Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories
Page 6
Outside the open balcony doors, the sun was setting across the water, lighting everything it touched in orange and red hues. The movement of the ship alerted me that we had set sail. The lazy lap of the waves outside was music to me. I stretched luxuriously, wishing I didn’t have to get out of the comfortable, plush bed, for I had never slept as long or as well as I did that day. I said a quick prayer to the Sun God as he descended outside and slid out of bed.
I passed the vanity and caught my reflection, my heart lurching. I almost let myself answer the door without my glamour. Oblivious to whoever awaited me, I came to a stop and studied my skin, something I almost never get to do in my constant hiding. My skin has a pale, pale purple shade, shot through with a beautiful green pattern that resembles vines down my arms, legs, and torso, curling ever so slightly up my jawbones. The honey colored hair is the same, but the eyes…the eyes glow a fiery purple. I closed my eyes and brought down my cover, like ice cold water covering my skin.
Gaea was waiting on the other side, a smile on her face and a sailor at her arm. He was no older than I, cute in a little boy kind of way, with the same dark coloring as Gaea. He soared inches higher than me, long limbed and lanky. He was quite embarrassed by my half dressed state. I looked down at my thin skirt and little sleeveless top. I just smiled at him, and looked back to Gaea. “Good evening.”
“Mr. McAllister asked me to come wake you. He hopes you will join him for dinner?” I appreciated Gaea’s tact in stating it as a question, rather than a demand. The sailor at her side stared blatantly at me. I fluttered my eyelashes at him.
Leaning my head against the doorframe, I asked her, “Am I supposed to go in my underclothes?”
She laughed at me, shaking her head in amusement. She reached for my hand, which I promptly sat in hers. Patting it gently, she said, “No, I don’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. You will find dresses in the wardrobe in your size. I put them there while you slept.”
I saw the sailor’s eyes lingering on my bare stomach. As if she could see him, Gaea chucked him on the arm. “Abigail, this is my son, Rupert,” she spoke around a smile, taking the arm of the young man and pulling him down the hall, her strength that to match a man. “I’m going to absence him from you at once.” His dark eyes were sheepish. As they swiftly walked away, I took in the resemblance of mother and son, dark hair and skin.
I laughed as they disappeared up the stairs before I could look further.
There were dresses of silk, lace, and the softest cotton I had ever felt. I had only ever imagined and dreamed I could wear something of the kind. I chose the one that stood out the most, a thin satin of emerald green. It fit me with a perfection I didn’t expect: tight over my body with a waistline low over my hips. The seam was lined with ivory lace. It swished just above my bare feet, and short capped sleeves showed off the feminine muscles in my tanned arms. The plunging neckline was daring, showing the soft curves of my breasts over the same ivory lace of the waist. It was a far cry from the simple cotton shifts I had worn for farm work, and I felt more a woman than ever before.
I, of course, opted to go barefoot. Old habits are quite hard to break.
The floor-to-ceiling bathroom mirror had to have cost a fortune. Beside it, there were still traces of the dirt Gaea had washed from my body in the large tub. The humiliation of my father’s betrayal and the feeling of hundreds of eyes on me lay with the dirt, washed away from my skin and giving me some semblance of normality. I took a moment to pump some water in and rinse it out, never one to leave negativity lying around.
I brushed my long tresses in silence, admiring the dark ruby of my lips and the brightness in my brown eyes. The final product, the woman who stared back at me, was the human me. Maybe she wasn’t real, but she was beautiful. I left my hair hanging down—my crowning glory—the auburn highlights the sun had given me standing out among the honey locks.
I stepped into the hall, and shut the door behind me. Glancing around, I was a little disoriented. It didn’t take long before a sailor appeared from a cabin down the hallway. Silently thankful, I hurried to his side.
The sailor’s eyes widened when he turned and saw me. He was seeing a young woman, tall and thin, with a soft, elfin face; the woman I had built over years of practice. His open admiration was like a stimulant. “I seem to be lost,” I told him. “Dinner with Mr. McAllister?”
