If you are starting here, please read the story thus far (if you haven’t already) before continuing.
The other doors in the front hall went to the dining room, ballroom, billiard room, and second hall. Behind the billiard room was the kitchen, which connected only to the dining room and had a stairs down to the cellar for storage. The second hall had the identical tile and white-wall appearance as the central hall, but was much smaller; there was barely enough room for both Gervais and Nick to stand. A mirror on the left wall faced the coat closet and straight across from the door was a set of marble stairs. These stairs led to the second floor directly where a myriad of doors surrounded the chandelier in the middle of the hall ceiling. Most of these rooms were bedrooms with their own bathrooms and various color accents for white walls. The master bedroom took up the entire corner of the floor with windows overlooking the elaborate French garden. The balcony from the master bedroom obscured the view of the patio, which was seen fairly well from the other bedrooms. The floor also boasted a study and library; the latter extended to the third floor as seen by the room’s height, though there was no door to lead to the upper floor. A small set of wooden stairs was hidden by a separate door and led to the third floor, which except for a rather extensive conservatory, was filled with servants bedrooms. Gervais let slip that this portion of the house had the most secret passageways, but he did not mention where, though the vagueness of the fact left Nick with a slight feeling of being watched. Gervais seemed to notice some sort of change in his guest’s demeanor, because he quickly mentioned with another uncharacteristic smile that even he did not know all the nooks and crannies of the house, which meant that no one else—especially the servants—would either.
“I’m sure the servants will stay with the house,” he added later on in their tour, “And because I’m feeling good spirited, I’m willing to give you a little stipend to pay them, if you wish.”
“We’ll see.”
Though the house was grand and beautiful, it could not compare to the grounds before which it stood. The ballroom led directly out onto a stone patio, which based on the raised nature of the house, also served as a small balcony. Stone stairs on either side led down to another stone area with a large fountain in the middle of it. This fountain had a knight on a bucking horse holding up an unassuming goblet that sprayed water high into the air. The far edge of the stone patio bordered a geometric French garden, in the left corner a hedge maze began that Nick could see he mistook as the edge of the property from the street. There was also a gazebo far from the house beside a small pond that trickled into a thin brook leading off the premises. A few benches were set up under the trees nearest the house next to some glass tea tables with potted plants in the center. Far to the right of the house was the carriage driveway, which led to a garage and stable along with a rather large greenhouse.
“There is a fountain in in the middle of the hedge maze, as well, although there is only one entrance. There is a reason we are called the Fontaines.”
Nick smiled at the quip. “Is there any reason for the statues being the way they are?”
“You noticed that, did you? I’m not sure the significance, although this one must seem obvious. This is a no name knight who found the Holy Grail. The one inside is of a nymph, satyr, and boobrie dancing around the tree of life. The nymph represents nature, the boobrie represents water, and the satyr represents merriment. And the one inside the hedge maze, I believe, depicts Theseus killing the minotaur, but it’s been so long, I’m not sure.”
“That’s a very morbid subject for supposedly a romantic place.”
“Ariadne is somewhere in there as well, I think. But I always thought it was a rather strange topic, as well.”
The sun was falling over the tips of the hedge and splashing light everywhere. Above it, the pink and lavender sky was quickly turning into a grayish blue while the shadows among the leaves and flowers got darker and larger. Nick accepted Gervais’ dinner invitation and stepped back inside the house, which was now darker and filled with random multi-colored spots from Nick’s glance at the sun. Conveniently, dinner was already set on the table, but still steaming and the two men seemed to lose no time in piling food upon their plates.
It wasn’t until they both waited within conversation for desert that the doorbell rang, muffled by the dining room door. Gervais’ face clouded over just slightly, but he neither moved towards the door nor broke his train of the conversation. Out of the corner of Nick’s eye he could see Edna step into the door, her head hanging to avoid staring, but there was something rigid about her stance as well that gave Nick a slight, but needless, feeling of dread.
Author’s comments on post 395: I wrote this all the way back on July 13, but didn’t edit it until now. I also did some semi-major edits to the rest of the story, so if there is a difference between the published posts and the story in its entirety, please disregard the posts. The big time lapse was mostly because I didn’t like how I initially wrote it, believing it was not poetic enough, and finally came up with a good solution. I’m also pushing myself to finish this before I start other projects that have been slowly forming in my imagination and are almost ready to hatch. Never fear, I do have an ending in mind for this, I just need the time to write. More soon!
