Madeline Usher's Tale

Chapter Eight

“But evil things, in robes of sorrow,

Assailed the monarch’s high estate;

(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow

Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)

And, round about his home, the glory

That blushed and bloomed

Is but a dim-remembered story

Of the old time entombed.”

                                                                            Chapter Eight

 The year: October 1872.

            I turned twenty-five this year. Just a month ago Roderick turned thirty-three. That’s all I seemed to do lately was count the years that passed by. I was slowly coming to despise my age, wishing I was eight years old again. If I was eight, maybe I could run away. Then I would never have to come to this house. It was such a wonderful fantasy.

            I awoke early that morning and had Letty draw me a bath. The water was warm, but I still felt cold. After my bath, Letty brushed my long black hair. I purposely turned away from the mirror so I wouldn’t have to look at myself. The mirror made my hands tingle.

            “This pink dress always looks lovely on you, my Lady,” Letty said, holding up one of my dresses after she had finished brushing my hair.

            I looked at the dress a moment before I agreed. I turned to hold onto my bedpost as she proceeded to help me into the tedious corset. Letty knew to lace the corset gently. The last couple of years, any minor pain the corset brought covered my back in bruises.

            Occasionally, Letty and I would engage in chit-chat. Today we remained silent as I listened to the chirping birds through my open window.

            That’s when I heard a familiar sound: horse hooves and carriage wheels sliding against the gravel walkway toward the manor. I smiled.

            “Letty, go a bit quicker please.”

            “Yes, my Lady.”

            Letty had the corset laced within a few minutes and helped me into the pink dress. I slipped on my shoes and ran from the bedroom, ignoring my loose hair that cascaded down to my waist.

            Before he could even knock on the door, I appeared before Mr. Kennedy, taking in the sight of his green eyes and blonde hair.

            He handed me a rose, a tradition he had kept for eight years now. “You look lovely as always, Lady Madeline.”

            I took the rose and sniffed it. “Thank you Mr. Kennedy. I wish I could say the same about you,” I joked.

            He placed a hand over his heart in mock dejection. “You wound me.”

            For eight years Mr. Kennedy had come to the manor to visit us. But it was only during the second week of October. The rest of the year I never got to see him. I always found myself in low spirits upon his departure. He would come this second week of October and stay for about two weeks, unless Roderick said otherwise. This had become a habit for Roderick seeing his old friend the same exact time every year. Mr. Kennedy used to question why this week in particular, but after Roderick declined to answer, Mr. Kennedy stopped asking. It was between me and Roderick that we shared the exact secret for why this time of year. But that’s for later in the story.