text: It had been twenty-four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. At least, that’s what Christina thought, based on how her sister had described it. The manor was an elegant, yet greying, umber color. It had tall, fortifying green front shrubs, and inside of those shrubs was a courtyard worthy of a duke or duchess. Bronze benches decorated the edges of the inside, with meticulous designs engraved. Holding her sister’s ashes, Christina’s mouth fell open. Her fingers trembled against the cold pewter urn as she walked slowly towards the newly-planted tree in the center of the yard. It was a red oak, one that would grow to be the centerpiece of the carefully-plotted land. Aretha, Christina’s sister, had always wanted one, but the lords of the house had refused her every time, claiming that it would simply look gaudy. Finally, only after her death, would her wishes be granted. Christina’s eyes teared, already rubbed to the point of pinkness, half of her jaded with anger towards the lords of the house, for their mistreatment and hypocrisy. The manor was just a shell of nobility, but Christina knew the truth. Aretha had been sent to the manor when she was two years old, for she’d been awarded board and education from the “most pristine, heavily-awarded” scholars in Canada(this had turned out to be a red herring, even so, because Aretha’d forever been indebted to them). From the moment she arrived, she was taught Latin, German, enrolled in math and history courses, and given severe lessons on her manners and demeanor. Basically, she’d been put on a pedestal by these scholars and criticized for her every imperfection. Christina couldn’t imagine spending a day in that lifestyle. After she graduated from the rigorous education program, she’d entered an internship with a history professor. She’d written a novel, The Backside of West Civilization in Northern America, as boring as it sounded. And then their mother had died giving birth to Christina. Their father committed suicide only days later, ending a cowardly life with a death that left his two daughters alone in a bitter world that had no room for them. According to her, Aretha ended up moving to Quebec City, after a nasty set of arguments with the lords of the mansion. She was seventeen at the time, but heavily educated and driven, so she ended up with a job as a secretary for a translation company that helped with international trade deals. She had to leave Christina by herself for most of the infant’s first years. Christina barely survived the first two years of her life due to malnourishment. Aretha couldn’t provide the proper care for her, understandably, and all of her cries for help ended in no success. Not to mention, her monthly taxes from the wealthy family that had raised her. From their mansion on the hill, they just continued to stack their wealth, devoting it to perfecting the empty house and attaining fruitless knowledge that would only inflate their egos even more. Yet Aretha persisted, raising her baby sister with the best of her ability. She rose to a prominent position in her company, slowly making Christina’s future brighter. Now it was only black. Christina couldn’t imagine a future without her sister. There was no way, no possible course of action that Christina could see herself taking without her sister. In her eyes, her summer internship was as good as dead, her Chemistry bachelor useless. “Cristina Grelett?” Christina heard her name called across the lawn. She stiffened, clutching the urn even closer. Her fingers were numb from grasping it since they’d come here from the cremation center in Montreal, but she didn’t care. After all they’d done to her sister in life, Christina would fiercely protect her in death. “No harm intended,” A taller, slim man with greying hair said. His expression reminded her of the janitorial staff at her sister’s workplace; almost disgusted, but reluctant to complain. He seemed as though he’d been waiting a very long time for her. “Yes, sorry, the drive was longer than expected,” Christina said, “Are you Mallion Steed?” Aretha had mentioned the name countless times as she recounted their life story to Christina. Aretha had always hoped through these stories to instill in Christina that she could survive anything; that it was in their bones to pull through adversity. Mallion Steed was mentioned often with a curse or morbid insinuation. Christina kept a neutral face through her desires to both slap him and laugh at him in memory of her sister’s rare stories of pranks against him. “I am Dr. Steed, yes,” he said, smiling and revealing very small, even teeth. Christina wondered how he ate with such small molars. “Two PhD’s make me a professional, I’m sure.” “Doctor,” Christina said, keeping a grip on the urn. “How was the funeral?” Steed said in a syrupy tone. Christina swallowed down the contents of her stomach that threatened to reappear. “We didn’t have one,” she whispered in a crystalline tone. She cleared her throat. “Just came from the cremation center.” Her head unconsciously darted down, eyes looking through the urn. “Ah, I see,” he said, “Well, there is a breeze out here. Would you like to come in?” No! Her instincts screeched, making her hesitate. She was cold, it was true, but she’d rather walk over coals to warm up. Finally, though, she said, “Yes.” Curiosity about her sister’s childhood home overtook her urge to run away as fast as she could. Christina also wasn’t sure that saying ‘no’ to this man was the best idea. “Come in, then,” he said, “Oh, we plan to leave the urn with the tree. You may rest it there; our staff will organize it to your liking.” Her unease only grew, but she let it down, her fingers clammy and feeling empty as she placed it delicately. Her hands rested near her sides, half-way into the pocket of her jeans. