Dear Muse (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 1) (2 page)

It still seemed silly to strike Aiden out of misplaced grief. If I had seen the same sight as my uncle, perhaps I would not have acted so brazen, but a few nights later, I snuck into the mayor’s house in the middle of the night and snatched the photograph. With my courage high and intoxicated by the effectiveness of my fleet-footed retreat, I made a dash to the edge of the woods. Guided by the moonlight, I crept through muddy leaves and found a small ditch. I hurled the framed picture, shattering the glass on a protruded rock, and covered the remains with some filth. I washed my feet by the well, then hastily rushed home and made it to bed before sunrise.

After roughly four hours of sleep, I was awakened by my parents’ loud chatter near my window. Father cursed a man named Finney, who had stooped to sheer depravity, and dared to blame the crime on him. From the little I gathered from their conversation, Finney stole the picture of Benjamin that hung over the mayor’s mantle. His house was currently being ransacked. I chuckled and dozed for another hour before Mother shook me up with a scolding for sleeping so long.

Just as Benji’s death had led to the first funeral, the burglary of his last photo led to the first trial. It was swift and violent. Finney swore to beat the mayor dead if found guilty, and Gerald immediately volunteered to take the old man’s place. Words ended here. The two men beat each other bloody, and the matter was settled with Finney’s broken nose and consequent surrender. Since the only solid proof was Finney’s prior dissatisfaction over some of the mayor’s decisions, the incident was never mentioned again other than the occasional vehement whisper.

I cannot defend my actions, nor can I explain my reasoning. To excuse my behavior over Aiden’s punishment is a poor means of justification. Perhaps it is an unaccountable dislike toward the mayor. He is very kind and generous to me, yet something about his appearance irks me to the core. His eyes are too close together, and his lips are too fat for his face. Either I blame his disproportionate countenance or plead temporary insanity. I choose the latter for the sake of tact.

Alas, my candle burns low and my mind becomes weary. My heart is still heavy with sin, but I will sleep peacefully knowing I can ease the burden tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

Entry 2

The gift of communication is truly divine, even if it is a correspondence with a nonentity. Until a handsome man occupies my thoughts, I am content to address you.

Today was an interesting day. It started like any other, and though it has not reached an end, there may be more surprises in store. Father is attending a meeting. Mother says it is important, though she will not even guess the subject. I suppose Hilda’s proposition will be discussed, and at this very moment, they may be mentioning my name and reviewing my worth.

I have been serving as something of a nanny to the town’s children. This position officially belongs to Hilda, a gray old woman whose memory has begun to falter. I feel sadness rather than frustration when she fails to remember my name. Kirsten, Sue, Jane, Mary, Paula, Josephine, etcetera. I can rattle on names forever, and I am sure one day she will get to Sophia before inevitably dropping dead.

Hilda is no longer fit for her duties. Since I was offered the position of teacher, it is a matter of time before the spread of jealous gossip. I can already predict the town’s general consensus:

“The other women work themselves to the bone!”

“Sophia is to blame for being so pretty and intelligent!”

“It would be a waste to spoil her youth and beauty in the fields!”

I do love the children, but a doubt has crossed my mind in the last hour. A question that will not have an answer until it may be too late. Can I tolerate being around them ten hours a day for the rest of my life? Perhaps I am seeing my future self in poor Hilda. Is it not enough for the skin to rot? Must the mind, as well?

I try to shed such thoughts. Lingering on them makes the inevitable all the more closer.
Best to worry about my future occupation when the time comes.

Or is it better to be prepared? Surely it would put our time together to good use. I should keep my prattling productive. A little honest self-reflection never hurt anyone.

Perhaps I should also evaluate my own qualifications, as the rest of the town is doing right now. Why am I fit to teach these children? By my own curriculum! Quite the responsibility for a girl who cannot even properly assess her own skillset. Resisting the urge to corrupt their delicate minds will be a constant temptation. I will henceforth shape their thoughts. I can toss my books in the trash and answer their questions to my whims. They are so young, consistency is not even an issue.

The potential is far more amusing than the act. I intend to perform my task with utmost seriousness, of course. These children are so simple and I am so rich with knowledge. The future generation of this town depends on my teaching. These next few years will make or break this settlement. I will not leave this island under any circumstances, and to ensure this, the living conditions must retain a certain level of adequacy. A solid education will bring us prosperity. The next generation will erect a statue in my likeness, honoring the importance of learning and preserving the greatest virtues.

I cannot propose such foolishness with a straight face. No matter how I jest, I relish the opportunity. Teaching always seemed a possible career choice. I am fortunate to earn my keep by a labor of love, rather than sow seeds and pluck dead roots.

My chest is about to burst! I was nearly discovered by Father. Instead of calling my name, he simply barged into my room. I extinguished the candle and stuttered something about a coincidence, how I had been reading and about to sleep. He lifted me off my feet, and for a breathless instant, I expected a thrashing. Instead, he embraced me tight and showered me with kisses.

My position is secure. I am to meet with the mayor tomorrow morning to discuss the curriculum. I hear Mother and Father in the next room. To avert the disastrous, I must rest, though I am far too giddy for sleep. Until tomorrow, my friend.

Entry 3

The meeting went well. The mayor did not suspect me of stealing from the jar of honey in his kitchen three days ago, but rather adorned me in sweet praise. I am a woman now, he says, and entitled to pick a partner of my choosing. I will let one choose me, I replied with a wink. He made a sour face.

As for the curriculum, I will not have as much freedom, at least according to instruction, as I will be forced to heed Hilda’s outdated notions. The classes will consist of science and mathematics, basic language and literature, and most importantly, a vigorous education on ethics and community. The former is primarily focused on supplementing the latter. As the finest example of beauty and intelligence, the perfect fusion of acuity and divinity, it is my duty to pass the virtues of magnanimity and tenacity to the future generation of our town. For it to persevere, I must prove myself an essential pillar of the community by living to a higher standard. Learning is passed best by example.

