The Troubles Of Loving Elijah

Chapter 1

~~1873~~

I sat in my chamber writing make-believe stories of mythical creatures of the night. I must write with haste this afternoon, my father doesn't like it when I write, he finds it un-lady-like. He would much rather see my time spent on other things; cooking, cleaning or finding a husband. My father was once a sweet man before my mother passed. I was too young to remember her but, my father does and now he is tempered by the slightest. Father says stories of creatures are for children, things we use to scare them into adulthood. He says a husband doesn't like a woman who is investing in childish things. I disagree with his thinking, I am only fifteen years of age but, I'm an adult in the eyes of this society.

I finished the last of my story smiling down at it proudly. I blow gently on the page until the black ink is dry, careful not to smear the freshly written words. I place my ink and quill back into the desk drawer. I hide the book back under the floorboards, near the desk, and hurry out of my chamber to attend to my duties. As a lady, I must; cook, clean, and learn to raise a family. I do not want to though. I wish for no ordinary life, it's too short to live like everyone else.

Father is most likely at the market, he's always trying to give me away to the first man he finds but, one with a good dowry. We are not poor, oh heavens no! We live far better than many for miles around. Our home isn't large but, it is not as small as some homes we've seen. Some live in poor conditions, with many members of a family to feed. I was very fortunate for what my family had.

I made my way to the kitchen, my faded red and green dress flowing behind me as I walked. I put an apron on over my old dress and began to knead the dough for a pie, designated for tonight's dinner party. I rolled the dough over the various fruit pieces, I placed the pie into the fire and watched it bake. Many moments later, I pulled out the hot pie with my bare hands, burning them, I winced at the pain as I put the pie on the window sill. My hands stung and had red marks but they would heal in time. The sun was beginning to set and the autumn breeze would cool the pie quickly. I took off the white, worn, apron and placed it back up on the shelf. In a flash, I saw a blur by my hot pie. Then, I saw him, a white man with long yellow hay for hair. He reached his dirty fingers into the pie and swiped some up and ate it!
"Boy!" I shouted after him. He merely smirked and took off with the pie. I ran to the window and saw him look back at me, tempting me to follow. I gripped my dress and climbed out the window. I wasn't angry but simply wanted a sense of adventure.