Day 3

Thick hard plastic covers the furniture, a protection against the air and the elements of everyday living. Floral printed tapestries are hung from the windows and the large French doors that lead out to the patio, which over looks the carefully tended garden.

A faint chime rings from the handcrafted clock that sits diligently on the tea table in the far corner of the room. The delicate china sits untouched on the table, each setting lovingly set with tea cup and saucer, a small dish for tea sandwiches, and pristinely polished silverware guarding the plate while resting eloquently on a linen napkin.

A musky smell fills the room, not from dust or lack of care, but from age. The curtains, although regularly cleaned and pressed, have not been pulled back to allow fresh air into the room for nearly a decade. The French doors act as a barrier from the outside world, a world where the gardens are groomed daily allowing each bud to blossom fully and beautifully, but never seen. A garden where butterflies flock to each spring time and fly carefree through the winding pathways. Bushes full of blossoms are trimmed and taken care of, but never worship as they aught to be. So much beauty is to be seen through the doors that are covered with the heavy curtains. Each window is washed at least once a week, inside and out, not a single spot is left on the pane of glass, yet it is never gazed through. The windows are never opened, the air never disturbed.

A petite coffee table with large curved legs sits in the middle of the room looking almost like an oversized bug, and it is surrounded by a matching couch and armchair set. Magazines are fanned perfectly on top of the table making it look inviting, asking a visitor to sit and relax while awaiting their intended. The wall paper is a floral print, much like the furniture. The years have faded the paper to a dull yellow but the gold in the trim is still remarkable, like the rest of the room the paper is fading and old but is washed and maintained each week.

A woman, middle aged stands in the doorway looking around the room her mouth slightly agape at the sight before her. She leans against the frame brace herself, her arms wrap around her middle as if to give comfort to a long ago ache that is resurfacing. Although, tears well up in her eyes she forbids them to fall, and quickly sucks in a breath to steady her racing emotions.

Questions swarm around her mind. How did she not know? Why didn’t anyone call her to tell her what was going on? Her mother surely should have been able to move past it, to move on with her life and not create a museum to the situation.

“It was his favorite room,” she hears her mothers frail voice from behind her and she turns slowly to face her.

“Mother, it has been nearly 20 years,” her voice shook as she spoke. The vibrant woman she knew as her mother had faded with age, much like the room. Her bright long blond hair that used to curl so nicely around her shoulders was now a short mess of silver knots. The dark blue eyes that used to pierce into her soul during a lecture of proper womanly behavior now looks pale and gray.

“Yes, I know. It has been a long 20 years. Being alone, with no one to help, no one to talk with,” her ability to invoke guilt had not faded with her looks.

“I’m not here to talk about those things. Those things are your own doing,” she waved a hand through the air and turned her attention back to the room. “This was once a loving home, a safe haven for me when I was a child. He turned it into, you let him… you were so cruel, standing there…watching…not saying a word!!” she burst out with her hands clenched into fists.

“Why are you here, Caroline?” Her mother folded her hands in front of her and made a feeble attempt at straightening her shoulders. Her rounded body would not allow for her to stand fully erect, it was a surprise that she was able to stand at all with the fragility of her body.

“I- I don’t know,” Caroline slumps her shoulders and shakes her head, too many memories at one time has exhausted her. “It’s been so long, I guess I hoped we could find a common ground, somewhere where we could start new,” she leans against the wall and points to the room. “Why did you create this shrine?”

“It was his favorite room,” her mother shrugs daintily, unmoved by Carolines emotional outburst or the pain that is plain to see in her eyes.

“Mother, this is the place- That room is where-” Caroline tries to calm her breathing but decides to use her anger and frustration instead of burying it, too many times she ignored her fears and frustrations. “That is the room where you spent all of your time crying over the things he did to you, the room where he spent his time torturing us all with his lectures and beatings, why would you bronze it in such a way?”

“It was his favorite room,” her mother repeats and Caroline begins to understand.

“Did he ever once apologize to you? Even once?” Caroline asks softly and her mother lets out a long exasperated sigh.

“Caroline, without him we would have been nothing. He may have been strict with you girls and yes even me, but he gave us everything. All he asked for was obedience, a simple thing really,” her answer has not changed since the last they spoke of her father. Caroline walks to her mother stopping when she is a scant breath away from her, no longer does her mother tower over her with a demanding presence, she is now small and frail.

“No, mother, he gave us nothing that we needed, but you will never understand that, will you?” she hugged her mother to her and breathed in the scent of her, her perfume has gone unchanged.

“There is nothing to understand. Now enough of this talk, Sarah has prepared a wonderful ham for dinner, you will stay and eat with me,” her mother’s strength has returned to her voice as she pulls away from her oldest daughter and leads her to the dinning room.

The room sits quietly, alone, untouched, and that is the way it will stay.