The Forerunner

By Jordan Bennett

The death of a loved one can be very dramatic. And if the death is unexpected it can be even more devastating. In the novel The Forerunner, Edmund Ausmus has lived his life shadowed not only by guilt he has felt since the death of his brother Richard during World War II, but also by the anger he had directed toward his father whom he partly blamed for his brothers death.

After a twenty-one year self-imposed exile, Edmund returns to his childhood home in the hopes that by sharing his feelings with his sister Cordelia he might come to terms with his guilt and anger. But the reunion with Cordelia raises more questions than answers when she informs him that Richard never intended on returning from the war, that he wanted to die there. Confused and unsettled by the news, Edmund embarks on a journey to

fi nd the truth concerning his brothers death.

Through conversations Edmund has with Cordelia, and by confronting memories of his past, Edmund learns things about his family he never knew. The secrets Edmund uncovers begins to shed light on the reasons some of the events of the past had transpired the way they had. And by delving even deeper into Richards past and by talking with those who knew Richard before the war, Edmund is able to learn the unsettling secret which drove Richard to the choice he made about his life. When his journey is complete Edmund is able to reconcile himself with the past and accept his place in the family he for years had run away from.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 8, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467810227

Jordan Bennett

Jordan Bennett resides in the small town of Clio, Michigan. He started writing as a hobby when he was a young boy, and he now writes as a way to share his ideas and imagination with others. His first novel, The Forerunner, was described as “a quiet, sensitive, intelligent, and poignant novel” by a judge in the Writer’s Digest International Self-Published Book Awards contest. He is currently working on a science fiction/ fantasy novel, another collection of short fiction, and a companion book to The Forerunner.

Book preview

© 2007 Jordan Bennett. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse

ISBN: 1-4259-5946-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-1022-7(ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Book One: The Reunion

Book Two: Busy Crossroads in an Empty Village

Book Three: Valance of Guilt

Book Four: The Death Masque

s 

Thanks to the following people for their support and

opinions during the development of this novel

Colleen Dyke, Marcia Pedrin, Beth Whitcomb,

Julia McLain, Harley Aulbert,

Amy Reynolds and Lori Kelly

A special thanks to Wendy Reich

for her help in putting the final copy together

And to Wil Prevo for the cover art.

This novel is for NiCole

Love you Kiddo

Book One: The Reunion

The Chalk Road

S ometimes I wonder if things could have been different, Cordelia. I mean with Richard. I often ask myself if things would have happened differently had he known how we really felt about him.

I don’t think anything could have changed the course of life Richard was set upon, Edmund. I don’t think him knowing how we felt would have mattered at all.

I still have asked myself many times over the years if there wasn’t something I could have done, or said, that would have made a difference.

It is a question I too have asked myself. A question I have grown weary of. It is a question that can never be answered.

A question that can never be answered, I repeated in a soft voice, not totally sure if it was true. I looked down at the small woman who walked beside me, her slender arm entwined with mine. Cordelia had grown much older since I had last seen her. The beauty and purity I remembered in her as a child and young lady had vanished, replaced by the weariness and worn appearance that comes with age. I had heard over the years how Cordelia had grown more frail, a product of the illness she had suffered from as a young girl, an illness which had almost taken her from our family. I wondered if Cordelia saw a difference in me. If she saw a man who had grown older in age and matured in a hardship brought upon by guilt.

There were differences I wished my sister did not see in me, and ones I had not wanted to see in her, but twenty-one years without seeing each other is too long a period of time for age not to make its presence known. And so I knew Cordelia and I saw the same in each other, a person with the skeletal features of someone known from the past. We had not felt the need to exchange pleasantries, saying how good the other looks. In this instance it would have been too cruel to say those things just to be polite.

But the years since we had last seen each other had caused more then just a physical change, at least it had in me. I would like to say I had at least grown wiser since the days of my youth but I could not even be sure of that. I don’t know why I’ve traveled the path of life I have or why I feel the way I do so often, empty. At one time I thought I knew the answers to these questions but I’m no longer sure. I wonder if Cordelia feels an emptiness in her life like I feel in mine. I hope not, but from what I’ve heard over the years my heart is filled with an anguish… of knowledge.

