A happening documented upon the first of August in the year 1883, at the Endicott residence, involving the errant Mr Alexander Endicott and the honorable Mr Bartholomew Endicott.
It was a long way from the New Haven train station up to Hillcrest Avenue, and most residents took one of the new steam powered cabs, or a carriage, but today a man was walking steadily up the road. It had been eight years since he'd walked along the Avenue of well appointed houses, gardens behind them and iron gates in front. Eight years, but he still knew exactly where he was going. He noted the subtle changes to the place absently, as he walked, a new gate here, a changed garden, a renovated house. The rows of houses had changed less then he had, although no one recognized him to note the changes. A thin eighteen year old when he had left, his shoulders and chest had broadened so that he looked larger in spite of the fact that he had not grown an inch in height. His skin was darkened by long exposure to the sun, and his dark hair was hidden by a hat the style of which was not much seen east of that wide river that divides the countryside in half - wide brimmed and with a creased crown. His shirt had been carefully patched many times, almost all with fabric that looked absurdly exotic next to the worn blue linen of the shirt. He carried a duffle and a rucksack, in the manner of sailors who travel with most everything they own. He set one of those bags down on the stoop of a house that made him look as if he weren't well dressed enough to even be the hired help, and rang the bell, remembering at the last moment, to take off his hat, and smooth back his rumpled hair.
Bart had had a long tiring day, and was just finishing up a review of the accounts which had given him cause to pour himself a small brandy when the door bell rang. It was on the tip of his tongue to call for Tabitha to answer it when he remembered she was gone. Some months now. After her years of service he still felt ashamed at how little he'd been able to offer her in terms of a severance. Straightening his tie and briefly checking that his hair was in place in the hallway mirror, he moved to greet his visitor, whomever it was. To say that he was rather shocked and surprised to see his brother standing there, after eight long years of absence would have been an understatement. He'd changed, and didn't look the same as Bart had remembered, and yet it was undeniable that Alexander was standing in front of him. Bart stood in the doorway, momentarily at a loss for something to say. Part of him wanted to step forward and embrace him, and the other half was inclined to do something rather violent. He settled for stepping backwards and holding the door for his brother, his face as unemotional a mask as he could muster . Bart didn't quite trust himself to speak yet.
Alex wasn't sure what he had expected...well no, he had expected a servant to open the door. But it was more then that. His first impulse was to embrace his brother, but there was something about the sudden lack of expression that made him feel as though something was wrong. So he stood with his hat in one hand and most of his world possessions in the other, while his brother stepped back and opened he door and took up his other pack to step past the threshold into his childhood home. After an unexpectedly awkward moment, in which he found himself at a loss for words, he finally said, "Its good to see you, Bart."
"What am I supposed to say to that?" Bart replied a little stiffly. "It's not as if you were barred from coming home any time you wished to. In fact, it might have caused our blessed mother less heartache and worry if you *had* shown up from time to time." He moved to take the other bag from Alexander, intending to head with it upstairs to his old room. "Am I pleased to see you? Of course. The prodigal brother has returned. But I gave up hoping and waiting long ago. Excuse me if my reception is less than effusive."
Alex actually stared at his brother for a moment looking as if Bart had just struck him. He might in fact have been clearer about what to do if his brother had struck him. After a moment, his brows drew together slightly, "I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner. I was in the Orient when I got your letter...I," He faltered slightly, realizing what he was saying wasn't going to make much difference, "...had to wait for a ship to Santa Maria and go over land."
Bart didn't want to hear excuses, or apologies. He had a right to be angry, and disappointed in his brother. But at the same time, he felt a strange kind of relief too. As though some dark chapter of his life was finally over. "I had not expected you to come at all. So, if you are late, it is simply in the sense that your absence has been felt for some time, so that it has become the norm. Even should I have wished it otherwise." It was about as close as he could get to telling his brother that he'd missed him.
A fair number of things to say came to mind, but Alex rejected them out of hand, and let the entire subject drop instead, "Is there still a room I could stay in?" He could use a cup of tea and a bath, as well, frankly. And the hair he'd tried to smooth back was falling across his forehead again.
"Don't be ridiculous. Your room is as it was. Though, I have not had the time to change your sheets recently."
The statement, for so many reason, struck Alex as so ludicrous he almost laughed. Half at the idea that dusty sheets might matter and half at the image of Bart changing the linens. He didn't, mostly because Bart was clearly serious. "I didn't realize I was being ridiculous. You did say you didn't expect me back. The sheets don't matter."