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Steed said diplomatically as they entered the house through the front staircase. “Thank you,” she said, adjusting the left side of her hair, which was pinned up in braids. Aretha would’ve been proud of how well she’d done, especially considering her hands hadn’t stopped shaking. That said, she probably would’ve just done Christina’s hair herself. “This is my academic partner, Dr. George Buondy,” Dr. Steed said. “3 Phds in Sociology, Psychology, and Anatomy,” Dr. Buondy said, “Naturally, I was your sister’s neuroscience professor.” He was also tall, but with fiery auburn hair and more stomach than Steed. He spoke in an oily tone, sounding as though he wished to know her secrets. “Educator,” Dr. Steed corrected, “We were an unusual program. Aretha did get an excellent education, though.” He gestured grandly, indicating the magnificence of the place. “I’m sure,” Christina said, looking down the long hallways, each door adorned with gold trimmings. Side tables held orchids, and various portraits embellished on the walls. In the center was a watercolor of both men, looking dignified as they sat in a garden for tea. Christina cringed as she imagined what a child would do here. There was no evidence Aretha had lived here, which made it even harder to picture. “Are you looking for a portrait of her?” Dr. Buondy asked, “She always refused one. Strange, isn’t it?” “Not for her, I suppose,” Christina said, “She’s - was - never one for the spotlight.” Another lump formed in her throat as she registered the past tense. “Too true,” Dr. Steed said, “We almost never managed to open her up and get her to talk about what she was really thinking.” “Always very observant, not too talkative,” Dr. Buondy said, sounding almost analytical. “She was never one to take back her words, though.” “Right,” Christina said, understanding how Aretha would constantly have feelings of animosity towards the doctors. “Well, would you like a tour?” Steed said into the still room. Christina looked up at him. Even at twenty-four, she couldn’t understand “grown-ups.” What would make him think she’d like a tour? She was here for her sister. “Yes.” What? Christina argued with herself, thinking that she owed it to her sister to know everything Christina could about her. She also didn’t want to leave whatever remained of Aretha yet. She knew she would never be back, and she couldn’t say goodbye yet. “Well, there’s not much down here besides the ballroom, the lower studies, the kitchens and servant dorms - well, what you really want to see is your sister’s old room, correct?” Dr. Buondy seemed eager for her response. “A general tour is fine,” Christina said. “Are you sure?” Dr. Steed said, “The emotional pressure, and curiosity to see how your sister used to live -” “No, I’m sure,” she said. Reluctantly, the doctors started at the end of the hall, in the ballroom. They gradually warmed to the tour, explaining the architecture and color scheme with dignified tones. They also talked about previous balls they’d held, and how Aretha had loved them. “Aretha had never mentioned balls,” Christina said. “Well, I imagine she was trying to convince you that we were the devil,” Dr. Steed said, “Which we aren’t, are we now?” “Of course not,” Christina said, ignoring the rising anger in her that they would insinuate something like that about her sister, who was an optimistic soul. “We can probably skip the studies,” Dr. Buondy said, “We have a lot of private information in there, research and all that.” “As most philosophers and scientists do,” Dr. Steed said, in an attempt to be modest. They scooted her past the next few rooms, subsequently, and passed the central staircase again. They reached the kitchens, where the setting was purely white; it made Christina’s dark skin stand out even more. She shivered uncomfortably as they left, entering the dining hall. “We mostly ate here,” Dr. Buondy said, “She had atrocious manners when she came here.” “Never put her elbows on the table by the time she left,” Dr. Steed said, “We think we did a fine job of teaching her manners.” “You did,” Christina said, biting her tongue. Snideness wouldn’t accomplish anything. “Well, our servant’s dorms are hardly of any interest,” Dr. Buondy said, “Let’s go upstairs, shall we?” “Of course,” Christina said, “What is upstairs?” They walked back to the central staircase, the expanse making her slightly lightheaded. “A parlour,” Dr. Buondy said, sounding proud, “The bedrooms. Even a small studio, where Aretha studied tap.” “Very nice,” Christina said, climbing