Here then, is "Choice", the story of Helen as she struggles with matters of the heart.
Choice
The rain fell; heavy, undulating rain that came in torrents. It was the kind of rain Helen loved. It made her feel like the world was alive; like life was purposeful. On any other night she'd have been outside walking in it, relishing the feel of it upon her skin as it drenched her clothes and made her white hair cling to her head.
But as she sat behind the desk in her small office; the room dark except for the dim glow that poured through a window from a street lamp; the rain did nothing to soothe her or calm her.
She stared across the room at a blank wall and toyed with a pencil; rolling it back and forth between her hands and her thoughts were a jumble. She should be on her way to a dinner engagement with her fiancé; the man she met slightly more than a year earlier; the man whose child she carried. But another matter had to be addressed first.
The knock at the door broke her concentration and caused her to sit straight in the chair. Before she could respond, the door opened without a sound, swung inward and left a tall, slender woman silhouetted in the light from the outer office.
"Hello, mother," Helen's heavy voice was almost a whisper. "What took you so long?"
Rachel stepped in letting the door close behind her.
"What made you so sure I'd come?"
Helen stood and moved around to the front of the desk where she leaned back and crossed her arms.
"I know you. Like I said, I'm surprised it took you this long. I expected you quite some time ago."
"Okay," Rachel turned, moved to the sofa in front of Helen's desk and sat, "so where should we start? I know, how about with, I told you so."
"So you did." Helen twisted her mouth in thought. "But it's a little late for that. In fact there's not really much to discuss. I'm on my way to meet Mark and tell him about the baby."
"You're a fool!"
Helen smiled.
"I expected that too."
"Why don't you just walk away from him?" Rachel pulled her legs into the seat and crossed them. "I suppose you're gonna tell him you're a witch."
"Hadn't planned on it, but now that you mention it..."
"I'll see you in hell first." Rachel's voice remained matter-of-fact.
The room grew quiet and the two women stared across the darkness at one another. Outside, the rain continued and in the distance, lightning flashed followed by thunder heavy enough to shake the windows in their frames.
"When you and Alex spirited me away from Robert I swore I'd never let anyone interfere in my life like that again. For five years you held me prisoner in my own home; long enough for him to meet someone else, fall in love, and marry."
In that moment, the memories she'd buried for years rushed to the surface. Her breathing became ragged and when she spoke again, it came out as a low, mournful wail.
"Do you know what it's like to watch as someone else lives the life that should have been yours? She married the man I love, had the child that should have been mine."
"You became reckless, Helen. Alex and I did what had to be done."
"No, mother," she slammed her hand atop the desk, "This is my life, my heart. And I'll do with it as I see fit. It's not for you, or Alex or any of the others to say who I can love."
"You really don't understand, do you?"
Rachel stood and started toward the door. When she grasped the handle she stopped and turned back.
"Consider what you're doing, child," the darkness hid her tears. "I was in your position once. I made the same choice, the same mistake, you're getting ready to make, now."
Anger still covered Helen's face, but the comment piqued her interest.
"What do you mean?" She spat.
"I'm talking about your father."
"What do you mean?" She repeated. "Our father was a witch. Just like you; just like me."
"No." Rachel shook her head. "Alex and Camira's father was a witch. But you, my first born, your father was human like this man you love. And because I loved him I confided in him. And he threatened to tell others, to bring them to my door; all the while ranting about evil and the devil's children. So I took his life.”
"Liar!"
"No." Her eyes closed and she shook her head. "That was more than a hundred years ago. But it still hurts, even after all this time, and I was hoping to spare you that."
Helen felt a lump in her throat when she tried to respond. She swallowed and tried again.
"What if I told you this is different. What if I told you Mark is different."
"I'd call you a liar," Rachel answered, "or a fool. Most likely a fool, because that's what you are when you're in love."
Tears flowed down her cheeks. Yet, her voice stayed even and calm.
"We, you and I, are more alike than you admit. We both let ourselves fall prey to the same feelings. But when we're surrounded by these people; when we work with them and live with them; we lose sight of the truth. We have a responsibility to protect our own. And if we have to place that above our feelings, so be it. Because if they learn who we are, come to believe the myths and legends and fairy tales, then we are threatened. If you tell him you put all of us at risk. Not just yourself."
"So what would you suggest I do?" Helen asked.
"I don't know," Rachel sighed. "Go away and never come back. Have your child and come live with me if nothing else."
She opened the door, stepped through and waited a moment without turning. When Helen didn't respond, she closed the door behind her.
Helen stood in the dark office for a moment longer before grabbing her coat from a rack beside the door. Even then, as if waiting for some epiphany, some bolt of insight and reasoning, she just stood and stared into the darkness. Finally, she threw the coat over her arm and left.
The little coffee shop where Helen was to meet Mark was several blocks away. Rather than hale a cab, she decided to walk. She reasoned the time it would take might give her a chance to weigh her mother's words against what she felt in her heart.
When she reached the intersection across from her destination, she still did not know what she would do. As she stood there, she could see Mark seated at the same booth by the window where they first met.
She stood there a moment, the coat still draped across her arm, smiled wryly and turned to walk away.
"It's the right thing to do, Helen."
Rachel stood beneath an open umbrella.
"No. It's not." Helen shook her head, sending droplets of water scattering to be caught by the rain and carried to the pavement. "But I'm going to do it anyway because I'm so tired of fighting with you and the others."
Rachel lowered her head briefly. When she looked up again her smile, while not broad, was genuine.
"Come," she held out her free hand to her daughter, "let's go home."
© 1992 by William Butler
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