He led me to the upper-most deck, a journey I memorized as we made, and showed me the door to the captain’s quarters. I watched him walk away, the sea wind whipping my hair around me, my hand resting lightly on the door handle. The sea glistened beyond the ship like a great jewel, waiting to be discovered and explored. I was sorely tempted to skip dinner and spend the rest of the voyage hanging over the rail, if not just swimming alongside the quickly moving vessel.
The room was lit by candlelight. Large pillars of wax lined the walls with bright flames flickering at each peak. A beautiful candelabra on the table bounced dancing light across my host’s serene face.
William’s eyes looked up from the book he held. He marked his place and set it aside before standing. His mouth parted slightly; I felt he was seeing me for the first time. “You are lovely, Abigail,” he said, walking quickly to pull out the chair across from him. “Please, have a seat.”
The smell of food wafted through the cabin, making my mouth water. Until my senses noticed the food, I hadn’t realized exactly how famished I was. The apple I had finished in the bathtub had been more food than I’d eaten in weeks. I murmured my gratitude as I sat in the chair he offered, and smoothed my dress in my lap.
William strolled gracefully back to his seat across from me. Tall and proud, he had the distinguished step of a well-bred man. My cheeks flushed.
“What are you reading?” I asked him, pushing my hair behind my shoulders. The mass often felt like a separate entity on my body.
William smiled politely, giving me an indulgent look. “Why do you ask?”
“Excuse me for being quite frank with you, Mr. McAllister,” I said with a glare, standing. My legs pushed my chair back with a sharp groan. “Before my mother died, and before my father couldn’t stand to look at me, I was a woman, not a slave. Against the wishes of ‘polite society’, I learned to read and do mathematics. I love learning and I love literature.” My voice caught in my throat and I clenched my hands into tight fists at my sides.
From his chair, William stared at me in astonishment. The way the candlelight flickered in his eyes gave me pause.
I walked behind my chair as if it could contain my fury, gripping the back with white knuckles. “I studied with the best tutors. My mother was a Healer, we could afford it. I’m not a meek, upper class woman who giggles incessantly at men’s jokes and couldn’t tell a book from a cow. I have plowed fields, I have used tools you have probably never seen. I have read everything I could put my hands on and even some I could not. I am not and will not be your slave and I will not tolerate being considered an average female. That is below me.” Did I overreact? Yes. Was I apologetic? Absolutely not. I was too angry to care if I had been too bold.
He stood, his face showing a hint of amusement; that irritated me all the more. He was contemplative as he took measured steps to reach me. I turned to face him, my height making us almost eye-to-eye.
“17th century poetry,” he said.
Looking at him from the corner of my eye, I said, “Beg pardon?”
“Abigail, I knew you were special the moment I saw you on that stage.” He put a finger under my chin and raised my face, his eyes passionate. “In the midst of the shame and humiliation you must have been feeling, you were proud. I do not think you realize how haughty you appeared.” His finger was hot, burning my skin, and I wanted desperately for him to stop touching me.
Or keep touching me.
My breath came a little quicker as I felt the heat between us. His pale skin stood out sharply against his dark blue tunic, a small V plunging down his chest. I was in awe at th
e movement of his breathing. The loose, black belt at his hips emphasized his thin waist; the tall boots embracing his calves emphasized the thick muscles in his thighs.
“Like a goddess,” he whispered, several curls falling onto his forehead. He leaned forward and I jumped back in shock, putting the chair between us.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat at my movement. He swiveled away from me, heading for his seat. “It is a book on 17th century poetry.”
When he took his chair, I sat back down cautiously, my eyes on his face. He seemed more beautiful than anything I had ever seen. I blushed as he gave me a perfect smile, a dimple resting sweetly in one cheek.
The door opened, admitting a young lady in a black cotton gown. She placed a plate of food before him, and he picked up his fork.
