Beneath The Skin (PILOT) - Heaven Evette Creater (most popular novels TXT) 📗

* 1884 *

* March 1884 *

 

            Jolie was born in 1876, the youngest of 3. A family of all men, he was the obedient one. His mother died when he was just 7 years old. He couldn’t really remember her well after that. He, his mother and his brothers were born in Paris, France, except for his father who was an American Man. His parents moved to Paris when they married but soon after his mother’s fatal illness, He and his family moved back to New Orleans, Louisiana where his father was from.  His father, Charles, bought a big new house that was covered in white. The only color that stuck out was the two big green bushes, one on each side of the stairs, and all the green trees and grass and big blue sky in the background.

 

            “Looks like a dozen doves took a shit on it!” Emile, Jolie’s big brother shouted with laughter.

 

Jolie laughed as his father and eldest brother, Pierre, both smacked Emile on the back of his head. This wasn’t the first time however, as Emile always said something smart alec or stupid that would get him a smack or two across the skull. Despite the smacks they all got from each other every once in a while, Jolie had a loving family and his father was never hateful. He adored his father and got along with his brothers well; he looked up to them. His father was a hardworking man and taught all of his sons that hard work paid off immensely.

 

“How, father?” Jolie asked one day while they took their daily routine stroll together.

 

“Easy, come here, I’ll show you.” He said as he took Jolie’s hand. “You see that bird’s nest there?” He asked pointing to a tall birch tree. Jolie Nodded. “How do you think it got up there?”

 

Jolie shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe they just got there.” He answered.

 

“No, no, no,” his father laughed “the birds build it there. They fly out every day and find the perfect twig to use to build the perfect house.”

 

“Then they carry it up?"

 

“No, they build it up there first hand.”

 

“Won’t it fall?”

 

“Perhaps. But if it did, the bird will keep trying, because if it got lazy then it will not have a place to live, and it would die because the nest shelters and protects him.”

 

Jolie took this into consideration.

 

“Is that why you built some of our furniture?” he asked after a few seconds of silent thinking.

 

His father laughed and marveled at his son’s innocent blindness to the world around him. But it also saddened him, because he knew one day, that it would end.

 

“Jolie, I know you’re only a child, but soon you will have to take on some of the responsibilities a man does.” Jolie looked up at him confused. “You’re 8 years old, and growing fast. When our shop opens, you will start working there.”

 

“What will I do papa?”

 

“You will do different things. Running a store requires different tasks.”

 

“When will it open?” Jolie asked kicking a small pebble in front of him repeatedly.

 

“As soon as we settle in and Mr. Farson finalizes my purchase for the shop building.”

 

“When will that be?”

 

“Perhaps next month.” He laughed. “You ask many questions.”

 

“Mother said it’s good to be curious.” Jolie replied in a dry tone without looking up at his father.

Charles simply looked at his son but didn’t respond. He started to comfort him but withdrew his affection and stared at the ground. He knew that his wife’s death was still a sensitive subject for them all. They walked half way home in silence. When they were close enough to see their house in the distance, Charles decided to break the awkward silence.

 

“We will visit your grandfather, a few days after we open the shop.” Charles said cheerfully.

 

Jolie didn’t say a word or react to the news.

 

“Don’t you want to see him?” Charles asked. “He wants to see you and your brothers, I’m sure.”

 

“That’s fine.” Jolie muttered ending the conversation.      

 

But it wasn’t fine. Jolie didn’t like the grandfather. He knew how the grandfather disliked his mother very much and sometimes made uncomfortable glances at him and his brothers. He would eavesdrop on his father’s and grandfather’s conversations whenever he came to visit them in Paris. He would lay on his belly on the hallway floor and peek into his father’s personal sitting room when he was supposed to be asleep and listen to them chat about everything from personal affections to politics. He observed every detail in the room from the large white wicker chairs with the fabric cushions to the way his relatives drank their liquor and blew smoke from their pipes. He watched his father admirably as he talked to his own father.

 

Jolie remembers how calm Charles was, how he comfortably sat still with one leg crossed onto the other and listened to his own fathers lectures, unlike him who fidgeted and became restless after 10 minutes of only sitting. Jolie was a little envious that he couldn’t be more like him. One time a few years ago when the grandfather visited them, Jolie was caught peering through the doorway. His mother had lit a candle in the hallway a few hours before and Jolie’s shadow made an appearance and gave him away. When his father called him in, he thought he would be punished. But he wasn’t. Charles Simply picked him up and placed him on his lap.

 

Then Charles continued to talk with his father as if they had no interruption at all. Jolie loved every second of that moment and he tried hard to take in every detail possible. He loved leaning his head on his father’s chest, taking in the faint smell of his cologne. He watched his father’s chin as he talked and touched it gently feeling and playing with his stubble. This took Charles by surprise as he stopped mid-sentenced and chuckled before swiping Jolie’s hand away. Jolie thought about doing it again but stopped as he caught the glare of his grandfather.

 

“Come here, boy.” His grandfather said trying to force some cheerfulness in his voice.