I contemplated the question of my returning to our childhood home, to Calumet, not totally sure what had brought me back. It seemed to be out of a sense of need, or probably more truthfully, a sense of guilt or duty. I had left many things unfinished twenty-one years before, planning to return before much time had elapsed. But I had not returned, not before now, and all the problems I had left unresolved remained that way. Questions without answers, problems without solutions. Deep within I could hear myself saying that maybe by returning home I could rid myself of the emptiness and guilt that had persisted in me since the news of Richard’s death first became known. That maybe by sharing with Cordelia how I really felt about Richard I might be more whole.

Cordelia pressed close to me as we neared the cobblestone bridge we had played on so many times as children. Although she was wearing a long, heavy coat I could feel her shivering beneath its warmth and as I held her closer I realized I was trembling myself. I recalled how Cordelia had appeared on my impressions after all these years when I first saw her step from the cab less than an hour earlier. She resembled a figure from a painting or portrait, picturesque in her long coat, but somehow she appeared out of place. Again I wondered if Cordelia saw the same in me, a person out of place with time and his surroundings.

I had arrived at Calumet late the previous evening, knowing Cordelia wouldn’t be joining me until today. I had wanted a little time alone to gather my thoughts. Duncan, the manservant who had been at Calumet for as long as I could remember and one of the few who still resided here, had sounded only slightly surprised when I had called almost two months earlier informing him of my intentions to return. I was not taken aback by his lack of enthusiasm over my decision as the expression of emotions had not been one of Duncan’s strong traits. He told me when Cordelia was expected for one of her visits and I planned my arrival accordingly. Duncan was the first to greet me upon my return.

The previous day’s trip home had tired me, more emotionally than physically, so I retired soon after arriving. Cordelia had not yet appeared when I arose so I decided to take a walk about the estate. I told Duncan to inform Cordelia where I was if she arrived before my walk was finished but her cab slowly pulled up in front of Calumet just as I exited the front doors of the main house. She beamed her beautiful smile as she stepped from the cab and we hugged for a few moments. As I offered to help with her baggage she stopped me, saying Duncan would take care of them. She still had some energy left from her trip and wanted to walk for a bit. And thus our reunion began.

I looked up at the sky as our heels began to click in rhythm upon the cobblestones. The day was cold and gloomy, the clouds scattered in dark formations. I have often heard how on gloomy days a dark feeling would engulf people and cause them to feel the same but today was different. Today I felt as if the gloom had begun in me and grown to such a proportion that it escaped from within and encompassed the sky and earth. And though there was an occasional sharp gust of wind, the air had an aura of quietness and stillness about it. I was happy there was such stillness and darkness in the air for I don’t believe I could ever bring out the true thoughts and emotions I feel within if the day was sunny and full of life. The thoughts and emotions had lain dormant in me for so many years that I knew they could only be expressed where there was no happiness, or warmth, or comfort.

Cordelia paused when we reached the middle of the bridge. We leaned against the railing and peered down into the water that passed beneath us.

I believe the brook has dried up some.

There was a hint of weariness in Cordelia’s voice as she answered. Yes, I believe it has. So you see, nothing ever remains the same.

I looked up from the water toward Cordelia and into her eyes. Have you changed, Cordelia? Have you dried up inside?

Everybody changes. I waited for Cordelia to say more but she remained silent. She looked down at the brook and I followed her gaze, trying to see what it was she found in the water. I was surprised to find, even on this gloomy day, that enough light came from the sky above to afford a slight darkening of the water that was the shadow of the bridge we stood upon. As I looked closer I could see the shadow of two images, faceless and black, as they were reflected up from the surface.

I feel like we’ve been forgotten here, like we never existed, I found myself saying as I looked into the water. I remember this place, like a dream I’ve had, yet I feel I’m coming here for the first time.

Even the small stream Cordelia and I had played in as children could not remember us. We were just shadows from its past and, as the water washes away and is replaced with new water, so the people and events of the past had washed away. As I continued to look at the images the shadows began to take shape and as the features became clearer I realized I was looking at myself, not as I was, but as I had been as a child. The image beside me was not that of Cordelia but of Richard, looking down onto the water with his clever face and the ever present smile he had as a child.

You wouldn’t tell on me if I jumped into the water from here, would you Richard? I sat on the railing that overlooked the stream like I did on most warm, sunny days. Droplets of water still clung to my feet and ankles, a testament to the recent wading Richard and I had done.

