The Life of Amelia Barnette

You Don't Find Freedom, You Take It.

Morning came all too soon, the bird's waking chirps and the hustle and bustle of the house taunting me out of bed. My legs still showed the evidence of last night's hike, and I hurried to call for a bath. I couldn't soak for long. Mother would have my head. She insisted I be on time for breakfast this morning due to some important news. At this stage, everything was important news to my mother, so I didn't weigh on the subject. It was probably just talk of another well-suited lord visiting our coastal town. Father never had much to say about these sorts of topics. He was always off at his office near the docks, sorting out papers for his shipments. But nevertheless, I sat down at the dining table as the clock struck nine. A plate was set before me, one knife and fork on either side with a napkin already placed upon my lap. One piece of toast with a poached egg perched on top of a well-polished, porcelain plate. Minnie and Ida, the housemaids, hurried to fill mothers cup with molten hot tea and place a freshly poached egg apon her platter. The daily breakfast was never something to brag about, but I was always grateful for the food in front of me. I smiled my thanks to the girls as they silently curtsied towards mother and I. Catching a glance from Ida, a playful wink sent to me, both girls whisked themselves away before mother could even notice the disturbance. We lived on a fine property, but food and other supplies were always coming in unexpected quantities and times. Father's business was a risky one, but he seemed to be a man that was willing to take those risks. Overseeing multiple shipments going in and out seemed to keep him preoccupied, but occasionally, when things went south, he would stay at the house more often, his mood matching that of a disturbed bear. He would always lash out at the most unexpected of times, forcing me to stay on guard whenever he was around. A sharp flood of memories pierced my mind, sending me back to the day I fell victim to these outbursts;

My bare feet slapped against the tiled floor, the short skirts I'd be placed in flinging side to side as I raced down the hallway. Father was home. An older maid that I never remember the name of chased after me, trying to catch the folds of my dress. But I was small, fast. I burst through the front door to find my father stumbling out of the carriage. There was a notable stench in the air. He'd been drinking. I resisted the urge to hide behind the maid and instead ran up towards the familiar man, jumping up into his arms. I wasn't expecting him to throw me to the ground. To yell and kick until my maid was finally able to pull me from his grasp. Tears had dampened my cheeks as I was carried back to my room.

"Useless child! What right do you have to run at me like that? What a pathetic child I have to treat me with such disrespect! Well, don't just stand there, find my wife!"

Father's slurred words echoed through the house, mother's soothing tones barely calming him down. That was the last day I ever hugged my father. The bruises and swollen skin were an aching realization that he was not the man I thought he was. It was the realisation that not all men were good.

A chill ran along my torso, as if the swollen skin was still throbbing. Desperately trying to find anything else to think of, I dug my knife into the egg, yolk pouring out and soaking into the freshly toasted bread. Mother sat opposite me, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and the weeks' newspaper in the other. Her hair was sprung up in a tightly weaved bun, small strands barely hanging free. She wore a modest day gown, a sage green gracing her pale flesh. Almond eyes slightly squinted down as she read the daily gossip. I didn't let her distracted state fool me. That woman can see and hear all things that bothered her. I started to delicately shovel small portions of eggy bread into my mouth when she finally spoke,

"Spring has seemed to finally grace us with her presence. Have you noticed the weather lately, Amelia? I do believe if this keeps up, we could throw a picnic with some of the ladies in town. You need to get out and about more and socialise."

She looked up from her newspaper, examining my every feature and impurity. A slight scrunch of the nose indicated her distaste with my features. Mother made no effort in hiding the fact that she did not approve of my looks. I tried desperately to not let her venomous glares hold any amount of power over me, but without even thinking, my hand went up to fix the wild stray hairs that flung out in all directions. I held my posture up straighter, sucking in as much as I possibly could. I tried to better myself for her, even though I knew it would be fleeting.