I was born hardly two days from the New Year, which was celebrated every year by a royal ball. As a child, I never understood what this would entail, but as I grew, it became painfully clear. In Falea, young women must come out in society after their sixteenth birthday. Usually it is merely a formality, nothing more than a few drinks between fathers, but I had to be born right near one of the largest and most fancy balls of the entire year which meant my coming out would be done at the New Year's ball. I willed myself to be ill as my sixteenth birthday approached and wished fervently that my birth could have fallen on any other date.
Unfortunately, my health didn't fail, and I was forced to bear the growing excitement of my sisters. Apparently, Prince Aidan had recently returned from a year abroad and was to be at this particular ball, and they hoped to catch his eye before his birthday celebration two years from the present where, by Falean tradition, he would name his bride. I was given an assortment of my sister's old finery—rather stretched beyond its time and in desperate need of fitting. . .and a good wash.
I had always been small for my age; in fact, I doubt you could have found a more stickly girl in all of Falea, not even taking into account our small town of Lund—a thoroughly and unbearably small town in the eyes of my sisters. Because of this, I had never had a dress that fit me properly. Whenever I received a new gown, it came out of the dressmaker's box in need of my nursemaid's fingers to work a magic of tucks and pleats to make them wearable.
Now that I must attend the ball, Mother announced that it wasn't cost efficient to purchase new gowns for all of us, and it would be perfectly fine for me to attend in my sisters' old gowns. As the date drew nearer, I contemplated pretending to be ill in an effort to force them to leave me behind, but this idea never would have worked. I couldn't lie to save my life, and besides, the very thought of faking something to get my own way was preposterous in my mind.
Instead, I scurried off to the menagerie more and more often and tried to forget about the ball and everything that it would entail. Unfortunately, I could never wipe it entirely from my mind. No one in Lund was talking about anything else, and I was constantly plagued with the whole wretched thing.
Father, whenever I saw him, seemed graver and more reserved than usual. I must have caught him at least ten times sitting alone in the gardens and staring off into space as he spun his wedding ring about his finger, smiling in an odd way. I could tell something wasn't altogether right with him. Perhaps it had something to do with the way he and Mother conversed with their eyes when they thought no one was looking. They seemed at odds with each other in some way, conflicted in an irreparable way.
Once I caught the two of them sitting together near the rose garden. Usually Mother detested going outdoors if it didn't involve going to visit out rich neighbors, but it was different in some way that day. She sat with him, her hand clasped comfortably in his, her head resting on his shoulder. Clumsy as I was, I knocked into a bucket of ashes the groundskeeper had intended to spread around the hydrangeas. Something passed between the two of them at the sight of me, and Mother jerked away from Father, venom in her eyes, and stalked away without a second glance.
I suppose that was when I first got the inkling that their marriage was not what it should have been, and a part of me must have realized that I was the cause. They seemed to have differing opinions on what was to be done with me, and at some point, they had unconsciously decided that the issue was more important than their marriage, and it had destroyed their relationship. At almost sixteen, I should have been able to see this, but I was blinded by my own troubles and was unable to understand the sorrow in Father's expression, when he looked at me, was more than sorrow over his deteriorating love life.
A little over a week before my birthday I crept in late from an afternoon at the menagerie. I knew I wouldn't have been missed at supper, not by my mother or sisters, anyway, but I was a bit apprehensive all the same. The house was silent and dark, but as I tiptoed past the sitting room, I noticed there was a light still burning behind its closed door. I paused, silently debating over whether I should go in or not. I had reached out to take hold of the door handle when a pair of strained voices met my ear. Mother and Father were having a discussion and, from the sounds of it, not a pleasant one.
I was by no means a snoop, but for some reason I couldn't have explained, I was rooted to the spot. I stilled my breathing as well as I could and turned my head toward the voice, listening with all my might. My mother was speaking, and her voice was low and harsh. That was all I could tell at first, but slowly, the words became clear.
"We'll need a place to stay. You must leave tomorrow and find somewhere, Liam, and I refuse to stay in one of those must inns with the ugly people constantly loitering about at the door. It's not safe for the girls to be exposed to such characters. Get something nice that furnishes all our needs." There was the clink of glass on wood, and I knew that Mother had once again dug into Father's stock of fine wines from the cellar. Perhaps it was spite over the way Father treated me that caused her to break into our stocks of goods whenever money was tightest, or it could have been her desire to live a life of wealth.
"And where would you like me to find funds for such high living, Edora," My father's voice was cold, colder than I'd ever heard it. "When you constantly spend every penny I earn?" A heavy sigh met my ears.
"It's not my fault you don't work hard enough. Would you have us live in complete poverty?" It was difficult to argue with Mother when she had her mind set on something.
"Poverty?" Father scoffed. "You don't know the meaning of the word! You've never known a day when you didn't have everything you wanted." There was a hint of sorrow in Father's voice.
"You think this it what I want? When I married you, I thought you would be successful, but instead, you've plummeted toward bankruptcy, dragging me behind you. What of all your words of love now? Where is the man who fought so hard to woo me? You would have given anything for me then, and yet, you cannot even properly provide for me and my daughters now?" Mother's voice was bitter.
"Once, a long time ago, I thought our love was enough." Father said wistfully. "You told me then that it didn't matter to you if we never saw a day of the wealth you were used to."
"You're right; that was a long time ago. Things were different then." Mother paused, and there was something in her voice that made me wonder if she weren't on the verge of tears. "There was more between us than all of this."
"Can't we go back to that?" Father's voice was hardly above a whisper.
A long moment of silence passed, and I suppose I'll never know what transpired between them in that space of time. But it wasn't enough to mend what time had already severed.
"Perhaps we could rewrite things if you weren't so intent upon bringing us to ruin." Mother's voice was suddenly vicious.