Larger size/more information –> click on the picture
…makes perfect. More sketches. I did the first one earlier than today, but I foolishly didn’t write down a date, so I can’t publish it on a separate post.
Larger size/more information –> click on picture
Also, I’ve almost finished my first commission. Hopefully pictures of that will be coming soon.
If you are starting here, please read the story thus far (if you haven’t already) before continuing.
While they were talking, Gervais had finished his cigarette and he stopped pacing long enough to get another one. “I hope you don’t mind me asking: why did you answer my letter? For someone who barely believed his mother’s family existed, you seemed quite interested in following this lead.”
“It’s not that I thought my mother had no family, it’s that I didn’t know who they were. When someone claiming to be your rich relative says that you are the probable owner of a large house, it’s natural to want to investigate.”
Gervais cracked a smile, which seemed extremely uncharacteristic. “Then, I am sorry to inform you that you don’t actually own the house, yet.” He remained standing and slowly smoked the new cigarette, taking in Nick’s appearance so long that it took all Nick had not to squirm.
“It’s interesting,” Gervais finally said after what felt like a long while, “you look nothing like your mother.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“No, no. It’s not a disappointment. It’s just…interesting.” Gervais continued smoking his cigarette and staring before he finally said, “Luckily for you, I believe you are who you say you are.”
He put the cigarette out in a glass ashtray sitting on the nearest coffee table and walked over to the door to the hallway. Pressing a well camouflaged button, he said, presumably to an intercom, “please bring the copy of the family tree, Edna.”
Within a few moments, the round lady who answered the door entered the parlor carrying a sheet of paper. Gervais thanked her and set it down on the table between Nick’s and his chairs. Gervais sat down again and gazed at the paper as if it were an old friend.
“I copied this out for you earlier today in an effort to help explain the situation. This is just a portion of the tree, but I started here at your great grandfather, Nicolas Fontaine, who happens to be my great uncle. You can see how the line splits here and how your mother and I are second cousins.
“Traditionally, all of my money would go to my son as he is my eldest and only heir. But I do not want to give him everything and have decided to give you a little something for your still being a relation.
“This house was designed to be an almost exact replica of the guest suite in the east wing of the Chateau de Fontaine in France. It is my way of connecting to the family castle that I love so much. My son, however, prefers to live in France and, having no need for a house in America, has made it clear that he wants to destroy the house and sell the property. I am much to attached to this estate, so I am willing to give the house—and just the house—to you. Everything else in it belongs to my son along with any money I still have at my death.
“I’m not sure about your intentions regarding staying here in this region. I thought since you were not directly involved with Fontaine affairs you might feel better about staying here with the house. But, on that same note, there is nothing here that is particularly sentimental to you. So, I will give you a week to decide whether or not you want this house and its property.
“Until then, perhaps you would like a tour of this house and the grounds?”
Nick stood up and Gervais followed his lead. “That sounds good to me.”
Author’s comments on post 394: Part 2 of the section I wrote on Saturday. This is just a little break in the story for more description, this time of the house and grounds. I am actually very excited to get to this part since it is a chance for me to be most creative. I know that this might not be the most interesting part of the story, but I will try to make it entertaining and really, there isn’t much action in the tale as a whole. Hopefully you’ll all enjoy it.
If you are starting here, please read the story thus far (if you haven’t already) before continuing.
“Do you mind if I call you Nicolas?”
“Nick is fine. Since we’re doing away with formalities.” Nick smiled.
“I have to say, Nick, I’m very glad you accepted my invitation. I was afraid getting a hold of you was going to be a lot harder than I expected, what with your mother practically being removed from the family.”
“She didn’t hold any grudges that I knew.”
“That was very noble of her.” Gervais stood up and walked to one of the coffee tables where a wooden cigar box sat. He tipped it towards Nick so that Nick could get a good glimpse of the goods inside, which was surprisingly only cigarettes. “Would you like a smoke?”
“No, thank you.”
“Do you mind if I do?”
Nick shook his head. Gervais took one gingerly and lit it with a gold lighter he pulled from his inside breast pocket. He blew out the smoke thoughtfully and then returned back to his chair beside where Nick sat.
“I understand, since we don’t know each other, that you probably just want to get to specifics. But I need to get to know you better before I make this decision. As you’re probably aware, the issue we need to discuss is your stake in the Fontaine inheritance, but I would rather know something about you before I get your hopes up.”
