Rejected mail order bride

Chapter 1

Note:

Hello readers,

This is my first hurray in this genre. I'm sure I will get most, if not all of my facts wrong. And my grammar is terrible with a capital T. There would be times where the slang doesn't match the time frame where this story takes place (1860's) or the characters' thinking process. Kindly try to overlook them. I'm just writing it for fun. Mainly, to get this story out of my mind. Updates will be very slow. Hope I won't disappoint you guys.

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"I want that doll," Emma pointed her finger at the doll I was clutching to my chest, her lower lip jutting in a pout that would have gotten a beating to me if I tried.

I panicked, already knowing what is going to happen even at the age of 6. Still, my little heart gave a lurch, my lower lip trembled as my tear-filled eyes stared at our mother to say something.

"Mama..."

I couldn't say more even though I should have. Knowing it is futile.

"Amelia, I think you should give this doll to Emma," our mother's stern voice didn't deter me from arguing further.

"But... but... it is mine!!"

"Amelia, what did I say about arguing?"

I should have known when my mother's stern voice changed into harsh undertone or whenever she starts her sentences with my name Amelia.

"I was- "

"Anyways, this doll suits better with Emma's complexion. It will only enhance her beauty unlike you who make everything look drab," her nose wrinkled as she inspected my wish-washed dress that is stained with mud and grass.

"It was mine!!" My brain has already decided for me as it detached itself from the doll's ownership.

I should have expected. Nevertheless, when the blow landed on my cheek, my head whirled and the doll that I clutched so hard to my body slipped from my little fingers.

My cheek throbbed, my lip stung where it cut at my teeth. Yet, I didn't shed a tear. My eyes could only glare in accusation where my lips failed to pass the words. I learned the lesson way before my age what happens when I point out the obvious to my mother. More punishment in the name of disciplining me.

Every time Emma is given preference. Her wishes were given priority. Golden Emma. Beautiful Emma. Emma who can charm anyone.

I should be bitter by this blatant partiality yet I'm not. The crucifix of the matter is I became numb to it as time went on.

The reason for my slap that day- the only doll I had, the only thing I play with, was left on a muddy track just outside our home after only 1 hour.

How I know about it?

Because Emma made sure I can see the doll and dropped it exactly at the point facing the window of our room. My little heart broke inside my chest.

It was all a game to her. Just to toy with me. To show me she can get anything she want from me with a snap of her fingers or using her big, fat, fake tears.

Perhaps, that is the time I stopped craving acceptance from her. I didn't know the reason why she hated me so much. Neither the reason behind our mother's constant disciplinary actions that are focused mainly on me.

But I came to learn of it when I was 9 years old. It was a time of tension. Talk of war was in the air.

Our father, though of feeble built and thinly stature, enlisted himself in the war. Not as a soldier but under his profession, as a surgeon.