Chapter 13: Fight Me

When she wasn’t working at the bakery, she was struggling in a similar way with routine chores at her new home. The only difference was the size of and reason for the audience.

At the bakery she faced her inexperience with everyday tasks and any mistakes she made the customers just wrote it off because she was a new employee, probably still in training, and usually got the order or the change due right eventually. At home, she was subject to Arthur’s keen observance and sharp derision for sport.

He loved to argue and Rachel would not be immune from his cutting remarks. He considered it to be a personality flaw that happened to make him perfectly suited to his professional calling.

“Okay,” he said to her one day watching her trying to mop the kitchen floor. “When you are done with struggling, just let me know and I’ll take care of the task myself.”

The instant he uttered the words he knew he was wrong. He knew he had made a hurtful comment. He saw how what he said had broken her spirit. He did not know how to soften the after effects of his verbal blow. Whatever “victory” he had gained was not worth how awful he felt after he said it.

Why did he feel the constant need to take his confusing feelings he had for her and transfer them back to her so negatively? What did he seek to prove? This was not law school, this was everyday life. This was not a courtroom; this was the kitchen.

Almost instantly her posture slumped and she looked down, tears welling up in her eyes. She wanted to be anywhere except there in that kitchen with him. As she was processing the sting of pain from his negative comment, she accidentally knocked the mop and the full bucket over and dirty, soapy water spilled everywhere. She could only imagine what cutting remark he would have for her after that.

She left the kitchen as fast as she could, not waiting around to find out and initially slipping and sliding on the spill when she made her exit. She did not want to give him the satisfaction that he had made her cry. It was bad enough that he had made her run.

Beatrice was in the other room listening to her grandson’s ongoing, though slightly less negative attitude towards Rachel, but she wasn’t quite sure if she should interfere now or wait until he was alone and give him a stern talking to. She waited to see how far he planned to go or if he would stop his verbal attack of their house guest.

She decided not to wait for the conversation to get more negative, and was about to rush in and give him hell when she saw a blur of Rachel running past her, defeated by her grandson and brought to tears by his brutal comments.

“You know, young man, you’re not to old for me to put you across my knees and whip your bottom until you are crying out in pain for me to stop. She is just a girl trying to find her place in the world. She did not ask you for your perspective on how she cleaned the floor or ask you to do it better than she did. Can’t you see, Arthur, you are doing nothing but making it harder on her. She has never been mean to you.”

“No, Ma’am.”

“How dare you speak to anyone like that? Is that how your mother and father or I raised you? How dare you, young man? You make me ashamed to be your grandma. Now get! Get OUT of here. I don’t want to see your face for a while.”

“Yes, Ma’am, I’m sorry.”

“You most definitely should be. And your next words of apology should be for Rachel.”

Rachel. He barely knew her. He thought he wanted to know her better. But his rudeness and cruel words were getting in the way. As he drove to the pub, his harsh comments repeated over and over again in his head, on a constant loop, making him more aware of how bad what he said really was.

Why did he always manage to hurt this girl? He did not want to admit it, but he was slowly realizing that maybe she was getting under his skin. If someone as lovely as Rachel would even entertain giving him a second thought, he had successfully shut down all possibility of that ever happening with his signature meanness that marked every encounter he ever had with her.

She was a beauty with her bronze-colored skin, almost black eyes, and thick, dark hair. But he could not consider an attraction to her, or anyone, for that matter, until he passed the two bar exams in the States. It would not be fair. The way he treated Rachel was proof of that. From his first impression to his last and most recent in the kitchen, he was demonstrating a side of himself to her that no one should have to see.

The necessary amount of time and devotion to preparing to pass clearly brought out the worst in him. He studied and studied fearing that all of his effort might not be enough. He was no good to anyone at this point. He wished the whole thing was over. If only he had met her after he had passed both exams. It was no excuse, but his long hours of preparation, day after day made him unsuitable company for almost anyone...except, of course, his grandma, who knew how to handle him at his best and his worst.

Once he was gone, Beatrice made her way up the stairs to Rachel’s room and knocked.

“Are you okay, Rachel?” She could hear her sobbing through the door.

“I think I need some alone time for a while. Thank you, but I just need to process all of the changes I’ve made so fast in the past couple of weeks. Is it alright to take my dinner up here in my room?”

“I’ll bring dinner up when it’s done. Take good care of yourself tonight.”

Rachel curled up on her bed like a wounded kitten and let her tears flow and her thoughts drift back to considering if there was a happily ever after for her in this quaint little fairy tale village at all. She might not have the answer to that, but one thing she knew was that she never wanted to speak with beastly Arthur again.