Nick took a deep breath. “All right. But I don’t know much about the family.”
“Nor do I expect you to. Do you even remember your maternal grandparents?”
“No. I just remember finding old birthday cards and children’s books that they signed. My mother showed me photographs, but I don’t remember meeting them.”
“I can assure you that they did come to see you in person. It was a big to-do when the came to Chicago to visit your mother. For the Fontaine family, relations are important and we always keep in touch. I remember when your mother announced at a family reunion she was going to get married to that Spanish boy. It didn’t bother me, but my parents were livid and I knew better than to say anything.”
“Just because she didn’t marry within the family, she was ostracized?”
“No, no one married within the family. It’s just expected that you marry someone with good upbringing, solid background, and preferably wealth. It goes back to when nobility in France was important and quite frankly, I’m not sure why it still is in our family.”
“Did you know my mother was here?”
“Yes and no. I knew she was in America, but I didn’t know around here. The only family she stayed in contact with was her mother who died a few years after you were born. Her father cooped himself up in his property in Vannes and talked to no one, not even his own family. His sister managed to contact him and as far as I know, he still writes her every now and then. But I’m curious to know what your other family was like.”
“They were much closer. My grandmother would always dote on me and though my grandfather pretended not to approve, he would do the same thing when she wasn’t around. They always visited around Christmas and my birthday until my mother died when they came to live with my father.”
“What about you?”
“I was already out of the house.”
“You were already working?”
“Not quite. I lived at school and then got a job at the company where I am currently top CEO. I got my first apartment shortly after I graduated.”
Gervais nodded, stood up, and started pacing across the room. Nick watched him, warily as he walked past the cigarette box and towards the far window.
“Did you love your father’s family more than your mother’s?”
Nick paused. “Why would I favor a family I never knew to one that I did? I can’t answer that question truthfully because for most of my life, my mother never had parents, aunts, uncles or cousins. She was an entity all in herself.”
Author’s comments on post 393: I wrote a lot more to this story on Saturday (which was yesterday) and this is part one. Part two will be published tomorrow. I’m sorry that it’s mostly a boring wall of dialogue, but hopefully something interesting is revealed. It flows well, so it was hard to break up into two sections, but I hope the ending isn’t too jarring. And if it is, just wait for a few hours and the rest will pop up and create a lovely ending.
Please read part one, part two, and part three before continuing.
She stood aside so he could enter. The interior of the house was nothing like Nick expected from observing the outside. It was more of a palace than a Victorian mansion. The entrance hall alone boasted an expansive floor of mirror-like white tile with a fountain in the center. The fountain was easily the size of a swimming pool—if not the depth—and had a larger-than-life-size statue of a barely clothed woman dancing with a satyr and a bird, looking like a cross between a white tailed eagle and a heron. They seemed to have been dancing around a tree that almost reached the ceiling and the water fell from somewhere between the branches at the top. The small portion of walls that Nick could see were white and reached up to a gold ceiling. Most of the walls were covered by doors, which were more than adequately tall and ornately decorated with fantastical creatures that Nick could only guess came from different legends.
The maid let him soak in the overabundant details in the room before leading him to the second door on the left into a typical parlor. There were several couches, easy chairs, and love seats around the room with twice as many coffee tables and ashtrays strategically placed. The two walls to Nick’s left and right sported large windows with lace curtains but the wall adjacent to him was decorated with a large tapestry that could easily pass off as one created during the Middle Ages. Nick didn’t know what scene was depicted, but he could still see the appeal in having such a large art piece displayed where people probably often frequented.
The door opened and shut behind him and Nick turned around to find a tall, gray haired man smiling and extending his hand. Nick took it and gave it a hearty shake. The man looked nothing like the other people Nick saw along his journey. He had no trace of work on his frame, nor did he have a trace of age other than his silver hair. It was hard to tell anything about his character, except for the wrinkle-less suit that he had on and the overly shined shoes. He motioned for Nick to sit down and then followed his guest’s lead.
“I hope your travels weren’t too taxing,” the man said.
“No. Thank you for asking.”
“Would you like anything to eat or drink?”
“No, thank you, Monsieur Fontaine. If you don’t mind, let’s just get down to business.”
“Of course, Mr. Fuentes. And to start, you may simply call me Gervais. We are, after all, family.”
Nick smiled curtly. “Of course.”
