Short Story - Riches to Rags

The summer nights of 1926 were spent dancing, drinking, and socializing with friends and business associates of my family. Soirees were held at the Chateau most nights. These nights were filled with beautiful music, shimmering gowns, and waiters in black tailcoats with bright red bow ties carrying polished silver trays stacked with hors d’oeuvres and crystal glasses filled with bubbling red and white wine.
I remember running through the grand foyer under the gold chandeliers and peeking around the legs of our guests in search of my parents, whom I'd eventually find at the center of a crowd. I’d stand next to them and watch as Papa entertained the group with his stories and jokes and Mother would smile and watch him with admiration.
Their love for each other radiated off of them like steam from a hot kettle. You could feel it just by standing in their presence. Every time they met each other's gaze they couldn't help but smile.
 I remember watching Mother's dangling diamond earrings swing a little as she laughed and when they caught the light they sparkled. I had always dreamed of the day when I would get to wear those beautiful diamonds. I thought maybe if I was wearing those I could be as beautiful as Mother. She was all flawless elegance and charm. Everything I dreamt of becoming.
Papa always looked his best. He had a look about him that was approachable, but you could tell he was a smart man, a man you shouldn't mess with. You never saw him without a cigar and his wire rimmed glasses. He smelled like Spearmint and cigar smoke. A smell I loved so much. A smell I miss so much.
    I tapped my fingers against the cold window. Rain drops raced each other down the opposite side of the glass. I spent most days curled up in the window seat of the bedroom I shared with 9 other girls at Saint Joy’s Orphanage. I spent other days adjusting new children to this sort of life. A life of waiting. For new family, old family, adulthood, and really anything that meant a way out of this place.
One of two things occurred during adjustment. Either the child puts the sadness aside or wallows in it. The sadness is there no matter what. Some are just better at hiding it than others.
    I heard the doorbell ring from my bedroom. I sprang from my spot on the bed and grabbed my robe from its hook on the back of the door. I ran to the top of the grand staircase and peeked around the corner of the banister. There were three knocks on the door followed by the sound of a man’s deep voice.  
“Mr. and Mrs. Williamson? This is Detective Charles speaking. We have a few things we’d like to discuss with you.”
I watched as Mother ran down the hall to the door. Papa followed closely behind her and watched as she slowly unlocked and opened the door.
“Hello, Detective.” My mother said.
“Hello ma’am. I’m sorry about the late hour, but we have some questions for you.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Papa questioned.
The detective stepped inside and was closely followed by two officers in pressed, navy blue uniforms. One of the officers looked around a little and noticed me. We made eye contact and he quickly averted his eyes back toward his feet.
“No Sir, I’m afraid not.” The detective spoke seriously. I could sense the urgency in his voice. Mother tried to hide the obvious worry on her face but it was too late. It spread over her like wildfire. She was usually so calm but now she couldn't stand still. She suddenly looked out of place in her own home. Estranged from her flawless elegance. Papa's arms found their way to her shoulders, helping to hold her up on her feet. He turned her around and held her close. She whispered something in his ear and he responded with a kiss on the cheek. Mother turned back around, looked at the detective, and began to walk into the next room. Papa, the detective, and the two officers followed.
At the time, I wanted so badly to know what they were saying in that room. I have regretted listening in on that conversation ever since. I could've just gone back to bed. I could've waited until our maid, Maria, came to tell me some made up story about what happened the next morning. I was only a child and I didn't know any better.
I crept down the stairs and hid myself behind the doorway to the parlor. I could hear the detective's low, serious voice.
"We received a tip earlier this evening."
"A tip?" My mother asked.
"It was about all those parties you have been having this summer." He said. There was silence for a moment.
"Mr. and Mrs. Williamson, do you know anything about the illegal distribution of alcohol in this house?"
"I'm sure this must be some kind of mistake." Papa said.
"No, no mistake." The detective had no doubts.
"We have witnesses claiming that you and your wife have been holding those parties as a diversion. They say that your guests pay a fee to attend and leave with however much they paid for."
"You're crazy!" Papa exclaimed. Mother stayed silent.
"I'm sorry Sir, but these two officers are here to arrest you and your wife."
"We've done nothing wrong!" Papa was angry. He never yelled, ever. Mother still said nothing.
My heart started beating faster. I could hear the two officers standing up and I could hear the jingle of the handcuffs. I didn't move.
The detective was now standing and I could hear his footsteps approaching. My mind and heart raced. I felt sick to my stomach. My knees went weak and I slid down the wall. I sat holding my legs close to my chest. The detective didn't notice me as he walked by. He was followed by the officers and my parents. Papa saw me.
"Charlotte? Charlotte, baby." He pleaded as he was being pushed toward the door.
"We love you so much. I'm sorry." Papa’s words cut me like a knife.
"I love you." This was the last thing Papa said before being pushed out the door. It was the last thing Papa said to me period. Mother said nothing.
