Chapter 2 - The Fire in the East Wing
The morning after Eleanor's arrival, Fairhaven Manor smelled of ozone, old wood, and wet ashes.
I woke at 6:00 AM to the sound of screaming in the east wing. I pulled on a hoodie, stepped out into the vaulted corridor, and found my eighteen-year-old brother, Caleb, standing outside the door to his private quarters. Caleb was broad-shouldered, tall, and carried the heavy, quiet rage of a boy who had spent three years fighting in underground boxing rings downtown.
At the end of the hallway, light smoke poured from beneath the door of the main study.
Leo, who was fifteen and suffered from night terrors that turned into violent episodes, stood against the oak banister, his hands trembling violently. He had kicked over a antique brass lamp, sparking a small fire on the heavy silk drapery.
"Don't go near him!" Caleb barked at Eleanor, who was approaching the smoking doorway holding a fire extinguisher. "When he gets like this, he'll throw whatever he can reach at your head. Get out of the wing."
Eleanor didn't stop. She pulled the safety pin on the extinguisher, stepped into the room without hesitation, and smothered the flaming drapes in a thick cloud of white chemical foam.
Through the haze, Leo stood clutching a broken chair leg, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with terror and embarrassment. He was waiting for the inevitable reaction—the sharp reprimand, the frightened phone call to our father's security detail, the horrified look every adult gave him when his mind fractured.
Eleanor set the fire extinguisher down on the scorched floorboards. She didn't look at the damaged drapes, the ruin of the thousand-dollar silk, or the broken furniture.
She walked straight toward Leo.
"Stay back!" Leo screamed, raising the wooden plank. "I'll hit you! I swear to God I'll hit you!"
"You could," Eleanor said softly, stopping three feet from him. She sat down directly on the smoke-dusted floor, crossing her legs, resting her wrists on her knees. "Or you could sit down and tell me why you hate the color of those drapes so much."
Leo froze. His grip on the chair leg loosened slightly. "What?"
"They were hideous, Leo," Eleanor said, looking up at the scorched silk hanging in tatters from the window frame. "Dark maroon velvet. They made this entire room feel like a mausoleum. If I had known you wanted them down, I would have helped you tear them off the rods yesterday."
Caleb stared at her from the hallway, his jaw clamped shut in utter disbelief. I stood near the archway, my fists clenched inside my hoodie pockets, waiting for her to break character.
Leo stared at the quiet young woman sitting calmly on the floor beneath a cloud of smoke. Slowly, the wild, frantic tension left his shoulders. The chair leg slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the hardwood.
He dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands, his breath coming in ragged, broken hitches.
Eleanor didn't try to hug him. She didn't offer fake platitudes or tell him everything was going to be fine. She simply stayed sitting beside him on the dirty floor, pulling a clean linen handkerchief from her apron pocket and laying it on his knee.
"The kitchen smells like cinnamon this morning, Leo," she said quietly. "If you help me carry the ruined velvet down to the incinerator, I'll let you eat the fresh cinnamon rolls before your brothers get downstairs."
Leo wiped his face, looked at the handkerchief, and nodded once.
May you like
Caleb turned his head, caught my eye in the hallway, and muttered under his breath, "She won't last a week."
But as I watched her help Leo to his feet, I knew Caleb was lying to himself.