“I haven’t actually read much poetry,” I admitted to him, smiling up at the girl as she put a plate of food in front of me. William paused, fork halfway to his open mouth. He gently placed it on his plate and put a hand on the leather-bound book, sliding it across the table to me.
“Abigail, you are not and will not ever be my slave.” He picked up his silver chalice and took a long drink.
I touched the maroon tome, my eyes wide, and looked at him questioningly. He nodded, motioning for me to open it. I ran my fingers over the gold title before opening it to scan the first few pages. Under a list of authors, I saw many female names. “Women are in here?”
He chewed his food, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. I took my first bite as he said, “Nontraditional women like yourself. I find they write better than the most famous of men.” We were silent for a while, and I could feel his eyes on me as I tore into my food like a ravenous dog.
“Did you find your room to be sufficient?” he inquired, leaning an elbow on the table and holding his fork in the other hand, breaking his perfect posture. For a moment, I considered minding my manners, but it didn’t last as I shoved another forkful of roast in my mouth and my eyes closed in ecstasy.
The butler appeared at my side, offering wine, and I nodded to him. The red liquid flowed gently from the bottle into my waiting glass. He moved on to William. “I find it to be fitting for royalty,” I answered, taking a sip of the fruity liquid, fighting to not make a face. I’ve never cared for wine. “What I don’t understand is why.”
William’s face twisted in confusion over his glass. “Why what?”
“Why the beautiful room? The dozens of dresses in my trunk and wardrobe, all fit for a princess?”
He smiled thoughtfully at me across the table, the candle between us lighting his face as he leaned back into his chair. “I did not go to the market today for a servant or slave. My father collects servants like they are toys, so I certainly don’t need another one underfoot.”
I watched as he stood and walked to stand beneath a large portrait on the wall, his back to me. His large shadow wavered along the dark wood walls. The painting depicted a young child with blonde curls on a dark background, surrounded by a shiny gold frame. She was ethereal.
“That is my baby sister,” he said softly, gazing gently up at it. “She’s five, smart as a whip. She needs a caretaker, someone to watch her and play mother. Although, knowing what I do now, I would like for you to also teach her what you have learned in your studies. Guide her.”
My heart leapt at the idea. “Oh. I would love that.”
“Her name is Angel,” he told me, his voice gentle. “She is a breath of fresh air. I want only the best for her.” He turned to face me, thoughtful. “I would like her to carry your fire.” Walking back to the table, he clasped his hands behind his back. “I don’t want her to turn into a young woman with nothing better to live for than making someone a wife and producing heirs. She is quite different from other kids her age, and I enjoy that immensely about her.”
It was then that I realized William McAllister wasn’t just a wealthy man. He was a real man, a decent man, and of all the women and girls with which I’d spent the last month, I was the one he chose. I stared at a blemish in the smooth oak table and focused on breathing.
He came to a stop beside me, and effortlessly turned my chair to the side. My head jerked up at the movement. I met his blue eyes only inches from my own. Kneeling at my knees, he put one hand on the arm of my chair, the other resting on his thigh. “I don’t know what possessed me this morning,” he confided secretly, the candles flickering in his eyes. I stared down into them, sparkling like stars, a blue that seemed to have no end, and for a moment I felt like I could fall into them and never hit bottom. “I could not just let you be sold to some man who would mistreat you, who would…” he trailed off, shaking his head in disgust. “I felt something special about you, and it called to me.”
“Mr. McAllister, I am nothing special,” I chided him, placing a hand to my mouth to hide my smile. Oh, how I lied. If my theory was correct, I was being taken to Greece on purpose by the gods. Pretty special.
He shook his head. “I beg to differ.”
I blushed, looking at my hands where they were kneaded together in my lap. William stood, clearing his throat. “Would you like to teach my sister?”