"I?" Father protested.
"Yes! Your constant insistence that that child be a part of our lives." Mother snapped.
"Edora," Father said slowly. "Is it so hard to learn to like her?"
"Hard? Every time I look at her I see what she will bring upon us, the taint she will apply to our name." Mother spat.
"It was a mistake, Edora, a terrible, terrible mistake, but there's nothing we can do to change it." Exhaustion threaded Father's tone.
"You're right; it was a mistake! If you weren't so intent on loving her, you would see what a horrible thing it really is." Mother sounded close to hysteria.
"Yes, but it is done now, and we can't just turn her out." Father pleaded. "Can't you try to care for her?"
"Look, Liam, I have agreed to take the child with us, how can you possibly ask more of me?" Mother scoffed.
"Because of what she is to me. You speak ill of her and treat her poorly, but I cannot have you ostracizing her from our life." Father said.
"Ostracizing? Need I remind you that she's only coming at your insistence and completely against my better judgement. Do you require that I also make sure she has everything the other girls have? That would only cost even more of your precious money, and besides, the other girls didn't get any new things last year. She can do without an entirely new wardrobe now. She has sufficient clothes." Mother snorted softly.
"Sufficient? Yes, sufficient to look like a beggar girl!" Father cried. "Are you so unfeeling that you can wish that upon her?" There was a sniff and then I heard Mother's heeled slippers click across the floor toward the door. I jumped away but found myself immobile, too absorbed in what I was hearing. The footsteps halted suddenly.
"Oh, and do tell her." Mother's voice was riddled with disgust. "I am of no mind to explain everything to the dimwit."
"Don't." Father said between gritted teeth, but by that time, my brain had awoken from its stupor, and I was racing up the curved wooden stairs to my warm bed where I spent a teary, sleepless night wondering what Father was meant to tell me.
Morning dawned with a heavy blanket of swirling mist and no sunrise in sight. My favorite kind of morning, but unlike usual, I didn't pause to admire the ethereal beauty of my surroundings. Without waiting for my maid, I threw on a gown and raced down the hall, all the while praying that everything from the night before had simply been a horrible nightmare.
Rounding the corner, I came in sight of his study door, and my heart sank within me and tears sprang to my eyes. Sitting in a neat pile outside there door were his travel bags, packed and ready for a journey. I couldn't believe what was happening. Horror etching its mark on my face, my feet propelled me backwards until I turned and ran to the kitchen, throwing myself into the morning routine, scrubbing and washing like never before. Aza, the kitchen maid, stared long and hard at me and then returned to her duties, too afraid to ask what had gotten into me.
"Did you hear, Miss Bree?" David poked his head into the kitchen, holding the milk bucket out to me. "Your father means to head to the city today. What do you think is dragging him off now? I don't think he's too happy about it. I hain't seen him since early this morning, cause he's been holed up in his study. 'e hasn't even eaten yet."
Aza entered just then, and the two of them continued with the conversation as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but I couldn't. I dried my hands and prepared a plate to take to the circular study room where my father spent much of his time.
As I approached the door, I found it stern and foreboding as though it, too, weren't in the mood to be tampered with. For the first time in my life, I was scared to knock on my father's door, scared of what I might find behind the beautifully carved oak, but most of all, I was scared of what might have happened the night before that would separate me from my father. I lifted my hand to knock, shaking where I stood. Drawing a deep breath, I finally got the courage to give a light tap.
"Bree?" Father's voice was just as it had always been, warm and pleasant. I exhaled softly. It must have been a dream. Throwing the door open, I stepped inside, easing it shut again with my foot. Setting his plate on the desk, I fell to my knees before him.
"It isn't true, is it? You're not leaving?" I gazed up at him, so full of hope and yet filled with dread at the same time.
"I've got to, girly." His hand rested gently on my brow and passed over my hair as it often did when he was most sad. "Otherwise, nothing could tear me away from here now."
"You've never had to go early before!" I protested, my voice almost a wail. There was a sudden knock at the door, and my father looked up without replying as though he were avoiding it.
"What is it?" He said, and I closed my eyes, memorizing the soft lilt of his rich, baritone voice.
"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but her ladyship has asked for your presence in the drawin' room." David's voice was like a noose tightening around my neck, dragging me away and stealing my father from me.
"Thank you, David, I'll be there directly." He looked down at me, his eyes grave as they searched my face. I felt like he was committing my features to memory. With a last, gentle caress to my cheek, he rose heavily, as though he was bearing a great weight, and disappeared down the hall.
I buried my face in my arms, leaning against his chair and inhaling his scent. In my sorrow, I forgot that I had other chores to do. I didn't want him to leave. What would I do without him?
At the same time, my suspicions were aroused. What was all this about? The hushed voices of last night returned to my memory to plague me, and I struggled not to retch. There was something going on here that I didn't understand.
Swallowing my tears with immense effort, I forced myself to rise. Mother would be wanting her tea, and Marda, the cook (and my especial friend) was too busy to get it going at such an hour.
The hall seemed strangely empty when I stepped into it, as though Father had already gone, never to grace the house with his presence again. Gritting my teeth, I drew a deep breath. I couldn't think like that. I had to be cheerful for Father. This was just as hard on him as it was on me. Sighing, I practiced a smile. Maybe I could just stay away until it was time to wave him off. Thinking like that brought tears to my eyes.
Mother had never wanted me, not since the day of my birth, and she had never been afraid to show it, either. What would I do without Father here? I blinked the tears away and realized I had already tied my apron on and poured the water into the pot. With a last sigh, I moved away from the pump. It would be best if I stayed away from Father. I hadn't let my sisters see me cry for as long as I could remember, but how was I supposed to say goodbye to the only friend I had without shedding a tear?