The Cry of Her Heart - Historical Fiction

Chapter 7

Hello, readers!

Sorry that it has taken me so long to post this chapter! For some reason, I had a harder time writing this one and I am still not completely pleased with it... :( I would really appreciate your comments and critiques in order to help me improve it!!

To make up for the long time it has taken me to post this chapter, I will be posting chapter eight in the next couple of days! So, be looking forward to that chapter! It promises to hold some interesting twists and exciting situations!

Please fan, vote, and comment!! I would greatly appreciate it!!

Thanks,

~ MCummins

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Vianna cracked her lids open, blinking against the pain that seared through her head. Slowly, she tested her limbs, assessing the damage. Besides a slight ache coming from her left wrist and a few other scattered muscular complaints, she seemed to be fine.

Where am I? She asked herself, desperately trying to think back to the events that had led her to this place, wherever this place may be. She seemed to be lying on something soft and around her everything was dark and silent - an unearthly silence. Despite her instincts, which urged her to react in panic, a certain warmth surrounded her and, sighing in contentment, Vianna relaxed. It was at that moment that she heard a woman's voice.

"How are you, dear? Did you sleep well?" The voice asked.

Immediately, Vianna's heart beat faster in response. She felt a rapid surge of fear, but forced her voice to speak calmly. The words she spoke were the very ones she had just been asking herself, "Where am I?"

The voice laughed, a kind and gentle laugh. For a moment, there was again silence. Then there came the soft sound of a match striking.

Light burst forth, blinding Vianna and causing her to blink quickly in order to allow her eyes to adjust to the change. She forced herself to smother her fear and examine her surroundings.

Her attempt to gather her bearings only caused her more confusion. The room was small and sparsely furnished. In fact, she lay on the most prominent furnishing - a mattress placed on a simple, wooden bedframe. Besides this, the room contained a table, on which an oil lamp was placed, and a chair. An ordinary, wooden door was embedded in one wall and, with that, the room was complete.

Yet, although she noticed the apparent lack of possessions in the room, Vianna also recognized their quality and the absence of signs that would indicate the objects received extensive use; she was definitely neither in her own home nor in the home of someone of her similar station. Her quick glance to the ceiling and floor of the room confirmed her suspicions - the owner of this dwelling obviously possessed wealth.

Who could this person be and what am I doing here? Vianna asked herself. It was only then that she remembered the presence of another individual in the room.

She turned her head quickly and found the woman leaning against the wall in the corner of the room nearest the closed door.

The woman was small of stature and several decades older than Vianna. Wrinkles crept from the corner of her eyes, signaling her age as well as her seemingly pleasant disposition. Another evidence of her temperament was the smile that graced her lips. She wore a gray cotton dress and a white apron tied around her waist. Although her clothing was not fancy by any means, it was clean and fit her nicely.

Vianna blushed slightly as she suddenly realized her lengthy inspection. The woman only continued to smile and, in what appeared to be an unconscious action, she smoothed back silvery, gray hair that had been fastened in a loose bun. She then spoke. "I am Mrs. Staples, the housekeeper and longest existing servant here at the Stephenson Manor." Her voice was kind, but left no room for needless chatter. "You are...?"