I wouldn’t tell on you.

Would you try and stop me?

Would you want me to, Edmund?

I’m not sure if I knew what Richard meant those many years ago and looking back I’m not so sure it would have mattered if I had. Children so often set their mind a certain way and can’t be swayed from their choices. I was seven that summer; Cordelia wasn’t quite four. And Richard, he was almost eleven, though I didn’t think of him in terms of chronological age but just as my brother who was much older and wiser than I. Cordelia was still recovering from the rheumatic fever that had almost taken her from us the previous winter and was only allowed to come outside with the governess or grandfather. Though we would spend many happy times together in the years to come it had just been Richard and I playing down by the stream that day.

Why would you want to jump off the bridge anyway?

I don’t know. Did you ever jump off the bridge?

Yes I did Edmund, but I never had anyone to tell me it wasn’t worth it; that all I would get was wet feet with no real feeling of satisfaction.

You don’t want me to jump, do you?

No I don’t, but sometimes people have to learn on their own. Others can’t tell them.

I wish now I had listened to and understood what Richard had said. To show him I cared and respected what he told me. Richard had been right. I did jump off the bridge into the water. Not that day but another day when Richard wasn’t around. I jumped off the bridge into the water and, like Richard said, got my feet wet with no real feeling of satisfaction. But Richard hadn’t told me about the guilt I would feel. I didn’t know then that it was guilt, it was just a feeling inside I didn’t like. A feeling that persisted in me every time I saw Richard over the next few weeks. I was sure he knew I had jumped off the bridge. I guess I felt guilty because I hadn’t listened to him.

What are the earliest recollections you have of Richard? I looked up from the water, the images just shadows again. The memory of Richard and I at the bridge had washed away down the stream.

I remember sitting on his lap. I’m not sure how old I was then but I know I was young. I remember how gently he held me and how much I liked him. I don’t think I ever really knew him, at least not as you did, me being with governess, Grandfather, or Lucy most the time when we were all growing up. And by the time I was old enough to really know and understand people, Richard was away more then he was home. He was drinking a lot by that time and though I know it bothered mother and father I didn’t mind. I still loved him. He was always kind to me and knew how to make me laugh. I know he didn’t endear himself to everyone, he was quite a unique person, in his own way. Maybe it was good then that I didn’t know him better than I did. It’s still possible to love someone even if you don’t know them that well, isn’t it Edmund?

Cordelia had walked to the other side of the bridge while talking but now she turned and looked at me with inquiring eyes.

I do believe it is possible, Cordelia. I think just about everyone who knew Richard found themselves drawn to him, even if they didn’t like or understand all that he did. There was just something special about him, an undeniable charm. I thought of father as I spoke. Of all the people I had known he seemed to hold the most contempt and hatred toward Richard. That was another reason I had left Calumet all those years before. The rift between Richard and father had eventually encompassed me. Father’s denial of Richard’s place in the family had thrust me in a position I had never wanted.

Cordelia attempted a weak smile but it failed. I walked toward her and when we met our arms joined again. I had stayed long enough on the bridge. There were other things I wanted to do, places I wanted to see. We walked slowly off the bridge and back onto the gravel path. I paused for a moment when we had traveled a ways down the path then turned to my left. I glanced down as Cordelia looked up at me, her eyes sparkling and a dazzling smile spread across her face. I quickly looked away as tears welled in my eyes. For an instant, just an instant, I saw in the sparkling eyes and the dazzling smile the beautiful girl I had loved as a child.

Dear, dear brother, you still remember one of my favorite childhood spots. I had some of the most wonderful dreams there and still think of those days often.

Cordelia’s voice trailed off as she finished speaking and I knew she was thinking of the spot we were heading to. I had often thought of the place myself, for whenever I thought of Cordelia that was one of the places where I envisioned her. It was the last spot I saw her at when we had talked to each other those twenty-one years earlier. I still remember the conversation that had taken place between us. That day was not much unlike the one Cordelia and I were currently experiencing. It had been cold and gloomy also, though the gloom that day prevailed around our departure and not our reunion. We were much younger then, of course, and with the innocence that comes with youth we thought we openly shared ourselves with each other.

Where do you think you’ll go, Edmund? Cordelia sat on one of the two large rocks that rested on a rise overlooking the valley behind Calumet. She used to love sitting there reading poetry or daydreaming.

