The Axe (special preview)

They thought the country would be best for Bernadette. After all, her time spent at her family’s summer home out near the lakes were some of the best times of her life. So surely, out there would be the best place for her after what happened.

The house was surprisingly chilly, but there seemed to be no attempts at making it warmer. Bernadette was surprised at the lack of care around her new home. The dust on the mantels, the closed in feeling of the walls. She walked through the house, thinking to herself how she did not want it to seem so inhospitable when her husband returned. She wanted to have the place renovated and beautiful by then, but everything just seemed to keep getting in the way of that goal.

Due to a childhood ailment, Bernadette was left almost mute, she could barely speak above a whisper. Most of the time, she had to communicate through letters. In youth she had carried around a notepad and pen at all times. At least she had beautiful handwriting.

But now, in this house, where she felt so alone. Bernadette often kept to herself, walking around, staring out the windows, and feeling the listlessness that came with nothing to do. The planned renovations to the house were put on hold due to heavy rain that felt endless. There were rooms where the walls were opened, exposing the hollow, dusty contents inside. It made the house feel even more desolate.

“I cannot begin to describe how empty it all feels without you, my love,” she began one of her letters. “This place and all around it feels lost without your warming presence. The staff does not listen to me. And do not get me started on what else has been going on. I have taken myself away from everything, I have kept myself alone in order to ignore. I know this is not how you would like me to do things, but I do not know what else to do with myself. I know you cannot write to me as often as you’d like, but I feel as though I cannot begin to return to my senses without some word from you! I fear I will not be myself completely until you are home. Even if these renovations are not done, I still wish you here. That is all I long for. Your everloving wife, Bernadette.”

One afternoon, which was more dreary than the last, Bernadette wandered back into what had been the bedroom. It was the room that was last being worked on, one wall had been removed in order to make it bigger and more open. She had wanted french doors that lead out onto the terrace that would let in all sorts of beautiful light. But now. That wall was stripped down to just the brick and mortar. The one wall was partially torn down. She walked around the brick, leaving footprints in the dust.

Bernadette turned to look at the wall where the bed had once stood. She and her husband had spent so few nights together there before he had to go. There had been far too little time together, and it had made Bernadette so happy. She never thought she would be wed until she met him, and from there on it was like a fairy tale. He gave her a voice, helped her to stand on her own. So without him there, it might as well go on raining forever.

“I know this house is old, but it is a chance for us,” he told her. “We can do what’s needed to make it feel newer and lighter. Do whatever you need to make yourself happy here.” His smile brightened Bernadette’s soul. He lifted her up in a way no one else ever did. “We have wealth now, we can do everything we need to make this place our home.”

Bernadette turned back to the destroyed wall, peering into the space between bricks where the cold air breathed. Inside she saw something. Perhaps one of the workers left a tool behind. She reached inside and stretched out her fingers to feel something cool and smooth against her fingertips. She took hold of the handle drawing forth the tool from within.

The axe sat quite heavy in her palms, and the blade still looked to be quite sharp despite the obvious wear it had been through. Bernadette looked it over, wondering if it was being missed by whoever used it last. She took it downstairs with her, placing it by the empty fireplace. She had left a note for the staff to light it, but the note was left ignored again. Frustrated that she was being ignored while her husband was away, Bernadette added onto the note.

She struck the pen to the paper harshly, hoping to get across her frustration. “Or else my husband will be made aware.” She smiled to herself after penning the addition, then returned upstairs to find something to do. The staff had been chosen by her step-mother, she was not surprised they were ignoring her.

Bernadette was used to being ignored. As a child her parents had sent her away, first to relatives, then to school where she became ill and lost her voice. It was then that she had been returned home where her mother had passed away and her father remarried. Bernadette’s step mother had been a source of unnecessary conflict for her. She tormented Bernadette regularly about her voice, asking her to speak up, say something for once. She even mocked her writing of letters and notes in order to be understood.

“Look at this stupid, vapid, girl,” she would crow. She always had company. Her friends, or even just people she breathed near, would be invited over so she could show off her newfound wealth and affluence. Everything her mother so tenderly put together in the house, she replaced with something bigger, shinier, and newer. Bernadette was just the last piece that needed replacing, unfortunately she was immoveable. There was nowhere she could be sent now. No one wanted her, no one really knew what to do with her. After her mother passed away, her side of the family refused any contact with her father, especially after her remarried. There were also no schools who would take her. Besides, her step-mother refused any more money be wasted upon Bernadette.

“Can’t speak!” The woman sneered into her face. “And when she does you can’t even hear her.” She gloated as she circled around Bernadette. “Say something, child. Say something at all. Surely you can muster a few words in your defense.”

Bernadette would just stare off into the distance. She would place herself into the paintings, or she would read the spines of books along the shelf. Anything at all to distract herself from what was being said. Because should she dare try to speak, or even worse, write something, it would only make the mockery of her step-mother worse.

It was no secret amongst the staff and Bernadette herself that the woman only wanted her father for his money. Bernadette’s family was extremely wealthy. So it was also not a surprise when she began pushing for Bernadette to marry her son. Who Berndaette had never met. The boy was away for school, finishing up his education for something, Bernadette never really got a straight answer. Her step-mother insisted upon it, assuring that whatever wealth Bernadette’s family had all went into her pockets.