Word Count: 1,515
Archive: DarkMagick.net, Apollymi’s Grimoire, and Archive of Our Own. Anyone else wanting it, please ask first. I’ll probably say yes, but ask first…[endsection]
“Now remember, my darlings: this is like to be the only time you will ever see your father’s bastard,” Maman said seriously, a scowl on her pretty face. “You will be cordial so that your father has no reason to become… angry.”
Old bastard don’t need no excuse, Goodnight thought uncharitably but nodded at his mother’s request. He wasn’t far off from thirteen now, and the only sibling he’d ever had was Colette. She was closing in on twelve herself, and having a new child come in who weren’t older than six wasn’t anything like they’d expected.
“Good. Thank you, my lambs,” Maman said gratefully. “This is not going to be easy for any of us, but the new nanny is going to be responsible for the boy. Goodnight, I expect you to keep up your studies despite this… upheaval.”
“Yes, Maman,” he replied, and his mother smiled fondly at him.
The door to the foyer opened then, they could all hear it from the sitting room. Maman smoothed out her skirts and stood up straight, a severe expression on her face; Colette did her best to mimic it with some success, while Goodnight let his face slide into the indifferent mask he oftentimes wore when faced with the man who’d sired him. Monsieur Robicheaux’s boots sounded loudly on the hardwood flooring, then the door to the sitting room opened and the old bastard all but dragged a scrawny little someone into the room.
Don’t they got food in Missouri? Goodnight thought irreverently, blinking at just how tiny this supposed six year old was. Kid was only wearing threadbare clothing, the shirt about three sizes too big and pants with a hole in the knee and shoes that likely should’ve been tossed last year. Add to that that the boy looked terrified, and he was positive that things were about to not go the way his bastard of a father wanted them to.
“Oh, my poor little thing!” Maman all but squealed, crossing the room in a flurry of silk skirts to catch the boy’s face in her hands and look him over thoroughly. “Oh, but you are freezing. Where is your coat, little lamb? Where the hell is his coat, Etienne?” This part was hissed at the old bastard, who looked thunderous.
“The bastard don’t need no coat, Arthémie,” Monsieur Robicheaux all but snarled in response. “Besides, it was falling apart anyway. Tossed all that shit off the train halfway between here and St. Louis. Now can we please just toss him to the nanny and forget he exists?”
Damn it, Goodnight thought, exchanging a look with Colette. You just guaranteed that Maman ain’t ever letting him outta her sight.
Sure enough, Maman’s spine stiffened, and she stood up to glare darkly at her husband. “No,” she said sternly. “You will dismiss her, or I will. I am going to get some suitable clothing on this child, and he is going to eat and get some sleep. You are not coming close to him for the rest of the day. Poor thing is terrified. What did you tell him was going to happen here, Etienne?”
The kid did look frightened… and more than a mite confused. That was likely to do with the quickly spoken French than the actual argument, honestly. Colette turned to look up at Goodnight, and for the life of him, he wasn’t sure what was going to happen next.
“Can we go to the library, G’night?” she asked hopefully, a thread of fear lacing her tone.
Goodnight looked over at his parents, still glaring darkly at one another, and his new half-brother who was looking their way almost curiously. “Yeah, Letty,” he replied. “We’ll be safer there.”
That was the last he set eyes on his new brother — because there was no doubt in his mind that Maman had gone and adopted the boy the second she saw him — for a couple days. When he did climb his way out of the books in his mother’s safe haven, it was to find that she had gone through his old clothing to get something more suitable onto the boy. And whereas he could have been angry that his hand-me-downs were being utilized by a usurper, Goodnight was just pleased that the kid was cleaned up and looked as if Maman was trying to fatten him up some.
Even so, Goodnight didn’t really talk to the boy. He was leery of the old man’s temper at the moment and hoped in the back of his mind that his mother had been keeping the child close at hand; more than a couple times now, Monsieur Robicheaux had stalked by the library and glowered in at his two legitimate children, causing both himself and Colette to keep seated and look back innocently… and not leave the room until Nana Jolie came by to fetch them for bed. He wouldn’t dare lay hands on either of them with the slave girl around; she would go immediately to Maman, who would go to the old man and make threats of contacting the authorities. Nothing would come of it, of course, as it would be a woman’s word and that of a slave against a man’s, but it oftentimes served to curb him for enough days to allow Goodnight to recoup from a beating.
When he did finally speak to the child, Joshua, it was to snap at him for being underfoot. He was fairly confident he called the boy an annoying little shit, only to have the kid snap back that he was a damned fool jackass. Yet Goodnight was the one punished for cussing, which weren’t fair and left him hiding in the library in a snit for a full day and a half. In spite of this, Joshua kept just being there, in the background, like a little six year old shadow. It wasn’t until another week went by that he was willing to speak cordially to the boy, and even then he kept it to a minimum. He knew the old man was angry, and he hope that minimal contact might keep the kid safe from a whooping.
Even so, whenever Colette would come wandering up and asking him to read aloud to her, Goodnight noticed that the boy would silently slip in and hide behind a settee. And so he would read to both his siblings, keeping one eye out for when Joshua eased out from his hiding spot and slipped closer slowly. Given that Goodnight read aloud in both the French he’d learned first and English, he hoped that Joshua was at least gleaning a bit of the new-to-him language. Maybe someday, if he could trust that the old man would leave them in peace for a few hours, Goodnight would actually sit down with the boy and tutor him some.
It was sometime during the third week of Joshua living with them, on a day that he knew for goddamn sure that Monsieur Robicheaux was in the house, when Goodnight looked up from his lessons with his tutor to realize it was far too quiet. It could just be that Colette, who’d taken a mind to feed up their new brother, had dragged Joshua off to the kitchen to get Cooky to make them some snacks. It could be that Joshua had found a different hiding place from the library where Goodnight’s tutoring was taking place that day.
Hell, it could be that Joshua had slipped out to the stable to see the horses. The child was obsessed with horses, and Maman intended to get him a yearling to train to saddle before his seventh birthday rolled around.
But Goodnight was terrified that the silence meant he’d failed as a brother, that the old bastard had caught the youngest member of the family and that next time Joshua appeared, it would be with bruises and cuts.
He didn’t realize he was having an anxiety attack until his tutor had shaken him out of it in an effort to gain his attention again. Goodnight forced himself to pay attention to the rest of his lessons, but his mind was more focused tracking down his T-Jo—and just when had he started to think of the boy by a nickname, one that was so close to the JoJo that Letty was calling him whenever they spoke of him—and making sure he was okay.
The second the tutor released him, he all but ran to the kitchen to start his search. Cooky took one look at him, clucked her tongue, and directed him to the stable. He found his brother easy enough, even though it was obvious T-Jo was trying to hide, and it was also clear that the old bastard had found him first. Rather than say anything, Goodnight pretended he hadn’t seen him and moved to tend to his pony. He spoke softly to the creature, more directing his assurances towards his brother, and hoped that the child took some comfort there.
Because Goodnight Robicheaux would be dead and buried before he let Monsieur Robicheaux touch his brother again without going through him first.
And he did his best to keep that promise.
[section=Footer Notes]10 February 2017Greetings and love from Katsuko!
Yes, it’s my turn to toss in some early years stories to you, the good people of the internet. And it’s Goody-centric, because we think it’s important to see what was going on in this child’s head when he suddenly acquired a younger brother.
Additionally, tomorrow is my birthday. We will still be posting the regular timeline Wicked Ones chapter, but this is a nicer pressie-from-birthday-girl than completely angst, yes?
~Katsuko[endsection]