Edax sapiens

Menarche

"Come along, Jasmine," beckoned Ms. Worthe, my Lady's Maid and caretaker since I was born.

She was a tall woman, taller than any men I knew besides for Mr. Stote, who was the Butler for the Sordy House. Serene in company and unfettered in private, Ms. Worthe was a beacon of charity and direction in my life. I once (in an awful childish fit) asked her why such a knowledgeable woman would stick around to take care of a brat like me, after which she smiled kindly and said she did it because she knew who I'd become--a woman twice as beautiful and capable as she. She wouldn't tell me more, but I came to trust her with my life and my trivial secrets.

Because she was the only one staying strong at my father's funeral.

I took my silk napkin and patted my eyes before taking a breath and Ms. Worthe's side by the open casket. I reached for her hand, which she gave and held mine tight as I looked down at Father's face. He looked like he could get up and tell me it was okay at any moment.

Such a stupid way to die, I thought. Such strength shouldn't fall victim to mere statistics. Just two days ago he rocked me to sleep by the fireplace. Stupid alcohol, stupid driver, stupid people, stupid world, stupid, stupid, stupid--

I couldn't hold it any longer and sobbed into Ms. Worthe's black funeral gown.

*****

A few days passed since Father's burial and the Sordy House was back on its feet, getting everything ready for its new Master. Although I am the sole inheritor of Father's estate, I was a girl just shy of marriageable age, so it was decided my uncle would take care of Father's affairs until I could do so myself.

Despite being the heiress of the Sordy House, I knew little about the Sordy family. My mother died during childbirth, so her kin detached and never visited. Father's parents died before I could know them, and his one younger brother was only mentioned in a dim light.

Apparently, Uncle Jack Sordy was the kind of man who would forever remain a bachelor for his unbridled boyishness and sleazy business practices. Whenever Lords and Ladies aired his scandals and rumors ran him out of work, he'd hop to another town, change his name, and find a new gullible House to roost in. As for his schemes, I gleaned from maidservant gossip that Uncle Sordy pretended to be a gemologist who appraised jewelry. Once invited into an honorable house for work, he'd take advantage of their hospitality (especially their womenfolk) and undervalue their goods, some of which he'd offer to buy or trade so he could score a profit.

But, as much of a scoundrel his reputation made him out to be, he was never accused of being a thief; And this smidgeon of dignity, along with his Sordy name, was enough to temporarily grant him the title of Master in the Sordy House.

Ms. Worthe made sure I was fully prepped and prettied for the occasion of his arrival, which was today. Mr. Stote, Ms. Worthe, and I stood in front of the grand marble steps as Jack Sordy's Executive Class Dragonfly landed in the driveway. A prominent and boastful machine it was, but it lacked reserve and was telling of a juvenile man who came across money by dumb luck. Father's flying car, a custom vehicle he lovingly called "Mittens" (which was still undergoing repairs), by comparison exuded omnipotence and a well balanced density only found in large jungle cats.

Once the machine went silent, Mr. Stote walked around and opened the door for my uncle, who got out and took stock of his new domain before approaching us ladies.

With a wave, the butler called over the groom, an old mechanic who kept to himself and had little to do with me, to fly the vehicle around back where the shop garage was.

When Jack Sordy stood before me, I offered my hand. He took it, bowed, and kissed it gently. Ms. Worthe only greeted him with a nod, which he returned.

"M'Lady," he addressed me, "I apologize profusely for not attending your father's funeral, but be certain I mourned along with you. It is a tragedy for him to pass so young."