The Mute Mistress

The Mute Mistress: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Mary Georgia winced, watching her rideshare driver pull his wild caterpillar brows together as he stretched his neck to survey the scenery behind her. He raised his thumb, bidding her a farewell and good luck. They drove her from Sandy Hills, and no one crossed the Baldwin Bridge for anything outside of labor. She listened to the gritty rolls of cab tires emptying into the distance. The last fumes from the exhaust swarmed the air and faded with her liberties.

She felt a short staccato in the back of her blue jeans and tucked dark hair behind her ear while regarding the incoming message. If she wanted to go back home, she could have ignored her sister's 'Did you make it?!' text and used her ridesharing app to return home. But had to buck up to the circumstances she chose.

Just made it! I'll let you know when I'm settled. Mary typed in haste before she changed her mind.

Her big sister, Nellie, worried. Let me know everything! We want to make sure you're okay!

Don't worry! Mary replied, disregarding the fast rhythm in her chest.

She was too far from home and too far from anything familiar. Before her, a daunting American castle soared high into the early morning. Tall columns and large windows spanned over the dark brick of the exterior. The lush outdoors was an undeniable magnificence, with sculpted bushes lining clean walkways, varieties of flowers ready to open and greet the day, and superbly manicured lawns perfect for barefoot play. It was stunning. It was terrifying.

Yet, with attraction all around, the world was still. So much so, the growls of abandonment felt stronger until a bird chirped from distant trees. Between short refrains of silence, Mary perked her ears to the chorus echoing into the crisp air. It was a single voice. When a bird sang, it likely did so in the hopes of companionship. Harmony couldn't exist without a complementary tune. But maybe–just maybe–this bird didn't sing a hymn of attraction but a homily of solitude. She closed her eyes. Be quiet, she thought.

Mary felt smaller than usual–like a feeble ant on the precipice of battle without armor or weapons. She marched from the home fires of Sandy Hills and, with every step away, fought to reject the notion of a war that separated her and people like her from other colonies. While optimism was a powerful tool throughout her life, it felt blunt and useless.

With a small black purse on her left shoulder and a small suitcase, she approached the base of a short but brick staircase. She briefly held her breath. Climbing the steps caused her core to yank into a knot. Something felt off.

Ordinarily, she gauged the atmosphere of a new place effortlessly, but the portal to the new world felt empty. She stepped closer to the plain black borders that framed two watery panels of glass to metal framed doors. Tingles tangled down to her toes as her fingers traced over the curled wing of the right lever. The soft bumps of the finish resembled the goosebumps raising the skin on her arms to feel like a lemon. The texture of fear confirmed she wasn't in some suspiciously sterile dream. Then she listened. And she heard nothing but the gentle rustling of leaves.

As if it were possible to become more uneasy, her heart hammered stronger. She pulled the lever and took a stabilizing breath. Her prior research of the property confirmed the digital images failed to capture the magnitude of expanse and beauty. Natural light from the top and bottom floors lit the foyer, casting a warm hue across the monochromatic theme, and little prisms of light sparkled from a crystal chandelier. A central balcony stretched into a grand double staircase flowing down with accented dark railings. The rounded stairs mimicked the mouths of rivers when meeting the bleached wood floors. The cloudy aesthetic and uncomplicated colors left a sophisticated aftertaste. It was far more than she ever dreamt of seeing first hand, and it was magnificent.

From high up, a feathery voice fluttered down to Mary's ears like a white plume. "Ms. Georgia?"

Mary eyed to the top of the staircase. There she was–Belle Korhonen, appearing in a black knee-length dress with long arms and skin-colored tights a shade darker than her exposed skin.

She held the rail and clopped in comfortable clogs down the left staircase. Mary steadied her breath, unclear if Belle's distant smile was a common courtesy or amusement at the interesting-looking thing that was her standing out like a disgusting sore inside a magnificent home.

She wasn't tall, but slender, with hardly any curves. Her face was just as angular and as wide as it was long. There were old indented scars above and below her lips and a few more creating bare lines in her right brow. Despite the sharpness of her frame and marks, strangers often described her as 'sweet' from the habit of lowering her squared chin and looking up with upturned gray eyes.

Once closer, she nibbled on the softness of Belle's cotton candy blue gaze before admiring the long grey and white strands swooping over a sun-kissed forehead and folding over one shoulder down below her breast. With the finishing touch of cinnamon-colored lips, Belle was a natural beauty.

Mary's lemon arms worsen, overseen by perceived elegance. She lowered her eyes, recalling her family's complaints about her habit of staring. Unexpectedly, Belle gently lifted her chin.

"Ihana (wonderful). You look even sweeter than the picture in the email." She extended her hand and Mary shook it softly. "I'm Belle Korhonen."

Her cadence was slow with an accent Mary couldn't place. There were heavy inflections of the vowels and an intense roll of the 'r's when Belle first called her name.

"Forgive me for my manners, as I have done all the talking," Belle said, staggering at the last word.

Mary's eyes fluttered, looking away for a split second. Even in twenty-seven years of life, introductions were not her strong suit.

"Take your time," Belle encouraged.

The kindness pulled her back to admire the warm expression waiting for her. Mary signed and mouthed, "Good morning."

"Good morning." Belle's eyes narrowed more from her raised cheeks. "We shall learn each other's languages, yes?"

Belle finally saw a smile and continued, "Wonderful. Now, if you follow me, I'll show your accommodations."

Mary grabbed her suitcase and took another moment to soak in at what was merely a fraction of her new reality. Belle's downy voice echoed under the gallery staircase, "Coming along, my dear?"