Margarate Hansill

The Gardens of Margarate

Margarate was a darling young woman of seventeen years. Her soft brown hair, with a single blonde streak along the side of her face, rolled with the waves and hardly ever became ratted. To most men, she was a sight, but she never thought that way of herself. She figured they were simply onlookers, for she currently had not a single suitor. She tried desperately to find a husband, the normal task for a woman of London, England, but none ever offered their hand. She wondered whether it was her personality that caused them to stray. Could it be her lack of confidence, or was she as dull as some girls she knew? Margarate often found herself pondering on this thought but never came to a definite conclusion. She did, however, enjoy a variety of activities that she hoped would make her more interesting. Not only was she a developed thinker, but she also enjoyed music and dance. She always considered herself terrible at them though, but most times she could be seen humming or dancing alone. Also, to impress others, she worked tirelessly to keep up on the latest England fashions for her wardrobe.

Today, in fact, she was wearing a lace dress of yellow with her pearl-white gloves as she walked through the neighborhood gardens. Like most woman, she donned a lacy-white hat that extended far around its circumference. For ladies of her stature, it is always best to keep the skin as white as possible. Less of a tan indicated more wealth in England's society, for paler skin signified less outside work; the supposed servant job.

As she strolled through the garden, the gentle wind blowing her brown curls, she contemplated her horrendous love life. "Oh why must I be forever stranded alone in the realm of London?" she asked, "Am I to leave, or simply wait and grow to be a bitter old woman, a shame to the family?"

As she pondered, she reached for a single white lily extending from the luscious green bush beside her. Plucking the beauty, she brought it up to her button of a nose and sniffed, taking in the scent that reminded her desperately of her childhood running through the gardens with her older brother Stephan. He was currently twenty-two years of age, probably out working for the shipping companies or for the warehouses the docks and the ships. Either way, he was no longer home to prevent her from starving off of the everlasting boredom that continued to consume her waking days while she wasn't working.

Carrying the lily, Margarate began to hum her favorite waltz from today's "lady lessons". It was childish, or so she thought to herself, but Margarate began to waltz quite literally down the stretch of garden path, tightly gripping the lily to prevent it from flying. Past the large bushes of roses and daffodils, she hummed the tune and stepped with graceful strides. "Da... da da," she sang, getting swept up in the music and the pictures of men and women in their finest clothing skillfully dancing around her and through her mind.

"May I have this dance?"

"Ahh!" she screamed, deeply embarrassed by her childish behavior. Someone had caught her in one of her lavish daydreams, and she felt terrible. Margarate turned to discover a young man near her age dressed in a plain white cotton shirt. It was odd, she thought, that he had his cuffs rolled so unevenly up to his elbows, and that he wore the British cap the paperboys tended to wear. He was laughing joyously, enhancing the deep crinkles around his mouth and closed eyes, and shaking his short brown locks from under his hat.

Suddenly, her cheeks and ears burned from the feeling of being spotted. She felt ashamed of herself, but tried as best as she could to prevent it from showing. Thus, she stood up as straight as possible to give her an air of confidence, even though she had been behaving so stupidly in her eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked, noticing a single brown curl fall across his forehead.

"What do you mean, who am I?" He said through bursts of laughter, "I'm the sorry fellow who interrupted your entertaining dance. A waltz I presume?"