“I would be honored, Mr. McAllister,” I told him truthfully. “Nothing could make me happier.” It was more than I’d ever dreamed possible; I must have done something very wonderful in a past life to earn a second chance.
“Please, call me Will.” He had averted his eyes, as if shy, and my traitorous heart skipped a beat.
I bit my lip, warm happiness flooding through my body. “Will.”
“I’d like for you to tell me a bit about your past,” he requested as he sat back down. I tucked in to my food once more, speaking between bites.
“We lived the first half of my life,” the only amount of time we could stay in one place due to my mother’s aging and my own, “in England. My mother was well respected for her healing remedies and for midwifery. After the first few years she was the one and only, everyone wanted to be with her.” I could see her face in my mind, the very likeness of my own. I smiled. “I was born first, not a year after our arrival in the small town of Northanger. A few years later”—more like ten years—“a sister was born. When she passed on before her second year, my Mother couldn’t stand to stay there.”
“Did you then move to Italy?” he asked, taking a crunchy bite out of a butter coated biscuit.
I swirled my wine, letting the smell waft to my nose. Two nights before if someone had told me I’d be drinking wine with a handsome man on my way to a foreign country, I’d have laughed. Or possibly fainted. “No, we lived in a different, smaller town for some time. Millton. It was the same story, my mother being so likeable.”
“What about your father?”
I felt my face grow hard. “He loved my mother. Maybe a little too much. I don’t care to speak of him, if that’s okay.” Not a question.
“Absolutely. Tell me of your move to Italy. Seems an odd place for an English family to come.”
“My father wanted a better climate for farming. He’d perfected working with the hard, infertile English soil and wanted the rest of his life to be in luxury. When I was twenty”—thirty-two actually—“we moved to Tuscany. It was a massive undertaking and not the best time of my life. My mother was gone for a period of time.”
“So you’d been in Italy for just a couple years then?”
I chuckled to myself. Twenty years, but not as far as my fabrication went. “Yes, just two years.” I gazed out at the black through the window, letting the sound of the ocean lapping at the moving ship lull me into comfort.
“I understand you lost your mother; don’t feel it necessary to tell me about it. The young man I saw hugging you, was he a…” he trailed off, cheeks going rosy as he cleared his throat.
I burst out laughing as I realized what he was asking. “Oh, goodness, no, that was my brother!” A healthy guffaw of laughter made me feel nice, and combined with the heady effects of the wine, I could have bee
n floating. Goddess, help me, I couldn’t let that happen lest I scare the wits from him.
*
Dinner passed much too quickly. The ship was to dock that night to pick up some of the McAllister servants who had been visiting family on the mainland. William let me know we would be docked until daybreak when he walked me to my room after dinner. “If you need anything, Gaea is only three doors down.”
I nodded at him, my hands entwining nervously at my stomach. He took them, gently, and pressed them carefully with both of his own. “Why do you do this?” he asked me, gesturing with my hands.
I shrugged my shoulders, biting my lower lip, another horrible habit. “I don’t know. Habit, I suppose.”
He stared at me a moment longer, the look in his eyes indecipherable. This could never happen, I told myself. Like any woman, I would want a family. Love and children and a home to share. Unlike other women, I do not age and I cannot bear children with a human man due to being a Halfling. Childish, girly dreams were put to rest a long time ago.
I pulled my hands from him, and turned away to enter the darkness of my room. “Good night, Will.”
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*
Danielle Blanchard
Write or Die
2010 was the worst year of my life.
After a very successful career in the banking industry, I suddenly found myself unemployed, my marriage falling apart and to add insult to injury my father dying. I had a 10 month old daughter and suddenly, I was back living with my unmarried, child-free sister with two children. Life was bleak and the most terrifying part about the whole situation was I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do.
I was attending university for a degree in International Business but who was I kidding? I’d always hated business; I was good at banking but should I base my career on something I was simply good at or should I be doing something I love? This was my dilemma and I had no one to blame for my predicament but myself.