Shorts

10. Samuel

In the early light of dawn, the small town of Williamsburg bustled quietly with the sounds of roosters crowing and the faint rustle of leaves. Seventeen-year-old Samuel Thompson, his heart racing with the thrill of youthful infatuation, lay sprawled on the cool grass beneath Miss Abigail Hawthorne's window. He had spotted her the previous evening, her laughter ringing like chimes through the air, and he couldn't resist the temptation to catch a glimpse of her in the morning light.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, Samuel's eyelids grew heavy, lulled by the serenity of the moment. He barely noticed the bustling activity inside the Hawthorne household until a loud crash broke the stillness. A bucket of water, meant for the garden, was unceremoniously emptied from the window above.

“Yaaah!” Samuel yelped, leaping to his feet, drenched from head to toe. The cool water clung to him like an unwelcome embrace, rivulets streaming down his face as he looked up, embarrassed and sputtering.

Abigail, her hair a cascade of golden curls, leaned out of the window, her laughter ringing sweetly in the morning air. "Oh dear! I didn’t mean to startle you, Samuel! You look like a drowned rat!"

Samuel wiped the water from his eyes, flushing with both embarrassment and amusement. “I—I was just waiting for you to wake up, Miss Hawthorne!”

“Waiting for me? How romantic!” She leaned further out, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re quite soaked, aren't you? Perhaps you should come inside and dry off.”

“Um, I—” he stammered, his heart racing at the thought. “That would be… nice?”

“Come on then!” Abigail beamed, disappearing from the window. Moments later, she opened the door, her maid bobbing in behind her with a knowing smile.

Samuel hesitated a moment but then followed Abigail into the quaint, sunlit parlor. The room was filled with the scent of fresh bread and blooming flowers. Abigail gestured toward a chair, and he sat, dripping water onto the polished floor.

“You’ll catch your death like that!” she exclaimed, hands on her hips. “We must find you something dry to wear.”

The maid, a stout woman with kind eyes, nodded. “I’ve got a few dresses that might fit, Miss Abigail. Just a moment!”

Before he could protest, Abigail clapped her hands together excitedly. “Oh, this will be fun! You’ll make a beautiful girl, Samuel!”

“What? No, I—” he began, but Abigail was already pulling out a pale blue dress, its fabric catching the morning light beautifully.

“Don’t be such a bore! It’ll be a lark,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And besides, it’s better than staying wet!”

With a resigned sigh, Samuel found himself unable to argue as Abigail and the maid set to work. The maid helped him out of his soggy clothes while Abigail giggled and offered encouragement. “You must feel lighter already! Just think, you’ll be the talk of the town!”

“More like the laughingstock!” he muttered, but the playful spirit of the moment began to take hold.

As the maid wrapped him in layers of soft fabric, Abigail couldn’t help but tease. “You need to wear this corset, of course. It’ll help you look more… in shape.”

“I’m not sure I’ll fit in that!” Samuel protested, but the maid was already tightening the laces with determination.

“Nonsense! Just breathe in,” she instructed, and he complied, the fabric hugging him tighter than he expected.

“See? You look lovely!” Abigail exclaimed, holding a mirror before him. He stared into it, his wet hair framing his face, now adorned with the delicate lines of the dress.