American Girl

Washington

Merlin Jessup. Alexandra Montfort gazed out at the rolling countryside. She loved the name, although she hadn't put a face to it yet. Her image provoked a tall, mythical man walking out of the mist. He stretched out his arms to welcome her into his life. Pressing her face against the glass pane, she fell into her fantasy.

Alexandra began corresponding with Merlin Jessup three months ago. After noticing an advertisement in the Times-Gazette, she sent in her name and address. The matches were made randomly, and a letter exchange was highly recommended. She hovered close to home each morning, waiting for the mail delivery. She must keep her plan a secret.

Aunt Delia regretted her presence in the family. If it was up to Aunt Delia, Alexandra would have remained in the orphanage. Uncle Willard insisted she live with them. For once, he stood up to his wife and insisted upon something. Otherwise, her meek relative did as he was told by his domineering wife.

Alexandra's mother was institutionalized. The frail threads that kept her mind together snapped after she caught her second husband abusing her only daughter. Luckily, the situation hadn't reached its climax before discovery. Nevertheless, it was enough to crack Fayleen Montfort's grip on reality.

Closing her eyes tightly, Alexandra pushed aside the awful scene. Horace had her pinned to her bed, his pants down, and her skirt around her waist. She struggled to release herself, but he was too strong for her. If Fayleen hadn't appeared, Horace would have raped her. The last thing she saw was her mother grabbing the axe. After that, everything was blank.

Fayleen was declared insane following three doctors' testimony, and Alexandra found herself confined to an orphanage. Weeks of misery passed before Uncle Willard arrived to bring her home. Aunt Delia voiced her opinion loudly. She did not want a maniac's daughter in her house. She did not know when Alexandra would crack; she didn't want the responsibility.

"The girl is my sister's only child," Uncle Willard protested. "I feel obliged..."

"I don't care how obliged you feel, Willard," Aunt Delia shouted. "I don't want her here."

"This is her home now," the heavy-set uncle exclaimed. "As long as she needs us, she will remain."

Aunt Delia's mouth screwed up into a tight pucker. Her eyes grew beady as she examined Alexandra. The girl waited with trepidation. She did not wish to return to the orphanage, nor did she wish to stay.

"How old are you?" her aunt snapped.

"Fifteen." Alexandra clipped the word, mimicking her aunt's tone.

"Three years, and you are out of here, understood?"

"Yes." She spoke sharply.

"Eighteen and married or working. Take your pick." Aunt Delia threw Uncle Willard a penetrating look before marching into the kitchen.

Her uncle picked up her carpetbag and showed her to an upstairs room. The space was barely the size of a closet, with a bed tucked beneath the eaves, an old dresser, and a cracked mirror on the wall. Alexandra examined her new room disdainfully. In a way, it gave her more privacy than the orphanage dormitory. She had to accept it; she had no place else to go.

Uncle Willard left her to unpack. Alexandra hung her two dresses behind a shabby curtain and folded her underthings into the dresser. When she looked up, a boy and girl stood in the doorway. They gathered close together, their shoulders touching.

"Are you the crazy lady's daughter?" the boy asked, his mouth full of peppermint stick. Red juice rolled down his chin.

"That's impolite." The girl nudged him with her elbow. "I'm Nellie; this is Sam."