I really don’t know where I’ll go. I can’t very easily go abroad right now, with the war and all. Maybe I’ll go to New York or Chicago. I’m just not sure yet.

You don’t have to go.

I looked at Cordelia as she gazed down into the valley and I could tell she was speaking for herself and not the rest of the family. No, that’s not quite right. The truth was, she was speaking for the rest of the family - except father. As happened so often, when we thought of father we thought of the family. Our mistake was we connected them as one. If it had only been the rest of the family involved I might have been able to stay home but there was more than just their feelings I had to deal with.

I do have to go. I stated it plainly, though it really wasn’t that simple.

But why, Edmund?

I felt like crying when Cordelia asked me that question. It was one of the few times in my life when I did feel like crying. I loved Cordelia so much and I wished I didn’t have to leave her, to hurt her, but it was something I felt I had to do. A simple answer to her question eluded me so I remained silent.

I’ll miss you, Edmund. When will you be returning home?

Maybe when the war is over, when Richard comes home.

Are you leaving because of the war? Again Cordelia asked why I was leaving. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was hurting inside. To a certain extent what she asked was true. I was leaving because of the war. I was running away from the responsibility my family, my father, said I owed to the war. If only I could have explained to him why I was not entering the war, though even then he probably wouldn’t have accepted my reasons. I had wanted to enter combat, the prospect of defending my country had given me a sense of purpose, but then Richard returned home and completely changed the complexion of my future plans.

I was happy to see Richard, as was Cordelia and mother, but father had not forgiven him for the disgrace he had brought upon the family name when he left home and continually got involved with older women and was constantly seen in an inebriated state. Richard had started drinking while still living at Calumet but it had intensified after his departure. Father had wanted an excuse to frown down upon Richard and Richard seemed only too happy to give him one. I still have not been able to understand why father was so upset with Richard. It’s not like father was a saint himself. An individual is more important than an unmaterialistic family name, isn’t he? But our father didn’t feel that way.

Of course I was aware of the dark plight that hovered over our family, our father, that descended upon us during the other great war. It was a mindless disease, a blight on the soul, which was passed down in our family like some precious heirloom. At that time the disease had been hidden behind the pretense of honor. Father’s older brother had died for his country on the battlefield in France. That was the honor everyone knew about except father and grandfather. They viewed uncle’s sacrifice as something else. It had been Richard who had first told me the story, on the day I turned sixteen, and he was to remind me of it again.

When Richard first stepped from the cab that brought him from New York I wondered why he had returned. Usually when Richard appeared at Calumet he made it when father was away on one of his trips but such was not the case that day. And there was no party or other event that had been planned at the estate. His appearance was a surprise. But Richard did not spend much time before he explained to me about his visit. That was another conversation I remember well.

We walked upon the stone porch that ran along the front of the house as we talked. I was dressed in my comfortable sport clothes while Richard was dressed in what father referred to as poor man city clothes; plain, simple and unfitting. We walked along and talked, Richard struggling to express ideas that seemed hard to put into words. And I remember that he was sober that day.

We’re going to war against Germany pretty soon. Richard stated it as fact, as if there was no question to what he was saying. Though the war in Europe had raged for a few years we had not sent troops to die on the battlefields, even with the public divided on our stance of neutrality. But the war was getting worse and as more countries were pulled into the conflict the prospect of us remaining neutral was growing dim.

I suppose we will.

In many ways the war had encompassed Calumet from the start. Our government announcing a declaration of war would just be a formality. Since the outbreak of hostilities in Europe father had been traveling back and forth between London and Calumet to consult with his associates there. I knew the production capability of the Ausmus’ empire was furnishing the English with supplies. So in a way, our hands were already tainted with the blood of the war.

We continued on in silence for a few minutes and then Richard spoke again. War is such a useless expression of greed and hatred. It involves too many innocent people… like us. And war is used in the name of so many things. For freedom or democracy, peace or power. And it’s always brought about by our ever glorious leaders. A leaders’ ideals are any nations disgrace. But we’ve got to have our wars for the world to appear like it’s progressing. Richard paused for a moment and then added one more sentence. But sometimes we cannot avoid the conflicts that face us.

I remained silent even after Richard stopped talking. I could not think of anything to say. It was uncommon to see Richard in a