Bloodlines: Book One

Chapter One

The quiet of the chilled spring air was broken by the loud laughter of the two youngest Greenly children, racing across the yard to the stables on their horses. Abigail Greenly was perched upon her large, black horse Major, and looked over her shoulder to make sure her brother was still there.

“Look out for that tree, Abby!” Ben called, and the young girl whipped around, quickly pulling her horse to the side. She scoffed loudly when she noticed there was no tree, and her brother raced past her.

“I thought we agreed no dirty tricks!” she cried, kicking her heels, pushing her horse faster. They were about neck and neck now, headed straight for the stable doors. Right when it seemed like Ben would prevail, his horse stumbled, letting Abby win. They slowed their horses to a stop, where Abby let out a victory cry. Her horse reared up, a trick she had taught it a while ago.

“I win, again,” she taunted, dismounting her horse and leading it into the stable.

“Must everything be a race to you?” he asked, quickly following, and checking all of his horses shoes, just in case.

“Life is just more fun that way,” she said, smiling widely.

“Which is exactly why the hare beat the tortoise.” Abby stuck her tongue out at her brother, who chuckled light heartedly Around each other, they could remain permanent children and let their imaginations lead them to be as immature as they desired.

After they had put away their tack and brushed their horses, they raced each other back to the house. Ben reached the back door first, with Abby whining that he had an unfair advantage since he wasn’t wearing a petticoat. The Greenly house was larger than most, and sat on a hill that overlooked the small town of Rochester, Massachusetts. Ephraim Greenly, the first Greenly to come from England built the house in 1732, ten years before his oldest son was born. The house was tall and white, with a large porch in the front and two tall windows on either side of the door. It was two stories tall,  with a cellar and an attic. Dozens of green pastures surround the house, giving it a quiet seclusion.

They could smell supper before they even opened the back door, which lead to the kitchen. Abby could feel her stomach growl like a tiger as she watched the stewed rump of beef simmer in the fireplace. The Baas family, Mrs. Greenly’s mother, came to the colonies in the late 1600’s and were revered as exceptional cooks, even for the Dutch. Mrs. Greenly had inherited such finesse in her cooking, and every meal at the Greenly house tasted as if it had been prepared for royalty. Abby found that she could barely even pare an apple.

“Benjamin,” Mamie warned, “if you so much as touch those fritters I will have your fingers chopped off.” Mamie was the Greenly’s only slave, and had been with them even before their oldest was born. She was a strict woman, providing the heavy hand that Mrs. Greenly could never seem to muster.

“I wasn’t touching them,” Ben said, “just looking at them is all.” He circled the fritters, staring at them intently and licking his lips. Mamie raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that he would reach out with those grubby little fingers of his and try to steal one.

“When’s supper going to be ready?” Abby asked her mother, hopping up on the table. Mrs. Greenly looked away from the lemon she was slicing to push a few strands of her yellow hair behind her ear.

“Abby, please do not sit on the table,” she pleaded. “It’s unbecoming.” The girl ignored her mother, picked up some spices and promptly sniffed them before realizing that it was cinnamon and sneezed loudly. The two Greenly children broke into a fit of laughter, while Mrs. Greenly sighed and looked at Mamie pleadingly. Mamie marched over to Abby, taking the spice from her hands, and gave her a stern look.