like Oliver’s pain had spread to him, because, after all, wasn’t it his own as well in a certain way?

All of those crimes committed against the Jews, the black people, Romanis, different peoples… wasn’t it his pain as well? They were humans. They were people, they could’ve been people he passed by on his way to school, they could be his professor, his friend’s parents, and relatives, they could’ve been his relatives. It could’ve been him.

Chris saw the pain as his duty. He had to feel the pain for all of the families destroyed by Hitler and by the war that was happening. He had to feel pain because it was the least, he could do if it really mattered for him.

But Chris didn’t say any of that. He didn’t ramble about how concentration camps or did a monologue stating the obvious — all human beings should be respected. No, Oliver knew all of that, he didn’t need anyone to talk his ear off about it. He needed to be heard, or his privacy respected, whichever he preferred.

“Do you want to talk about her?” Chris asked then, as delicately as he could even though he could still feel his disgust for Hitler leaving his tongue heavy and sticky, making it hard to swallow.

In his nape, there was a shiver being born. Oliver kept silent for longer this time; his lips half-open in almost words.

“No,” he finally exhaled, getting more comfortable in Chris’ bed, his back straight. “I was just worried because it’s my first time away from my dad since they took her and I don’t want him to… spiral because of it again.”

The worry in Oliver’s tone was palpable and, for a moment, Chris felt a bit envious about his relationship with his dad. He wanted Max to care enough about him and Jeane to actually mourn if something happened to them. He wanted his father to care.

Admitting that even to himself was like a Punch to his stomach. Chris knew trying not to care would be useless someday but until then, making these mistakes wouldn’t be allowed. He shouldn’t have to beg to have his Father in his life, he shouldn’t have to beg for anyone’s love. Love was something to be freely given, selflessly and happily given. Love was something to be offered, not something to be stolen.

After all, that was the reason why Chris thought it was ridiculous when one of his friends said he’d stolen a girl’s heart. It was ridiculous because they really thought that trying and trying and trying the same way everytime would give them a different outcome. If a girl wasn’t interested in giving him a chance, Chris just moved on to the next girl to interest him: it wasn’t so hard to hear a no after you got used to it.

Anyhow, he was digressing, Chris realized when Oliver shook his hand in front of his face, catching his attention back.

“Did I daydream for a bit?” Chris asked, embarrassed, and Oliver chuckled.

“For quite some time, actually,” he just said.

“I’m sorry”, said Chris with a sigh, turning in the bed to look straight at his friend. “I didn’t know what to say and ended up thinking about my own dad.”

“It’s okay, I can’t expect people to know what to say to something like that.” Oliver smiled, clearly embarrassed and a bit worried. “What did you think of Miss Turner?”

“I think she looks like a Woman from the last century, but who knows? She could surprise us.” Chris answered and shrugged as he laid on the bed, supporting his head with his fingers crossed under it, looking at the ceiling.

“She seems a bit nicer than those women.” Oliver also shrugged but didn’t lay down: he preferred to stay seated on the soft mattress. “What about the other boy... Noah?”

“He’s... quiet.” Chris shrugged again. “I still don’t know what to think of him, actually. I didn’t have the time to get to know him.”

Oliver made no comments, nor did he disagree about anything in regards to Noah. The two boys stayed quiet for a while, the silence of people that had nothing to talk about. So, to break the ice, or maybe to get some alone time, Oliver got up and said:

“I should write to my dad and tell him we arrived and it all went well. I promised him I would.

“Hm, I need to write to my mom as well, although I didn’t promise anything,” Chris said, closing his eyes as the Journey began to take a toll on him. He could feel his body getting heavier and his mind slower. — I’ll just sleep for a bit. Wake me up in an hour, please.

He didn’t even hear Oliver’s agreement before he was out.

Chapter 7 - Coming Soon...

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To Decadent Poets - Summary

The series is a coming-of-age type of story and will follow Chris, Annie, Oliver, and Noah as they grow up together in the north of Scotland as World War II devastates the world. A historical fiction with some mystery, a lot of comfort vibes, and Light Academia aesthetics!

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