The Truth in Their Rumors

Chapter 1

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Tennessee, USA 1895

            The day of one’s wedding has always been said to be one of the most important days of their life. I was always told it was to bring me joy, happiness, and eternal love from someone whom I would cherish all my life until death do us part. Today was my wedding day, the day I was to be married to a young lady named Clara Abbington, but of course her name would change to Clara Winchester. There was one problem, though, you see, although you may think I am cruel in saying this, I felt nothing for her.  She was a beautiful young woman with her slim figure, silky brown hair that matched her warm brown eyes, and she had a charmingly witty way with words. Any man would have taken her as his wife, even I did in hope of finding love, but that love was never found. If anything I hoped she had not fallen in love with me and only found my money attractive, for I did not want to break her heart by disappointing her. Then again when I think about it, she did have a mysterious friend that she went and saw quite often. All I know is that he was a doctor of some sort, and that there was a possible relationship between the two of them.

            The actual wedding was an ongoing event held in the heat of the day that never seemed to end, it was a drag. And what made it all the more worse were the nerves, the sweaty hands, and the obligation of having to talk to everyone afterwards. Mostly everyone at the wedding was of some importance to either the local government, or society in general. The air was stiff from the polite conversation. I had learned quickly after moving to the south, that people did not necessarily mean what they said, behind all those polite conversations lingered a disliking or hatred for one another. It was all just an illusion, a mask they put on for society.

 During the whole event I was forced to fake a smile, put on that mask of happiness while the feeling of regret had set into my stomach and heart. It was like carrying a weight that had not been there before, so naturally after a few hours of socializing I had to get away.

            I found myself walking through the gardens of my house that I had recently aquired at the age of 18. I could smell that light summer breeze that carried a scent of flowers as it simply brushed my skin. The house was surrounded by flower gardens, filled with multicolored flowers of all kinds. It was as if I was walking inside a kaleidoscope, and it brought me a much needed peace. The gardens surrounded the large house that I lived in and although I had owned the house for a year, it still seemed brand new to me, a lot of the rooms in the house had barely been touched or used. The outside of the house was the epitome of a southern plantation with its large white pillars and wrap around porch. It was almost brand new, and with it came a sort of crisp air. The house seemed as though it would hold one of the most important people of the south, but in reality all it would hold was me.

        My father had always wanted a plantation, so our family moved from the exciting city life of the north to the slow and dull life of the south. Here my father died in the south, leaving me a great amount of money in which I bought my own house and land from. When he died I did my best to continue to live normally as I would when he was still alive, but after a few weeks I found it nearly impossible and grief set in. It was in that time that I found that people are like glass. Our crystalline, transparent structure can burst into a million pieces if we are not careful. It is then, in the dark abyss that we are truly broken. I was truly broken when my father died, and although the wound had healed since, it was still very fragile.