The Once Future King
By: Evelmys
Part One: The Boyhood
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Chapter One:
A Child Called Gregory
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There was nothing odd about Spade, Texas. It was the typical West Texas small town. There was no reason why anything odd would ever happen in this small town of one-hundred people. Everything was just as it should be, except the car idling just past the town square. Sitting in the driver's seat sat a rather peculiar man called Olaf Sanders. In fact, he had never before been seen in this town. He sat there squinting through aged spectacles, nose-deep in a map. A soft hum escaped his lips as the nearly grayed man put the car back in gear and continued down the narrow country roads.
One, two, three, he counted as the miles on his odometer increased until he was certain he had come to the right place. "Yes, this must be it," said the old man talking plainly to the only listening person in the car: him. Down the gravel driveway, scraping along the narrow lane lined with sage, he drove deep into the man's cotton plantation until the soft silhouette of a rather fancy house appeared in his sight.
The ancient car slowed to a stop in front of the old plantation home. The car door flung open and the man slid out and hobbled on his gimpy leg to the other side of the car. There he stood looking aged and saddened, dreading the task which he must do. There was no other choice for the once proud old man. He opened the door and took the small child bundled up in soft blue blankets into his arms. The man smiled softly at the sleeping baby limping to the front door where he laid him down softly. All his love rested with this little boy, this little prince, who now slept in the night on a stranger's porch with a note pinned to his chest.
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Mr. Stokes was proud to say that he had everything any respectable gentleman aspired to obtain. Yes, William Stokes had everything he ever desired, a beautiful wife, five strapping boys, a luxurious plantation house, a respectable career in the family tradition of the legal system and in pretty good relations with his family and the family wealth. Yes indeed, the Stokes's had everything they would ever need and then some.
Every morning Bill began his day just the same as he began every day. He'd wake up on the third ringing of his alarm and roll over to kiss his wife Jillian before disappearing into the bathroom to shower and shave the morning stubble off his chin. Yes, the honourable Stokes had perfected this routine to a finely tuned machine that never failed.
However, this was no ordinary day for this West Texas judge. No, this was definitely no ordinary day. The moment he stepped out onto the porch, his life as he knew it, would change. For there before his very feet lay an infant bundled up in a blue blanket with a note laid with care upon his chest. The judge looked down upon the boy with some pity before taking the note into his grip and read,
i "Dearest honourable Mr. William Stokes of the small West Texas town of Spade,
It is with my deepest regrets that our paths should cross in this darkest hour. Unfortunately, time is running low for pleasantries and for the finer things in life. I am of considerable age and of considerable wealth, and with the twilight of my life upon me. I am in no position to raise this poor boy. I ask it of you, if your heart is big enough, to take this boy in and treat him as your own son. He has not a name, but he carries the hopes of his people. He is their ever-shining beacon and their last true heir to their kingdom. The house of his father was ransacked and those pertaining to his family murdered. He was barely rescued and brought out under the cloak of shadow. This boy is the last of the line. Keep him hidden and keep him safe, because there are several shadows growing in the east, breeding many men of evil temperament to serve their befallen and latent dark ruler of days of old. They are loyal to him, though he is long since burned to ash in the wind. These loyalists will carry out his will and destroy the houses of Sanders and Hojem. These two names should not follow him, for these loyalists will be drawn to him. Keep his true lineage secret and keep it safe, until he is of course of age. For your cooperation, I assure you that you will fall to our good graces of quite a large sum of wealth. Nowhere near as much as you may like, but enough to sustain your privileged way of life a bit longer I dare say. Please take him in, love him as your own, and keep him safe.
Sincerely,
Olaf Sanders
P.S. I will be watching." /i
With ulterior thoughts dancing through his crooked head he leaned over, took the small child into his arms, and carefully brought him inside.
"Greg, yes that is what I shall call you my son. Greg Sanders Stokes," he spoke plainly to himself. "Little Greg Stokes," he repeated it several more times, letting the name roll smoothly off his tongue.
He carried the infant boy back to the bedroom where Jillian still lay asleep. Gently, he woke her with a soft nudge. "Hun?" she asked rubbing the sleep now matted in her eyes. "What is it?"
There was no doubt as to the task at hand when he handed the tiny bundle of the lost heir to his beautiful wife.
