The Three of Avonlea

Chapter 1; Ophelia Cauldwell

Ophelia groaned as she battled with her hair, trying her best to tie a powder blue ribbon into her long, dark hair. No matter what she did, she was never able to hold it up right, much less untangle the infinite number of knots that formed with every attempt. She dropped the section of her hair, placing the ribbon on her table as she sighed and picked up the brush once more.

She'd never done her own hair before, let alone for schooling. Back in Derry, she'd had servants to do everything for her, and her parents had never found a need for her to receive a proper education. It was set in stone that she would attend a finishing school when she turned sixteen years of age to learn how to be a proper wife. However, Canada seemed to be much different from Northern Ireland, and it appeared to be a taboo for children to be uneducated, regardless of their gender. She dreaded the idea of it, but she figured anywhere was better than being near her parents any longer.

"Mother!" She called out, failing to hide the clear frustration in her tone. She slammed the brush down on the vanity table, crossing her arms as she waited. She'd tried at least a thousand times to place her hair up, all of them to no avail.

"Yes, darling?" Mrs. Cauldwell entered the bedroom in a long white dress adorned with a flower pattern on it, looking around slightly before scrunching her face. The room was quite large, but not nearly as large as the room she'd had in Derry. Though they were now the wealthiest family in Avonlea, no houses had compared to the sheer size of their old one. Her father had already hired a contractor to expand the house to resemble the original in order to appease Mrs. Cauldwell, but it wasn't going as swiftly as they had hoped.

Ophelia pointed to her hair, now a nest of knots. Mrs. Cauldwell let out a deep, long overdue sigh, picking up the brush from the table. She began to tug at her daughter's hair, ignoring her grunts of pain and protest. It was soon clear to Ophelia that her mother was letting out her vexation on whatever inconvenienced her in the moment; the current example being the mess of coils before her. She grabbed the ribbon, perfectly sectioning the hair as she did when Ophelia was but a child.

"If we were still in Derry," she tied the satin ribbon into a voluptuous bow. "You wouldn't have to go to public school. You would have attended a finishing school like we planned and lived a better life in a mansion with a perfect husband who listens to you."

Ophelia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She hated it when her mother said such things, such clear jabs at her father; something that had become a daily occurrence. Mrs. Cauldwell placed her hands on Ophelia's shoulders, squeezing slightly.

"You could have been so much more in Ireland." She watched her daughter in the mirror for a moment, a sorrow filled expression on her face before she walked off, likely to once again pester the contractor.

Ophelia Cauldwell took a few deep breaths as she slipped herself into an expensive blue dress, and a white apron-like overskirt to top it off. The dress had slight puffed sleeves, something that had been rather fashionable as of late, and a visible sign of her family's wealth. She turned back to the mirror to examine herself. She ran her fingers along the slick of her hair, tidily tied back by the ribbon, in a matter of seconds. She straightened out her white tights, not quitting until not a crease could be seen. Only then did she lace up the latest in fashion, a pair of fancy black boots her father had bought her in Derry before they relocated to Avonlea.

She hurried out the door, slamming it closed purposefully to drown out the bickering coming from the kitchen. Ophelia leaned against the shut door, taking a few deep breaths before straightening out her straw sailor hat, and setting off on her walk along the brook. Though the walk to the schoolhouse wasn't particularly lengthy, it was a calming experience for Ophelia Cauldwell, and it was a much-needed pause for her, as well as a properly romantical change of scenery.