the stairs with them. They showed her the two hallways that were split by the staircase. They went left first, entering a large door. “Oh.” Christina said. It was obviously her sister’s old room; it was a little girl’s room, clearly. The hot pink walls matched the four-poster bed, and a white desk with a vanity stood against the left wall. “We never redecorated for her,” Dr. Buondy said, “She was hardly in here, anyways.” “She always was busy doing something,” Dr. Steed said, “She liked the other children a lot - the children she saw at playdates, and balls. We do have a refined neighborhood here.” “And she loved charity work,” Dr. Buondy said, “Was always doing something.” “Even after she left,” Christina said, “She was always working, or taking care of me, or volunteering. I doubt she ever slept.” “That must’ve been hard for her,” Dr. Steed said sympathetically. “Especially after the baby,” Dr. Buondy said. Christina did a one-eighty as she met his eyes. “What?” “She had a baby shortly before she left to take care of you.” “Wait, she had a baby? How?” “She was pregnant for the last nine months,” Dr. Buondy said, “And then your mother died, and your father.” “So what happened?” “She was preparing to leave anyway, with her child,” Dr. Steed said, “She chose you.” “So where is her child?” “No, Christina, you don’t understand,” Steed said, “She gave us her baby so that she could raise you. She sacrificed her own child for you.” Christina felt her eyes blur for the infinite time that day. She was so tired of the rug slipping underneath of her, for a lack of more eloquent speech. The only truth she could accept was her sister’s, and now that was being challenged to the extremes. Yet Christina knew they were telling the truth. She didn’t know how she knew, but it must’ve been true. “So what happened to the child?” Christina choked out. “We gave it up for adoption,” Dr. Buondy said remorselessly, “We have no place for a baby here.” “We raised Aretha from her infant years, but we didn’t have the resources for a newborn,” Dr. Steed tried to explain, trying to sound human. “I - you did what?” “Unfortunately, the baby passed away in the orphanage,” Dr. Steed said, sounding like he was trying to be sorrowful, but coming across as a snake. “It died? ” Christina asked, horrified, her voice barely above a squeak. “Yes,” Dr. Buondy said, “Shortly after we put it up.” “This conversation isn’t going the way we’d hoped,” Dr. Steed said, “Christina, we’d like to give you the course that we gave your sister. It’ll open up so many opportunities for you. Chemistry as a profession is failing, because of the environmentalist’s avid abuse of it. We’d like to give you a brighter future.” “We could give you any job you want,” Dr. Buondy said. “But I’d have to send money?” Christina asked heartlessly. “Like Aretha?” “Well, no education is free -” Christina ran out of the room before Dr. Steed finished his sentence. Neither followed her. Christina’s converses clipped against the staircase as she grasped the staircase, breathing heavily. They were offering her a life like Aretha’s. They dared to ask her, dared to think that they could trap her like they did her sister. She should’ve felt sick. But the slight didn’t mean anything to her, like it should’ve. All she could consider was the complete waste; her sister had gotten nothing she’d wanted or needed in life. She’d never asked for anything. Christina shouldn’t have this life. It was wrong. This life belonged to the child her sister had borne, the child that was now in the ground next to her mother because of the complete negligence that had damaged both mother and daughter. Christina wouldn’t go on, couldn’t go on anymore knowing what she now did. She refused to. It was her life, after all. Her logic vexed, Christina’s mind was bolting through thought-after-thought. At last she came to the idea that her sister had chosen her. Christina. That had to mean something, right? Or did it mean the wrong thing, did it mean that Aretha had wasted her life on someone else’s? Christina couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t handle it. Looking out the window, she saw something that made her heart stop entirely. There was another urn, one next to Aretha’s. A smaller one. Christina ran outside, and dropped to her knees. Reading the urn, she let out a howl. It was her sister’s child. Sinking beside the identical urns that were placed against the oak, an area already dug out to put a gravestone there, she dug her fingers into her hair. Christina couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t process this. She needed Aretha at this moment, she needed someone who was only by her in an urn. Christina winced as she lifted her head and the wind hit her. Her tears down to her cheekbone, she thought. Why had Aretha done what she had? Christina could never know. Or apologize to her niece or nephew. Christina had to let it go. Didn’t she. She had to try, right? That was always the best idea. To try. Maybe to try and figure it out, maybe to try and make her sister’s choice not a waste. She knew one thing, one thing that meant everything; she wanted to make her sister proud. And that was all that mattered