 

Jolie, frightened, didn’t move.

 

“Come, I won’t bite you.”

 

Jolie looked up at his father unsure of himself. His father gave him a soft smile and gently patted his back to reassure him. Jolie slid off of Charles’ lap and walked slowly and cautiously to the grandfather who sat across from them in the next white wicker chair. He stopped in front of him and searched his face for a sign of comfort. He found nothing in his eyes, where his mother always told him to look if he wanted to know their true intentions. The grandfather sensed his uneasiness and smiled. Not a true pleasant smile, but enough to convince Jolie. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out three pieces of chocolate.He tossed one to Charles, kept one to himself and handed his hand out to Jolie.

 

Hesitantly, he started to take it but the grandfather withdrew his hand from Jolie’s reach. They stared at each other for a minute and the grandfather started to laugh. Jolie looked over at his father who was also laughing himself trying desperately to hold it in. Jolie didn’t find anything humorous. The grandfather held out his hand again but this time Jolie didn’t reach for it. Still laughing, the grandfather roughly took Jolie’s hand and placed the chocolate in it.

 

“Now,” he said trying to breathe between laughs, “to bed with you.” He said as he waved Jolie away.

Jolie looked at his father who nodded towards him with approval. “Goodnight son.” He smiled.

 

Jolie, disappointed, walked out of the room slowly but close enough to hear his grandfather’s fading voice cursing the day his parent had married without his blessings and had three partially shameful sons. Jolie would never forget the look of sorrow and shame that had shown on his mothers face at the grandfather’s words when he bumped right into her, eavesdropping, just as he was. She smiled warmly at his and took his hand to lead him back to bed. Scared of what the grandfather probably did to the chocolate, Jolie threw it out of the window.

 

*April 1884*

 

The sun was hanging high and bright in the sky. A decent breeze blew and the birds chirped. Jolie and his brothers, Emile and Pierre, were waiting outside their toolshed. Their father was going to send them to collect fire wood for the house and the shop.

 

“But that’s double the bois, Papa!” Emile complained

 

“Bois? I don’t understand your language Emile. You are in America, now speak English!” Charles demanded as he handed Emile two axes.

 

“It means wood, father.” Pierre pitched in while wheeling the wheelbarrow in between them. “You’ve been living in Paris for 13 years and haven’t learned any French.” he stated shaking his head. Jolie snickered and smiled as he walked away to find a good holding stick.

 

“I only know a few phrases. I just never caught up on the language. The people we knew there spoke English.” He said gesturing Pierre to move out of the way. “Is that all, now? You have everything?” he asked giving a last glance around their tool shed.

 

“Papa, Jolie has to help too doesn’t he?” Emile asked as he shot Jolie a quick look. Jolie looked at him with squinting eyes.

 

“Shut up, he’s little!” Pierre hissed as he took the axes from Emile, who began swinging them.

 

“Don’t snatch from me!” Emile shouted as he shoved him back.

 

“Hey, knock it off!” Charles hollered as he pushed both boys in opposite directions. “Don’t make me put a licking to you both!”

 

“Why can’t you just come with us?” Emile asked still staring at his older brother.

 

“You’re old enough. You’ll manage, now get goin, all of yas.” He said shooing them away. “Besides, I’ve got to get moving. Mr. Farson is expecting me within an hour for final arrangements.”  “Jolie, you help your big brothers now. And listen to them.” He yelled out to them.

 

“Yes papa.” Jolie called back.

 

His father smiled and gave a half wave  before disappearing back into the house.

 

 

* * *

 

The boys walked deep into the woods and began picking out small logs and premature trees to cut down. They found six, and cut each into two pieces, giving them twelve. Emile and Pierre did the chopping and Jolie picked out the trees and logs. Pierre assigned that job to him so Jolie could feel important. He walked a few paces ahead of his brothers and whacked things with his stick. He was in his own world, oblivious to his brothers.

 

“Have you found anymore?” Pierre called.

 

“No, no good ones.” Joilie called back.

 

“I think this is enough wood for the house and the shop.” Emile said. “We’ve been out here for hours.” He complained.

 

“Don’t over exaggerate, Emile. We’ve only been out here for two hours at most.”

 

“Well it feels like eternity. The mosquitoes are nearly eating me for dinner.” He said swatting at nothing.

 

“But if we get a lot now, we won’t have to come back sooner for more.” Pierre protested.

 

“Pierre, my arms hurt and I’m being bitten. We’ll just chop what we have into smaller pieces.” He said turning the wheel barrel around to go the opposite direction.

 

“Fine,” Pierre sighed. “come on Jolie!”

 

Jolie turned and followed behind them. He kicked rocks with his shoes and whacked bushes and weeds with his stick. He passed a puddle and looked into it. The sun was right above him and he saw his reflection perfectly. He saw his small round face with his chubby cheeks. His shoulder length black hair that matched his dark brown eyes was blowing with the slight breezes. He spotted a light blue ribbon up in a tree above him. He stood and looked up, and there it was tangled between two