Trotman

Chapter One: Rainy Night

There was nothing strange about that night. I was sitting in the large state-of-the-art kitchen of the Trotman Estate. The castle-like mansion, with its stone walls and marble tiles, had all the modern amenities and a cosy atmosphere that welcomed every visitor. It was the home of Levi and Daniella Trotman, and their son, Mark.

The Trotmans were the wealthiest family in the city. They owned most of the major companies in the area. The Trotmans were truly business tycoons, but they were also the sweetest and most in-love couple I knew. The confident commanding presence of Levi was complemented by the kind, gentle and friendly demeanor of Daniella. They were always together and always so happy.

The Trotmans were well known for their kindness. The employees of their companies could attest to that. The Trotmans often received the city’s Employer of the Year award. They were known to pay well, and the employee benefits were unparalleled. Some say their care-filled kindness resulted from the Christian values and principles they displayed in their business dealings.

The Trotmans’ philanthropy knew no limits, especially when it came to children. That is why that night did not seem strange. Levi and Daniella were going out to the annual children’s benefit dinner. I cannot remember who was receiving the proceeds from the night’s event. Was it the children’s hospital or some overseas children’s mission? What I remember of that night, was that it was raining heavily when my father drove Levi and Daniella Trotman to the benefit dinner in their Bentley Mulsanne.

My father, Michael Grant, was the Trotmans’ driver. He had worked for them for five years and was their exclusive driver. My father, like all the other workers on the estate, lived on the property at the workers’ apartment complex. The complex had two buildings, each with two floors and four apartments. My father and I lived in one of the two-bedroom apartments reserved for families, though we were the only family living in the complex. It was the nicest place we had ever lived. It was furnished almost as elegantly as the mansion and was equally equipped.

This evening was one of the evenings I spent in the Trotman kitchen with Mary. Whenever my father drove the Trotmans out for the night I stayed with Mary until they returned.

Mary Hines was the cook. The lovely woman was about my father’s age, early forties. Her caring brown eyes were staring at me, with the twinkle of the smile that lit her face, as I tried her newest recipe. I loved it! Whatever it was. Mary had not yet named it. I just loved anything Mary cooked. I loved the aromas from ‘Mary’s Kitchen’ as Daniella Trotman called the Estate Kitchen. I remembered the smell of rosemary, onions, garlic, green onions, and thyme. I remember this because it was the last happy moment I had before my whole world fell apart.

Gabriel walked into the kitchen. He had a grim look on his face. Gabriel Learner was the Butler. He always looked stiff in his ever-present black suit and tie. I wondered if he slept in his suit. But tonight, Gabriel looked stiffer and grimmer. He looked as though he was in pain. Mary’s smile left her face as Gabriel spoke in a heavy monotone.

“Kayla, come with me.”

I jumped off the stool by the counter and Gabriel escorted me to the foyer of the mansion. There stood two police officers in drenched raincoats. Slumped on the wet floor was Mark Trotman, quivering with sobs of despair.

Time stopped. The only things moving were the words that inched through the air like claws of smoke intent on squeezing the life out of me.

“I am sorry Ms. Grant, but your father is dead. He died when the Bentley Mulsanne he was driving ran off the road and over a cliff. Everyone in the car died on the spot.”

I screamed, at least, that is what it felt like. How could this be? Father was all I had! I was all he had. Now I was alone. No one. Nothing. I was numb. I felt nothing. I heard nothing. I saw nothing. Nothing but…sigh!

“Oh Lord,” I prayed silently “Please help me. I feel so alone!”

I had reason to feel alone. My father was dead and so was my mother.

My mother died from leukaemia when I was two years old. The doctors only found the cancer after I was born. I can hardly remember her. I can only remember her being too sick to hold me. She had no family, neither did my father. It was just the two of them, and then me. Now they were both gone. I had no family. I had no relatives. I had no one. All I had left were the memories of my father and the lessons he taught me. He taught me to pray.

“Oh Lord, please help me” I prayed silently “You promised, when mother and father are gone, you will be there. Please don’t leave me alone.”

Everything after that was a blur. I heard people talking but they made no sense. I did not move. I took air into my lungs, I was alive, but I felt numb, I felt dead. I felt as though I was in a hazy dream. But then, I felt someone wrap their arms around me. Then, I did not feel so alone anymore.

“Thank you”, I sighed a silent prayer.