"Where did he come from?" bravely asked Jillian, perfectly aware her husband hated questions.
"Don't ask questions," snapped Bill. "He will be living with us. Prepare a room." That was of course his final word on the subject before he left the room with the slam of the door.
The baby called Gregory was precious to Jillian who took very good care of him. From the moment that she saw the bright-eyed boy, she was in love. She called in the maid and asked her to watch the baby and to not to ask questions about the boy. The maid thought it was a strange request, but she didn't argue with the mistress of the house and cared for the boy just the same as she would for any of their five boys.
The furnishings were all bought and now the only problem at hand was where to put the baby furnishings. The only problem was which room to use. They had a large house and a large family, and each room was utilized. Jillian knew her husband well and knew that he would never approve of turning any filled room into a nursery, and she had a feeling their room was far out of the question. So, when she found the attic, a large empty space covered in dust and cobwebs, it seemed like the only solution to the question pondered.
Another outing was in store, as she took the baby boy to the paediatrician. She sat there with little Greg as the doctor looked him over humming softly to himself. Her heart nearly skipped three beats, when he took a slow breath in after an extended release of oxygen. "What is it?" she asked, her heart beating frantically. When the doctor told her that she had a perfectly healthy about seven-month-old baby boy the relief was tangible throughout her body.
She went to the hardware store, and picked up dry wall, nails, caulk, and some paint. Her vision of the nursery wasn't very complicated. It was rather simple, install the dry wall, caulk it, paint it, mop the floors, and pull in the baby furniture. That was literally all this project of hers would cost her.
Most of the day was devoted to the room where her newly acquired son would stay. A child she knew her husband Bill would never truly accept. In fact, she quite got the impression that there was money involved, a high amount of money to add to the burning fire of envious greed. Her husband was a kind, stern man, with set rules about him. She loved him, and she was really the only one he ever let into his heart. Even to his five sons, he was nearly cold, and even worse, his expectations for them were nearly sky high. She couldn't argue with him. That was practically rule number one, no asking questions, no arguing when the law has been laid.
She knew that she could never ask questions about this boy. She suspected her husband to know a little about the boy. So silently, she wondered where he came from and who his parents were. But she never dwelled too much on it. Those facts were going to be forever lost. One of those secrets her loving husband Bill would never divulge. It was just the way things were.
She could argue, but there was no point. Judge Bill Stokes always got his way. And that is how it would remain.
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The years progressed and Jillian found it increasingly hard to treat the boy according to Bill's wishes. He would like her to treat him as if he were a servant or a slave of sorts, maybe even a pet with an ill temperament. It was a request that she could not fulfil. He was more than a pet or a servant to her. To her, he was her son, her flesh, her blood, and she loved him dearly.
In the mornings when Bill would leave for the courthouse, Jillian would watch as his car left the drive before going against his very wishes. When he had left for the day, she would quickly walk up the rickety pull-down stairs to Greg's attic bedroom and bring him downstairs to play with Nicolas and John's toys.
She couldn't stand to keep him locked up in that room all day long. It was a firm belief of hers that boys needed to have room to run around and be boys. It wasn't natural for him to be shut away like a naughty child for doing absolutely nothing.
The day was bright and sunny, not too hot, but just a perfect spring day. Greg was now at the age of four and a rather inquisitive little boy. She would later describe him as a creative artiest erecting magnificent artwork out of his brother's leggos. While she loved to watch him build things and tear them down, she couldn't stand to see him sitting indoors. Not when there was such a beautiful day out doors. Though, she knew perfectly well her husband would never approve of her letting him do such external things.
Watching him erecting a tall skyscraper in the living room, she took out a small yellow ledger, and wrote a short note to her dear husband. She explained to him that she had some errands to run and she took "the boy" as Bill preferred to call him nowadays with her.
"Where are we going?" asked Greg, full aware on how rare these outings were. In fact, they were so rare that he had only gone outside the property of the house no more than three times prior to this day.
"To get you something," smiled Jillian. Oh, she was going to pay for this dearly, but she couldn't stand to see this boy have nothing to call his own. It wasn't right. So, she took him to a horse ranch just south of Lubbock so he could pick out his very own horse. All her other boys had their own and she wanted Greg to be no different.