Life is Simple

Lesson 7

"We've no time to sit at the breakfast table this morning!" Mother floated her way into the dinning area where Father and I sat, at peace with the silence and relaxed by the clattering of plates as breakfast was nearly ready.

"Calm yourself, Hattie." Father held up a hand to his wife, to which she stopped her talking and apologized, before leaving the room.

"Did you pay attention to that, my daughter?"

"To what?" I questioned his question with an unintended edge in my voice, perhaps from the upset of emotions of yesterday's event.

"Take that as a lesson. When a husband commands something to be seen to, or in this case unseen to, by his wife, she must always abide by his word regardless of what it is that he says. If a husband asks for his snuffbox upstairs in his bedchamber, the wife may see to that duty if there is no servant about. Do you understand? You must be flexible, and loving at all times to make a remarkable wife." To this, Douglass entered the house through the back entrance of the kitchen, hat in hand.

"Sorry de bother ou, ser, but a fight as broken out in de fields en needs settled. I could not break de fight." Nervously gripping and spinning his fingers around the brim of his hat, Douglass lowered his head in fear.

Father sighed, as he always fussed so dramatically, before throwing down the napkin he had prepared on his lap.

"Must everything done around here be the product of my labor! Douglass, fetch me a horse if it is deep in the fields." The entirety of Father's face was splotched in red and protruding veins brought more dimension to it.

"Indeed, es far out in de fields. Right away, ser." Douglass ran off to the stables to fetch Father's stallion.

"I am Master, not sir!" Father shouted out the door following Douglass's clumsy exit.

"Isabelle, postpone my meal until after I break up this terrible fight. See to it that she eats before she leaves." Isabelle appeared from the kitchen, covered in flour with a spoon in her hand.

"Yes, Master." Isabelle returned to the kitchen as quickly as she had shown herself, accounting me as the "she" Father referenced.

"Do get yourself that splendid dress your mother keeps droning on about. It is important you look ravishing this evening." Father pulled on his long coat which hung from the back of his mahogany chair, still absorbed in the smell of lacquer. Not a moment was spared after his parting words were enveloping me with a mix of emotions. For once Father was proud of his daughter, something that was rather uncommon for him to feel for anyone else other then himself. On the other side of this predicament lays the undeniable truth that I cannot bring myself to bare. To marry, or to court, a man whom I never heard the name of for the sake of preserving our estate was a ludicrous idea in my eyes. I was left alone with the loud yellow and purple room, which nauseated me now more than ever to look upon.

"Porrige for ou, miss. En toasted bread." Isabelle set up a common breakfast in front of my lonesome self. Dare I sit in Father's seat at the head of the table? I contemplated this thought as Isabelle arranged my meal properly before me.

"En fresh milk, miss. Es dere anythin' else I can attend to?" Like soft silk her words domesticated my qualms. Her dark hands, split and calloused, retreated to her sides.

"No, this will be all. Thank you." Isabelle bowed and left the room so that I could eat my meal. After a spoonful of grainy porridge and only a small sip of milk, Mother entered the room with her hands tossed in the air.

"Come now! I said there was no time for breakfast!" Mother impatiently waved me in her direction, luring me to a foreseeable death without condolences to save me from the terror.