Maria arrived shortly after my parents left. She found me in Mother's closet, wrapped up in her pink satin robe.
My heart rate finally slowed and my tears subsided. I walked down the dark hallway toward the back staircase. My footsteps echoed through the empty house. The house felt bigger than it ever had. I stretched out my arms and put my hands on the walls, letting them guide me down the hall. I walked through the kitchen and opened the door to the narrow, spiral staircase. Maria always told me I wasn’t allowed to use the back staircase. She said Papa told her not to let me because he was afraid I would fall. The stairs creaked with every step I took.
I stepped into Mother's closet and the smell of her perfume immediately hit me. I ran my hand down the long line of dresses hung up on the rack along the wall. The majority of them were different shades of blue because Papa always told her how much he liked her in that color. Her robe was on the hook at the end of the rack. It was a gift from Papa and I last Christmas. I made Papa buy it for her because of how soft it was. I took off my robe and put it on the floor. I pulled the pink satin from it's hook and wrapped myself in it. In the middle of the room were the diamond earrings Papa bought for her after I was born. They were laying on a silver tray alongside her perfume and a picture frame. It was a picture of the three of us. I was just a baby when it was taken. Mother was holding me up and kissing my forehead while Papa had his arms around her waist. I was giggling and they both had wide smiles stretched across their faces. I loved that photo. I grabbed the picture and sat on the floor against the wall. Tears fell from my eyes as I held the frame close.
They were found guilty and sentenced to a minimum of 10 years in prison and I was sent here. It's been seven years.
I heard a knock on the door and turned. The new little girl Samantha stood in the doorway holding an envelope. She got here two days ago. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were tear stained, but she was adjusting relatively well compared to a lot of the others.
"Hi Sammy! How are you doin’?" I said and managed a smile. She walked toward me and held out the envelope.
"This is for me?" I asked. She nodded. I grabbed the corner of the envelope and pulled it from in between her fingers. She immediately turned around and ran back out the door. I hoped it wasn't another letter from my parents. I stopped reading those a long time ago. They hurt too much.
The envelope looked more official than usual. The return address read 536 Varick Street, Manhattan, New York, New York.
I ripped the top of the envelope open and pulled out a perfectly folded sheet of white paper and a newspaper clipping. I unfolded the paper.
Ms Charlotte Williamson,
    I am pleased to inform you that on February 23, 1934 your parents, Patrick and Julia Williamson, will be released from incarceration and all charges held against them will be dropped. Though you are almost eighteen, they have requested permission to take you home following their release. They will be coming to visit you on February 25, 1934 and you can make your decision then.
- Grace Baron
The newspaper clipping was of the headline "Does an End to Prohibition Signify the Release of Criminals?"
The word criminals stared back at me. This word referred to people like my parents. People my parents always taught me to take pity on and to never associate myself with. Now they themselves are criminals. Only criminals would rip me from everything I love and leave me. They left me with nothing and nobody.
 Tears started to fall from my eyes. They hit the newspaper and smudged the ink a little. My own parents are criminals. They're monsters.
                                      • • •
I sat at one of the small circular tables in the cafeteria. I watched as the hands of the clock crawled to 1:30. The room felt cold. Colder than usual. Like a window had been left open. It was probably all in my head. Maybe it was fear.
I rubbed my eyes and yawned. I hadn't slept in two days. I had been dreaming of a way out of this place for years and here it was but all I wanted was for things to go back to how they were before the letter. I could just spend my days in solitary peace with nothing but the day I turn eighteen to look forward to or dread.
1:32.
"Charlotte?"
This voice silenced my thoughts. I looked up to find a woman standing in the doorway. An aged version of my mother. Someone with wrinkles at the sides of her eyes and a gray streak in her hair.
I nodded my head.
"You- you're so grown up" Her voice cracked. A man came up behind her. He had graying hair but he was still just as I remembered him.
"My baby girl." He said with a smile. Tears threatened to roll down my cheeks but I quickly wiped them away. Mother started to walk towards the table and I stood up. She opened up her arms and hugged me tightly. The smell of her perfume was gone.
"I've missed you so much. It's been such a long time." She was in tears now. All I could do was nod. I didn't want to cry. She stepped back and Papa immediately wrapped his arms around me. The smell of spearmint was there but the cigar smoke was gone.
"Look at you! You look just like your Mother." I couldn't help but smile a little bit and a tear rolled down my face.
We had an hour to talk. I didn't say much. Mother went on a rant about how much time we need to make up for and all the things we're going to do. They asked about my time here but I saw no use in trying to explain. How do you fit seven years of man eating loneliness into an hour? I couldn't bear to tell them I didn't want to go home. The idea of it made me sick.
They want to pick up right where we left off, but I can't. I know I can't because whenever I dreamt of leaving this place it never meant going home for me. It meant finding a new home. Somewhere that has no intention of being perfect.
They said they would be back first thing tomorrow, but by that time I'll be gone.