Four in the Attic, One in the Kitchen

Emerald and Opal

 On the afternoon of the Christmas ball, I sat in front of my mirror, studying myself more closely than I had in many years. I was mere inches from the glass, taking in every detail I could. Blue eyes, yes those were the same as they always were. My hair had grown out some since I'd been here. The freckles were gone. My face was a little slimmer. I touched the mirror with feather light fingertips. I was a young woman. I'd be eighteen in two months. I'd been here since I was fifteen. My mind always wandered back there, fifteen.

Taking a look at the clock, I sighed. People would be arriving in just over an hour. I still had to bathe, do my hair, apply makeup, and get dressed, all so I could present myself to the world and make the hardest decision I had in my entire life. I still hadn't chosen my suitor. None of them were entirely repulsive. The problem was that I didn't really know them. A few dozen afternoons over three months wasn't enough to pick someone to be with for the rest of your life. To pick someone to inevitably have children with. That's what was expected of me, wasn't it? My cheeks heated up and I felt like crying, something I'd done a lot of late at night for the last few weeks. Every part of me wanted to curl up, to not attend the ball, to not pick a suitor, to simply not exist for awhile. With balled fists I rubbed fiercely at my eyes. No tears. Not now.

My gaze travelled to the silver jewelry box on the vanity before me. I opened it carefully, I'd been reminded time and time again that it was incredibly old, inset with jade, lined with plush felt. I didn't have much inside, a few pairs of earrings, a single ring, a bracelet, and towards the center, two necklaces. One, less worn, was the silver chain with a small, oval shaped opal. I picked it up, holding it out. It caught the light magnificently, shimmering in a fiery rainbow, blue and orange and pink. It reminded me of the crystals that fantasy books mentioned, holding an unseen magic, hoarded by dragons and witches and wizards, coveted by kings. I set it back down, picking up the second necklace. It was the one from Lawrence, given to me a month previously. I'd only worn it once since then, at the funeral. The emerald stone itself, framed by tiny diamonds, was probably many times more expensive than the opal necklace. My father had bought it for my thirteenth birthday as a symbol of me hitting such a milestone. As I closed my eyes, I tried to remember the feeling of his gentle hands doing the clasp behind my neck, but nothing came. The chain had felt so long then; only now did I realize that it was probably intentional so I could wear it as an adult.

Lawrence's hands had been cool, but gentle. Those I could remember. Kenneth's were warm, soft, a bit fat. Like the hands of a baby. He'd briefly held mine as we took a September stroll through his family's garden. Arthur's were slim, soft, unaccustomed to work. Charles had the opposite; rough hands, thick fingers, already covered in scars. It was odd what you could remember about a person. I could remember Daddy's voice, his face, his gifts, the cologne he wore, how he could never seem to cook anything but hot dogs or pancakes, but I couldn't remember his touch. He'd hugged us so many times over, wouldn't be imprinted into my memories? Maybe not.

The grandfather clock at the end of the hall struck three, chiming it's song, echoing down to my room. I really had to get ready. With a heavy sigh, I set the necklace back in it's box, latched it shut, and began to physically and emotionally prepare myself for Christmas night. Within the hour I was washed, perfumed, dolled up as much as I could. The champagne colored gown that I'd picked out the weekend before looked good enough, Momma insisted it brought out my eyes. In my opinion, it could have been the ugliest green burlap shift and I wouldn't have felt any worse. My gaze fell back on the jewelry box, and I pulled out the two silver chains. Both matched my outfit, it wasn't a matter of that. I knew I didn't need to even wear a necklace. But it felt right. Felt necessary. This would be my last Christmas ball living at Foxworth Hall, my last Christmas of childhood, really. I held the two necklaces in front of me, but I wasn't looking at them, I was back pondering my own reflection. The electric light behind me created a halo, the lavender scented candles I'd lit in an attempt at calming myself flickered their light across my features. I heard the doorbell chime faintly. People must have been arriving early. I shakily sat down on the vanity chair, reaching for some perfume to spritz across myself. All I had to do was get through tonight, I convinced myself. Get through December twenty-fifth, nineteen fifty-nine, and then life would only become easier. Right?