Makeshift Royalty

July 14, 1856

The chatter of lonely beggars draws me out of my deep sleep. A fly buzzes past my head and lands on the head of the sleeping child next to me. I roll over and attempt to get a few more minutes of precious sleep. The calluses on my hand rub up against the straw of my bed mat. I close my eyes and hear the pitter patter of little feet coming closer.

I pretend to be asleep; as she gets so close I can hear her short little breaths. I open my eyes, “ Eve!” she yelps falling backwards, “you was sleeping!”

I jump up and lift her into my arms and onto my hip, “I was until you woke me!” I laughed tickling her as her bright blue eyes sparkle with laughter.

I walk a few feet across the dusty floor of our small house. It barely can be called a house. The thatch roof leaks, the floors are always dusty and it’s a haven for bugs. The only thing that makes this my home is my family. My mum is a baker, she works all day just to scrape up enough money up for three kids to eat, and we still go to bed hungry.

I help my mum deliver her bread around town as I can’t bake to save my life, and mum has a limp leg.

I set Clara down and she runs into the kitchen, her nightgown dragging behind her. The nightgown is too big, she is just a toddler and hasn’t reached three feet tall yet.

 I lean against the wall watching my mother knead the dough. Her careful yet powerful hands press and pull the dough. Charlotte, my other sister who is nearly seven, watches her carefully before trying to do the same.

 My mother lets out a small laugh as Charlotte’s dough sticks to her hands. As my mother smiles, more wrinkles appear under her gentle eyes. Her wispy gray hair is pulled up into a bun and her apron is already covered in flour. Charlotte frowns before wiping her face, leaving a trail of flour across her forehead.

I walk outside, letting the cool morning air blow through my hair. I grab the bucket and start walking towards the public well. Charlotte runs up beside me, “Can I come?” she asks

“Sure” I respond brushing the flour off her forehead. We weave through the crowded market.

 Merchants from behind stands that are beyond repair, beg us to buy molded fruit or beat up potttery. An old man with no teeth hobbles past us, and Charlotte clutches my hand. The smell of a long hot day and the tune of a fiddler float through the thick air. We continue along the dirt road lined with patched up houses, and pass an old woman. Her cloak has holes in it and her shaking hand is held out. Charlotte smiles at her uneasily, but the woman is emotionless.

“Times are hard Lottie” I whisper.

“I know, but why?” she questions, her face turned up towards me.

“Queen Clare is having a difficult time running the kingdom after the King died, Lottie.” I respond as a sickly looking woman clutching the hands of her two skinny children walk past us. 

“Kinda like when Mamma was when Papa died” Lottie answers

Her response brings me back to that day. It was during the worst storm Tulinova had ever experienced. The wind howled through our small hut, flurries of snow blowing around outside. Clara had just been born the night before, and was not in good health. My Papa had ventured out to get some water for us. I remember him prying the door open against the wind watching his big black boots disappear in the snow. He never came back.

For weeks, my mother was lost in the depths of depression. Only doing the simple tasks to keep us alive. That’s was when I took over Papa’s job as the deliverer. My mum would bake the bread and I would take it to market and sell it.

My mother never looked the same, new wrinkles formed on her gentle face and a strange vacancy in her deep brown eyes. Now she never made life to complicated, always kneading and baking. I began to take care of Clara and Charlotte. They were all I had, and I always made sure they knew it.

“Yes, like that” I respond softly to Lottie, “but it will get better.”

 She nods, skipping ahead of me as the stone well comes into view. Her long brown hair flies in the wind, and I have to remind myself to braid it back before I leave. I lift my head up and let the morning sun warm my face as Lottie fills up the bucket.

We head home back through the market, and boil the water. Clara runs up to me, “Mama said she needs you to deliver some bwead to Mr. Coner.”

I make my way inside, ducking through the doorway. My mama hands me a few loaves of warm bread wrapped up in cloth, before returning to the flour mess Clara must have made.

I set out onto the streets, knowing exactly where Mr. Coner lives. Above his music store with his ugly dog and silent nature. His house is nearly a mile away from ours, but I know I the bread must still be warm when I hand it over.

I make my way quickly through the market and onto a stretch of path that leads to a group of shops. My feet pound the path rhythmically, as the sounds of finches melody fill the air. I look to my right and can see the very top of the castle in the distance. I wonder what it would be like to live there. To never have to do anything for yourself.  I don’t know who I would be without my callused hands, dirty old shoes and most importantly my family.

I slow to a walk as I enter the stretch of shops, and walk to Mr. Coner’s shop. I open the door and find him playing the harp. His ugly dog runs up to me, sniffs my leg and dashes off.

I tentatively walk over to him, but his eyes don’t leave the strings as he plucks them gentIy, producing a soft melodic tune. I set the bread next to him and gather the coins left on the bench. I hear the dog come down the hallway and sneak out the door.

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Thank you for reading! I'm pretty excited about this story! Please comment with any suggestions!

-----------------------------------------------------> That is a picture of Charlotte