The Breaking Point. Mariella Starr
and cranny in her house, and we’re going to talk to that day nurse we hired too. Mrs. Braycroft was helping, and in Cybil’s home for over a week. She might have witnessed the drinking. That’s our starting point, so don’t sweat it, at least for now.
“Come on, let’s get busy. I have about two hours of free time. Then, I need to kiss my wife and kids, tell them I love them, and report for duty. What do you need help loading?”
Ales and John loaded and hitched the U-Haul trailer to Ales’ truck. He and Ricco would leave in the morning. Hancock was thirty-eight miles east of Cumberland and the U-Haul would protect everything if it started raining, as was forecasted.
Hancock was one of the oldest settlements in Western Maryland, founded and named after an American Revolution hero who fought alongside George Washington. The small Maryland town was located at the narrowest part of the state. The north-south distance from the Pennsylvania state line to the West Virginia state line was less than two miles. The entire town consisted of less than three miles of land, and part of that was underwater.
It was still a small town, and it hadn’t changed much since the area had played an integral role in the Civil War. General Stonewall Jackson had laid siege to Hancock, and tried to ransom the small town back to the Union army. The ransom was never paid, as Hancock had been a primary location that was fought for by both sides, considering the Pennsylvania Mason-Dixon border separated the North from the South. The small canal town had been used as a staging area for supplies by the Confederacy, determined to cross the narrow strip of Maryland to invade Pennsylvania.
Faith had been raised in Hancock, the daughter of the town grocer, whose ancestors had handed down the family business to the next generation for a century and a half. Her father had sold the grocery to a franchise market when she had entered college. He hadn’t wanted his only child to feel pressured to take over a business when she had no interest in it.
His wife didn’t have any family left, except some very distant cousins. She still owned the family home in Hancock. Ales remembered when they had reached a stage when they could afford to buy a home. She had wanted to return to Hancock. Her parents had been alive then, and Faith had been a stay-at-home mom with one-year-old Ricco. She’d wanted to raise Ricco around his loving grandparents.
Ales had vetoed the idea, not wanting to commute the forty miles to his fledgling business. Now, with both her parents gone, he realized she must resent the time she’d lost with them, because of his decision.
He wasn’t keeping a scorecard, but Ales was experiencing an awakening. How many times had he overridden his wife’s concerns about different things? How many times had he ignored her opinions and assumed he knew what was best for their family, especially when the decision made was tilted in his favor? Looking back, he had to admit many of his decisions were based on what he wanted, and as the head of his family, he’d decided it was his decision to make them. That wasn’t how a responsible Head of House was supposed to act.
Faith was a peacemaker. She rarely made a fuss, or dug in her heels and refused to budge. She was standing her ground now, and she wasn’t giving an inch. She had tried to do it several times when they’d had to deal with his mother. Each time, he had overridden her wishes, and their home had been turned into a battle zone by the irritability of Cybil Benedetti. Ales had thought he was helping his mother, but he hadn’t been the one dealing with her. When Faith had complained, he’d shrugged it off.
For the first time in many years, Ales was unsure of himself. He didn’t know if his wife would even allow him in her house. She would love having Ricco, but his welcome was uncertain. She might slam the door in his face. It would piss him off, but he wouldn’t blame her.
Faith wouldn’t have been in the accident if he hadn’t told his mother she could stay with them for a week or two until she was on her feet again. His wife’s art wouldn’t have been destroyed. Faith had reached a breaking point, and he couldn’t blame anyone but himself.
Unable to sleep, Ales went into his office. He was viewing everything now from a different perspective. He’d promised the office to Faith, told her he would turn into a studio when they had been shown the house. The mid-century modern had appealed to his architectural eye. Faith’s choice had been a larger house with more rooms and in need of more renovations. He’d made an offer on the mid-century modern house without discussing it with her, and even after one hell of a fight, he had refused to rescind the offer.
They hadn’t turned the office into a studio. Faith had worked in the garage with inadequate lighting, heat and air conditioning for several years.
He remembered now, that when their finances had stabilized enough to begin renovations, his wife had shown very little interest. She had gone along with most of his suggestions. When she had wanted to turn the family room into a studio, he had vetoed the idea, claiming they needed the space as a family hangout when they watched television. Translated that meant, he needed the area for his large flat-screen TV so he could watch his sports games.
If he remembered correctly, and he did, it had been one of the few times in their married life that his wife had done what she wanted to do. She’d hired a carpenter, and when he’d returned home one day, the work had already been started. He also remembered the fight they’d had over it. He’d been angry for weeks, and he was just beginning to realize how unfair, he’d become in their marriage. As the head of the house, he had the upper hand, but he’d been wielding his position selfishly.
Ales turned on Faith’s computer, a laptop sitting on a small desk space in the kitchen. Another of his inequities came to life and slapped at him. He had a full set-up in his office of the most sophisticated equipment available, and the programs he needed to use if he decided to work at home. She had a laptop sitting on a thirty-six-inch desk built into an alcove off the kitchen.
With his stomach churning, Ales logged onto Amazon. There was a long list in Faith’s Buy Again area, and he ordered multiples of her supplies—what she would have purchased to replenish an entire studio. He didn’t know how long she or they would be living in Hancock, but he knew Faith. She needed to create. She needed a studio there. He had the art supplies sent to the Hancock house address.
“Is Mom going to be surprised?” Ricco asked for about the tenth time, as they turned onto the street where Faith’s family had lived for a century and a half.
“Absolutely,” Ales said. “She’ll be over the moon to see you.”
“Did we bring my skateboard?” Ricco asked.
“No, I removed it from the trailer,” Ales admitted. “These hills are too steep for you to be trying to skateboard on them. After you get used to these mountains, maybe we’ll bring it here. There will be new rules going into place about your bike and scooter use too. We don’t need any more broken arms or legs. Mom’s injuries are enough for us to have to deal with, so no crazy stunts. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Ricco said, although he looked disappointed.
“We’re six blocks from the canal park, and there are plenty of paved paths for bikers and skaters and joggers there,” Ales assured his son.
The hill was steep, yet the houses had been tiered up the street, the lots leveled if possible. Front yards were narrow, having been pushed back when paved roads replaced dirt roads built wide enough to accommodate horse and buggy transportation. There were narrow sidewalks, and street parking as driveways and garages were at the rear of the properties, accessed from narrow gravel-covered alleys. Most of the garages were converted carriage houses, sheds, or small barns that had housed cows and horses. A lot of the old houses still had chicken coops, and it was still legal to keep chickens in town. Most people didn’t bother and found other uses for the buildings.
Jill had parked her car above the house, and enough people had left for work to clear a space big enough for Ales to pull his truck, with the U-Haul straight in tight against the curb. The Murphy house was three-stories, with a Victorian mansard roof and a towered Welsh