"Can you imagine mater having it any other way? She kept your room spotless, the linens and flowers being changed once a week till she passed." Bart's tone was matter of fact, and he opened the door, turning on the nearest lamp. The only indication that time had passed was the rather dry, withered vase of flowers by the window sill.
He almost said that it seemed a waste...but then, Bart was right, it was like their mother to keep the room up. It was only that the impracticality of it had never made any real impression on him before. Stepping into the room, so familiar but from so long ago, had a curious effect on him, and he stood just staring at it for longer then necessary...or polite. "Is...the kitchen still the same? I could use a cup of tea." Do with..Bart would have said I could do with a cup of tea. Or maybe I should very much enjoy a cup of tea. Where along the way had he lost all those extra words?
"Of course." Bart gave him an odd look. What a strange question. "There has been no significant remodelling or changes. Mater would have informed you in her letters if that were so. I expect that you are in need of refreshment from your travels. A cup of tea shall hardly suffice. I'll see what we have in the larder."
The way he said it made it sound almost as if he expected Alex hadn't eaten since leaving the western coast, and he smiled slightly, "A bath would be nice actually. I'm sure I can find something to eat later. I had something in town, before walking up the hill."
He nodded, moving around the room to ensure everything was indeed where it should be. That there were towels. That the window was open. As he recalled Alexander preferred. Since he wasn't sure what else to do but act as though his brother was an honoured guest, he took one last glance about and then prepared to withdraw. "I'll be in the study for another hour yet, but plan to retire early. I need to go inspect the latest shipment at the warehouse first thing tomorrow." He paused, torn between asking something and fearing the answer. "Should I bother finding you the spare key?"
"I suppose it would be easier then climbing in the window."
"Not that that stopped you in the past." Bart replied, a trace of humour in remembrance of his brother's propensity to use the tree outside as his back stairs.
Alex smiled widely in return, mirroring his brothers spark of humour exponentially, "No, but slipping through the window was always sort of difficult. And...at least once...I remember someone closed it while I was gone."
"Oh? Perhaps it fell down itself with the wind. It can get gusty on the hill, after all." Bart replied, his face carefully expressionless. Of course it had been his doing. One of the few ways he would get revenge on his brother whenever he felt he'd been slighted. but so much had happened since those somewhat carefree days.
"The wind," Alex said, cheerfully, "Has never, to my knowledge, locked a window." He set the bag he'd been carrying down and dropped his hat on top of it. "Want me to bring you some tea?"
"You know how to make tea?" The incredulous tone was deliberate. He made for the stairs. "If you're having one."
"I am. And I do. Unless you're from the Orient in which case I'm told I do it wrong." The slight release of tension had turned Alex from hesitant to positively cheerful. Maybe it was a hope that this meant it was just that it would take a few days, for them to relax around one another again.
Unfortunately, Alexander's mention of the Orient was a reminder of the fact that his brother had been off traveling to exotic places, while he, the dutiful son had remained pretty much shackled to New Haven. He'd never once left port on an airship. His mother had had a fear of flying since their father's death, and he'd not wanted to distress her. And so, business had been conducted in such a way that others traveled for him. The tension returned. "You're in New Haven now."
Alex felt the change like you could feel the changing air pressure before a storm. In reply, he simply said, softly, "Do you still take milk and sugar in your tea?"
"Of course." He murmured, tiredness creeping into his tone as he placed one hand on the top banister. "Why would I change?" The implication being that other things left unsaid *had* changed quite significantly. "There's extra soap in the cupboard and a shaving kit should you need it." He descended the stairs not waiting for another reply.
Alex moved a hand unconsciously to touch his own jaw, wondering if he needed a shave that badly - he'd gotten much used to going for some time with no mirror. But the brush of stubble there was no more then usual, and of course, it was merely something polite Bart was pointing out. "I'll bring a cup up to you then shall I?"
Bart moved back to his desk and began to put the company books away. He wasn't sure he would be able to concentrate now that -- he couldn't quite believe it. That his brother had finally returned home. After all this time. Many times he'd imagined what he'd say when he did. And yet the reality of it had been far different than what he'd envisioned taking place. Bart had not been prepared for it. But then perhaps even a letter of warning would not have made the moment any more satisfactory than it had been. He leaned back in his chair, listening to the bath being drawn. At least now he wouldn't be alone.