I have one week to prepare, but I am ready now, due to my innate knowledge and familiarity with the children. The harvest festival is coming in two days, so the mayor thought best for me to begin afterward. I had forgotten about the silly celebration. It did not live up to the laborious preparations. I remember having to hold a ladder for my uncle as he fixed an old effigy. He told me it would take an hour, and he worked well past sundown. No one was close to our vicinity, so I stood in place for nearly half a day, with no opportunity to urinate. When my bladder nearly burst, I seriously contemplated leaving the post. My stubborn uncle would have fallen to his death, but it could not compare to returning home with piss-soaked pants. Those sort of experiences are never forgotten by the experienced and her witnesses.

It was worth the trouble, at least in hindsight. The extra chiseling on the figure’s countenance lent it a breath of life, rather than the former long-nosed, wide-mouthed caricature. The effigy represented one of his old friends, a man named Luther, who had disappeared three years ago, not long before my arrival. It seemed an elaborate structure for a missing man—nearly twenty feet high and sculpted in detail, depicting a brown wide brimmed hat and buckskin clothing, down to his laced brown boots. My uncle said he was the cofounder, and like Benji, mentioned only in mourning.

I should remember to ask Walter about Luther. He probably took him off the island in secret. I could imagine years in this environment breeding an acute case of homesickness. If I ever tired of this place, faking my death is a potential plot.

The mayor sent me home with a box of old textbooks. I plan to read them thoroughly before putting their content to use. I have a feeling I will need to barter with Walter again. The mayor may have the ability to lead, but certainly lacks the insight to nurture young intellect. Anything impractical is poisonous. The mind is a delicate sponge at this stage. Soak a clump of dirt and you end up muddying the whole thing.

Hopefully this whole dreadful festival business quickly passes. I suppose the celebration will suit a fitting end to my toils in the fields. The labor will make it an early night. No time to write tomorrow, nor the next. But after? I tremble in anticipation.

Entry 4

I have not yet mentioned my bottomless appetite. I gorged on roast chicken and pork pies like a sensual little glutton. I picked my teeth with a wishbone while waiting for my belly to make room for jelly sandwiches and hot chestnuts, and I drank enough wine to inebriate an elephant. I expected to hibernate for days, but woke up cramped and thirsty. Even worse, I had extra clean-up duties because of a lost wager I cannot recall.

I enjoyed the evening immensely. There were many unexpected surprises, some more amusing than others. Janice, my best friend, was proposed to by Peter, a man ten years her senior. She accepted, and after a drawn out cheer, poor Aiden seized the opportune moment to propose to me as well. I had to decline. With all eyes on his quivering mouth and swollen eyes, he darted off and was quickly forgotten in the revelry.

The oaf frequently confides in me and is under the foolish assumption that I will bear his children because of it. I am not fit as a mother. Better to dash his hopes than ruin our lives. He is one of the stronger boys and has likely shed the shame by now.

I am still tired from the events, so this will need to be brief. Rather than account the festivities in detail, I will touch on something mentioned in the last entry: Walter stopped by to drop supplies for the celebration. I gave him a list of useful books to acquire, promising to pay him back with interest. I inquired about Luther. He is familiar with a half dozen of the town folk, and only three by name. He confirmed never to have ferried one of us off the island.

I look forward to Walter’s return with hesitance. Judging by his eyes, I do not think I will approve the currency he has in mind. Perhaps I will entrust my uncle in dealing with him. As long as my demands suit my duty, there should be no harm in at least asking. I spoke to him at length during the festival and may have even done so already. My memory is hazy.

Fortunately it is clear regarding our conversation about Luther. He was my uncle’s friend prior to settling on the island, which makes him indirectly responsible for my settling. Luther was idealistic, and according to the explanation, the chief reason for the town’s existence. He had the notion in mind for a long time before learning of this location. Many rumors surround the island, most of which involve the toxic environment. These rumors were started by seamen, and Luther was correct in assuming such rumors were birthed and bred by incurable fools. The land was ripe for the taking, and his plan became a reality in a matter of years.

Following his disappearance, it was only natural for Arthur, the current mayor, to assume leadership. His was absolute, primarily because no one was willing to share power. They wanted the benefits without the burden of responsibility. It was hard enough to rely on your own work to fill your belly and hold the roof over your head. There have been no problems, other than the occasional complaints, such as the Finney incident, which only escalated over a misunderstanding.

As for an evaluation of Luther’s character, I will go into greater detail tomorrow. Arthur recited a tedious speech, more than enough to sketch a portrait of this alluring fellow. I must admit, it would have been interesting to meet the man. He sounds like a unique sort of person.

But I am far too tired and probably on the verge of rambling. I must sleep so I can begin my lesson plan tomorrow.

Entry 5

After a short stroll through town with my friend Janice, I walked right into Aiden. Literally, he had been hiding behind a tree on my property and stepped out a moment too soon. Since Janice asked me to take a break from my books and spend time with her—and speak of nothing but her new marriage and how many children she would raise—I assume she had a hand in this accidental meeting. She could barely stifle a chortle. At least she had the courtesy to give Aiden and me privacy.

I expected pleas of pity and another proposal. On the contrary, Aiden spoke with confidence and extreme calm, occasionally spreading his lips into a grin, revealing the gap in the upper right corner of his mouth. Aiden’s father, Gus, and the mayor had impelled him to propose. Though he fully expected a rejection, he asked for reconsideration. Rather than take it in stride and move on, which he initially set out to do, he found himself longing for me.