Porcelain

Chapter 1 Death Sentence

NOTE: {I have played around this silly story on and off for years. I never finish it and constantly change it. I don't know if I have what it takes to be a writer, so lets see. I hope you all enjoy this silly story of mine.  }


It all started during a storm in late 1794 England, just at the cusp of summer. The news of the French king and queen's beheading had long passed. A loud, thunderous storm approached. Lightening cracked the sky wide, revealing the pale gray clouds gushing rain. As round bloated drops daubed the earth hard and without benevolence, Amelia awoke, like many other stormy nights. Only this time was different. That night, she could not help but sprinted childishly into the storm and frolicked among the puddles as if she were five years old rather than twenty-four. Amelia knew she could catch her death; she could not, however, find the will to care if she did. This could be the one and only time she could let go, let live, and indeed release herself from all the expectations of the world. Amelia played until her hair was completely soaked, her teeth chatted, and the rain slowed to a mist as she lay flat on her back in a puddle. Creeping back into the house, Amelia slipped past the family hound through the kitchen and up the stone stairs to her bedroom.

Amelia's younger sister Evelyn shared the room and had the bed next to the door. Sliding open the door leisurely, she crept in, shed the wet nightgown, and tossed it under her bed to hang dry with the laundry in the morning. After putting on a new nightgown, Amelia got back under the tendrils of quilts and drifted out to sleep.

"Amelia, wake up. The day is wasting!" Katherine, Amelia's mother, scolded as she shoved open the curtains in the room, "There is much to do. Your father's aunt Margret arrives today." The outside light flooded Amelia's face as her mother ripped the quilts up, "God willing, she takes you on." Amelia jolted up with a start; what did her mother say? It could not be true.

"What-?" She stopped with a stern look from her mother, "I mean, pardon me, mother, but what are you speaking of?" Amelia replied as sweetly as she could muster, hoping she had misheard her mother's words

She had not.

"Do not pretend shock, you very well knew this day was coming." Katherine was now helping Amelia dress as she unraveled the details of the situation, "Your extended age and still unmarried, your behaviors are unbecoming and your father and I will not have it in this house corrupting your sister!" Amelia tried to look uninformed

"Do not take on that look of bewilderment!" Katherine roared. "Did you think we did not know?" She stopped at the doorway. "Dancing in the rain, playing sport as if you were a boy and..." she lifted her hand to her mouth, "I will speak no more; pack your things dear, Margret arrives soon."

Amelia sat on her bed in complete shock; of course, her mother had threatened the possibility of being sent away to her Aunt Margaret and becoming one of her debutantes, but it was just a threat. Now, unfortunately, Amelia knew she was serious. She could feel it. Her life would have to change drastically, forced into acting like the rest of the women of this time, a perfect lady.

Tears welled in Amelia's eyes as she began to look in the closet for her luggage. Amelia noticed she would have to use the entire set to fit everything she could. Uselessly hoping that her memories of this house would materialize into something she could pack, something to touch late at night, something that held the smell of the stone walls and wooden floors of the place Amelia called home since she took the first breath of life.

How could they do this to me? Me, their eldest daughter, this was completely uncalled for!

Amelia thought to herself, still holding back the tears fighting to spill over her eyes. Amelia took a deep breath, allowed her anger to overwhelm the sadness of the situation, and shoved garments into the smallest luggage bag when a new set of hands joined hers in packing. Her father's hands, Amelia noticed that Thomas' hands were enormous, much bigger than her own; they often reminded her of bear paws. Several times, Amelia stole a look at her father but refused to be the first to speak. Her mother had said she, and he would not have it in their house, it being Amelia. Obviously, she was oblivious to her father's true feelings. Amelia had always believed he thought the world of her. She was the apple of his eye. Clearly, Amelia had been terribly mistaken.