Author’s comments on post 392: As I said yesterday, this is part two of my recovery story chunk (for lack of a better term). More at a later date…hopefully tomorrow. On a completely different note: I can’t believe I’m almost at post 400! I have no idea what I’m going to do–if anything–to celebrate.
For those of you starting here, please read part one and part two before continuing.
The two-story shops with apartments on top became houses spread apart. A few farms started popping up next to the houses if he had continued on the same main street, but upon turning onto Chestnut Street, the view remained the same. It stayed fairly monotonous until he turned onto Nottingham Street.
Nottingham Street seemed as if it has stepped out of a Victorian fairy tale. The painted lady houses were in such bright colors it was as if a rainbow had fallen out of the sky and left its hues behind. Most of the mansions continued down the street to Nick’s left; those to the right were all dwarfed by a single house a block down the street. It sat in the middle of the block, but there were no other houses around it for miles. Nick wouldn’t say it was bright blue, but the sun made it seem a shade darker than the paint looked up close. The windows and walls were well kept, the porch was in tip-top shape and the pebbles in the driveway neatly smoothed and swept.
Nick got out of his car and took in the house’s appearance. The house was wider than it was tall and the porch curved around one side of the house. While the front semi-circle driveway was better kept and obviously the preferred spot to park, there was a carriage trail leading next to the side of the house towards a garage and stable in the back. The rest of the grounds were mostly grass, with a few trees scattered here and there. There was a white picket fence blocking the main street from the lawn in front and far away, a hedge blocking the western edge of the property. The rest of the garden—if there was one—in back of the house was impossible to see.
Nick stepped away from his car and made his way up the porch steps to the front door. The woman who answered it reminded Nick of a teddy bear: she had rosy, round cheeks underneath sparkling green eyes. Though she wasn’t smiling, there was a joyous curiosity about her so Nick couldn’t help but be polite when he greeted her.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Fuentes. The Master said that you should be coming.”
Author’s note on post 391: Well, I’ve been recovering from getting my wisdom teeth removed, so I thought I’d use this time for more than computer games. And I’ve been writing. This is just part one of what I wrote today (part two will be published tomorrow), but it’s a lot more than my usual 10 minutes. In addition, I planned a lot, not necessarily about the plot–though I know where it’s going–but about the characters. So, I’ve been a busy bee and I feel a lot better having gotten work done.
City. Nick laughed at the thought. There was nothing about this town that reminded him of a city. A city had magnificent geometric buildings whose entrances were masked by walls of a writhing mass of hurrying people. A city was bathed in the sounds of car horns, chatter, car motors, the smell of car exhaust and stale air. A city had no light, just the blue-gray shadows of the buildings looming over the people that made the giant machine of the city run, day in and day out. A city had no night and day, just constant motion and a disregard for time, except to switch from work to play.
This town had night and day, sunlight, fresh air, and space. The street was practically deserted and except for the people seen from the large shop windows of the diner and bar, the place looked like a ghost town. The people were molded by work and weariness and the only bit of sophistication were the tacky striped awnings over the windows.
Author’s comments on post 390: I think I like this part of the story best. I know it’s just boring description, but there is a cetain part of poetry in it that tickles my fancy. More at a later date.
Since I wrote a long description about it, I won’t say much here. I welcome any interpretations in the comments and if you want to see mine, click the picture.
Larger size/more information –> click on picture
Info on prints –> click here
“Excuse me,” Nicolas yelled out his car window to the man walking on the board sidewalks beside the street. “Can you tell me how to get to the Fontaine Mansion?”
The man on the street paused and turned his head slowly. He was a bent and weathered old man whose stature seemed to suggest the later half of his life was spent in a rocking chair or bent over a bar counter.
“You mean the Blue house?” he asked Nick. His jaw seemed to rotate as he drawled it, as if his mouth needed the circular motion to keep it moving.
“Sure,” Nick said. He reached over and shut off the air-conditioning.
“Well, you just have to keep going down this street and then turn left on Chestnut. Chestnut will take you to Prairie (you turn right) and then you want to take Prairie out of the city to Nottingham. I believe you turn right onto Nottingham and continue on down. You can’t miss it. It’s bright blue.”
“Thanks,” Nick said, putting his hand up in a wave. He placed his hand down on the window button, which lifted the window with a soft whir. Then he turned the air conditioning on, again.
Author’s comments on 389: Ugh. I’ve been bit by the uninspired, unmotivated bug. I think I know where this is going, but I’m not positive. More of the story at a later date.
