Helplessness and Confusion
Eleanor stepped out of the church, her heart heavy yet clinging to a fragile hope. For years, she had prayed with tearful pleas for the Lord to bless her with a child. Ten long years of marriage to William, and still no pregnancy. She had visited every physician, endured countless examinations, only to hear the same refrain: “You are in perfect health. These things take time Perhaps it is not yet the hour.”
“How much longer, Will?” she would murmur, her eyes searching his. “A family feels incomplete without a child.”
William, too, carried the weight of their longing. A prosperous merchant, he had built a comfortable life for them in Londonwanting for nothing, save an heir. “Ellie,” he ventured one evening, “what if we adopted? A babe from the orphanagewe could raise him as our own.”
But Eleanor shook her head. “No, Will. I want to bear our child. Why do the physicians insist I am well, yet heaven remains silent?”
Then, at last, mercy came. Eleanor became with child. Joy overflowed, boundless and bright. Though her pregnancy was fraught with hardship, she endured it gladly for the sake of their long-awaited son.
Little Edward was born frail, prone to illness, and his parents doted on him with trembling devotion. They shielded him from every illkept him from other children, fearing contagion. Eleanor walked him in quiet parks, far from bustling playgrounds. No expense was spared: by four, he had a tablet; by seven, the finest school satchel and a costly pocket watch. Every whim was indulgedyet with each passing year, Edwards temper grew fouler.
William was ever at his counting-house, while Eleanor kept house, tending to Edwards every demand. If she dared serve a dish not to his liking, he would scowl: “What is this slop? I wont eat it!” Then he would dash salt into the bowl and demand his favourite stew.
At thirteen, Edward became ungovernable. Eleanor fretted to William, who only sighed. “Its just the lads age, Ellie. Hell outgrow it.”
One evening, William returned with a gift. “Son, Ive brought you a new watch.”
Edward snatched the box, then moments later hurled it against the wall. “This is rubbish! I told you I wanted the silver one. Only paupers wear this!” He slammed his chamber door.
The parents exchanged weary glances. “What did I tell you?” Eleanor whispered. William had no answer.
Clothes, shoesnothing was bought without Edwards approval, lest he unleash a storm. Then came the summons from his schoolmaster.
Eleanors stomach twisted. “What has he done now?”
“Good day, Mrs. Whitmore,” the schoolmaster began. “Thank you for coming. I must speak plainly: Edward insults his tutors, disrupts lessons, and when reprimanded, he sneers and claims knowledge of his rightsthreatening complaints that could see us dismissed.”
The words seared her cheeks. “He extorts coin from classmates to lend his watch, demands they complete his sums”
Eleanor stood mortified, her face aflame. “Please, madam,” the schoolmaster urged, “correct your son.”
She promisedand apologised. Walking home, she feared her own rage. Would she strike him one day?
The neighbours, the Cartwrights, had four childrennever a cross word among them. The elder boys even carried Eleanors parcels when they saw her laden. Once, she asked Mrs. Cartwright her secret.
“My husband was one of eight,” the woman replied. “He always said: many hands make light work. The children help one another.”
Eleanor listened, envying the harmony she could not grasp.
That evening, Edward stormed in, flung his satchel, kicked off his boots. “This school is a dunghill! And youdid I not say to keep my door shut?”
Eleanor bit her tongue. But when he failed to appear for supper, she found him in his roomslowly slicing his fine leather coat with shears, smirking as she gasped.
“Like that, do you? Run to the schoolmaster again, will you?” He sneered. “Buy me a better oneor Ill shred the next as well.”
Her palm struck his cheek before she could stop herself. Regret flooded heruntil she saw his eyes.
“Right,” he hissed, snatching his watch. “Youll see.”
The constable arrived, baffled. “There must be some mistake?”
“No mistake,” Edward declared. “She struck me. I demand justice.”
The officer, accustomed to drunken fathers and starveling children, blinked at the opulent parlour. “A family quarrel, surely. Sort it out.”
Edward shrieked, “I know my rights! If you leave, Ill report you for neglect!”
The constable turned to Eleanor. “Shall I take him?”
“Please,” she whispered.
When the child welfare officers came, they too were puzzleduntil Edward demanded his mothers punishment. Their gazes softened with understanding.
“Pack your things, Edward,” one said. “Youre coming with us.”
“Where?”
“A home for boys. Since youre mistreated here.”
His bravado faltered.
Later, the matron murmured to Eleanor, “Weve seen this before. Children who are given too much learn too little.”
Two weeks passed. Then Edward called, voice small: “Mama, fetch me. The food is slop. Theyve taken my things”
“We cannot,” she said gently. “The court has forbid it.”
William visited alone. He scarcely recognised the subdued boy who whispered, “Take me home, Papa.”
Crossing their threshold, Edward exhaled. “Home” He turned to them, eyes wet. “Forgive me. Ive been a brute.”
Eleanor smiled. “Come, lad. Suppers waiting.”
