A Short Story

The dusty woven curtains at the end of the hall flapped halfheartedly in the breeze. The window was open, letting in any random bug that happened to pass by, since it had no screen. Margery’s doing, probably. She was Queen of the Hot Flashes. Stopping in front of her apartment, I was annoyed to see ketchup smeared under the brass numeral two.

The inn keeper's parlor was the best in town, they told her. His wife was wearing a heavy dress, adorned with lace and a massive broach that she raised a plump hand to touch, as if to be certain it was still there. They spoke of the massive rug, bought from Paris, and the finely crafted furniture they all sat upon. The preacher listened quietly, smiling as though their vanity wasn't a sin, while Mrs. Hartford eyed the dress with longing. Della thought that the dress was tasteless. The lace was poorly made, and the line of the bodice wasn't flattering. The fabric was an odd shade between blue and green, and the woman inside it was far less appealing. She didn't bother to mention that her own parlor had been filled with crystal, and priceless art her father had collected around the world. She didn't mention that her toys had cost more than Mrs. Johnson's gowns, or that she was mispronouncing the tea they'd been served. Not to be kind, not to be deceptive, but because did not matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. She'd given up that life to marry Ben, given up her family, given up her home and her gowns and her education.

One autumn afternoon she went out back to empty the Mistress’s chamber pot into the privy, unaware that a visitor she thought gone had not yet departed. She opened the privy door and stepped inside. Just as she lifted the porcelain lid and prepared to pour the pot’s contents into the hole, the door opened and someone stepped inside the small

Sarah slugged through the early morning work and realized-too soon- that she needed to make a trip to the house. She made her way, clasping her arms around her for warmth in the cold November morning. Painted Girl’s borrowed sweater did not help dissipate the cold air, and neither did the lingering whiskey in her system. A light shone in the window illuminating Grandfather and Dingle, who sat at the table together eating pie. She watched as Dingle grabbed a juicy strawberry from Grandfather’s pie and nibbled at it greedily. Grandfather must have finished his hunt early, Sarah realized. She had hoped to avoid Grandfather today but nature called. There was no choice, either the woods or the house. Sarah did an about turn and went for the

When she drew back the curtain, she could make out a homemade, pole-framed-bed in the middle of the room. The light coming through the small window gave the room a murky appearance. Upon the bed, under several layers of quilts, were the skeletal remains of the cabin’s former owner. Before she even got near the bed, she knew it was a

‘Just two steps away,’ laughed Edna. ‘in a little four-room house around the corner. It looks so cozy, so inviting and restful, whenever I pass by; and it’s for rent. I’m tired of looking after that big house. It never seemed like mine anyway—like home. It’s too much trouble. I have to keep too many servants. I am tired of bothering with them.’

Soon, Anna grew weary and strolled over and tried the door, but it was locked. Scared to be locked in a room she thought what if there's a fire? What would they do? Would they even be heard if they cried out for help? She knocked lightly and Miss Margot opened the door slowly and came into the room and placed a tray with two small bowls of split-pea soup on the mattress. Then she made them stand up and held their hands and whispered, "Children you must also remember to be as quiet as church mice." They both nodded and agreed to keep

Moving about the room, she stopped here and there, fingering objects that caught her attention. The room was formal and pretentious and she wasn’t a fan. She missed her tents filled with carpets and furs and cushions, hand carved toys littering the floors and her bed tucked behind brightly colored sheer fabric. She had just thrown another log on the fire when a tall man let himself into the room closing the door loudly behind him.

It was evening when I arrived, much fatigued by the journey I had so often made so easily. The Boar could not put me into my usual bedroom, which was engaged (probably by some one who had expectations), and could only assign me a very indifferent chamber among the pigeons and post-chaises up the yard." (page

Minutes later, I had my body half hanging over the rail and waited anxiously to get Mrs. McNeiley’s attention, which was still nowhere to be found. I was relieved when I finally caught her attention. It was a victory for me until she told me to hold on a sec.

She awoke with great discomfort; the huger pains impaired her, and fogged her mental clarity, but she persevered, and crawled out of the neatly kept bed. It was early in the morning and no one was awake, there was no food on the table, and no servants guarding the doors, so Proserpina made her way to the front of the palace. Each step she took was carefully calculated, for the floors creaked. She arrived at the black wooden doors, still impaired from hunger, and the motionless fog that clouded her mind remained, she clasped the handle of the wooden doors, feeling the carved intricacies, and pulled only slightly. Just then, a hand reached from the dim, and somber atmosphere. The darkened room shadowed everything except the pair of hands that gripped the refulgent, pearl shaped seeds. The sweet smell of the berries was enticing, and her mouth began to water. Emaciated, and weak; Proserpina took the berries and ate. Of all the horrid possibilities she had thought of, this was among the worst. She was taken advantage of in her moment of

I sat in my chair with a mug of tea nestled in my hands. The missionary ladies had all left for their homes, which left me with silence around the house. The sweet aroma of tea relaxed my taut body. It had been a long day - too long.

She hurried down the grand staircase and snuck past the King and Queens room being ever so careful not to wake them. She had to leave from the back door because the front door would be too loud and she would surly wake someone. The wind

Marianne met Henry in the middle of the hall, where he took her hand again, and led her up to her seat. He took a moment to pull out her chair, and his hand lingered on her shoulder for half of a second. He slid into his seat beside her as his father stood, beginning to make a toast about unity and chivalry, and the power the two kingdoms would have together… Marianne tried her best to pay attention. Truly she did. But it had been a long day, and even longer weeks preparing for this day. Sea journeys and carriage rides and scalding hot baths… What sounded best right now was a warm bed.

Satisfied she hadn’t managed to hurt herself he turned to another shelf to select a small, thin loaf of free formed bread which he sliced in half then cut so as to turn each half into a crude sandwich. Next he selected a couple of early apples and set them on the table. Then paper drinking cups into which he poured an amber liquid, one cup filled nearly to the brim, the other only a quarter of the way then topped off with water from a jug. Two heavy mugs were taken from a shelf and a jar of honey set next to them. A box of Red Rose tea had two bags taken