Love and Loyalty

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"You took longer than you were supposed to at the market, Elizabeth?" Father asked as we were sitting at the table eating the meal I had helped my Mother prepare.

"Yes, Father. And I apologized to Mother, already." I told him, somewhat annoyed. Couldn't I just make one mistake, just once?

He nodded, "Ariana the bread is very good,"

"Yes, Elizabeth you chose a good loaf this time."

"Well I had a little help," I didn't mean to say it, and regretted it the second the words slipped from my mouth.

I couldn't tell them about Alexander.

"From whom?" Father asked.

"Oh, just the baker, of course. He had a new loaf ready by the time I was over there." I lied for the second time in the course of a few hours.

What was wrong with me? Why did I keep lying for Alexander? Was there a reason deeper than the simple fact that I just felt like I needed to repay him? I wasn't sure. And during those few moments I repeatedly asked myself those questions.

"Well good job, then, Elizabeth." Father said.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

I continued to eat my food, guilt coursing through every vein in my body, but there was something else, too. Adrenaline. I lied to my parents and had gotten away with it. I wasn't proud, but relieved, and I felt, free.

"Elizabeth, take the dishes, forks, and knives to the bucket and clean them." Father told me.

"Father, pardon me but I haven't finished eat-"

"I don't care, do it now." He said strictly.

I didn't see how it was fair that I had to stop eating because my Father was too lazy to get up and do it himself.

Great, I was lying, and having disrespectful thoughts about my parents.

"Yes, Father." I said like I normally did, but I didn't mean it.

I usually thought the reason my parents even wanted a child was so that she or he could do all their chores and dirty work for them. That's all they made me do, anyway.

As I scrubbed the dishes, I realized how angry I was. It's not the first time this has happened, and I don't know why all this sudden I felt so infuriated.

I was scrubbing, and scrubbing, and scrubbing. And the plate broke, right in my hands. I gasped in pain as the glass cut through my hand.

"Elizabeth!" Father yelled.

I was crying, the glass was deep into my hand.

"How could you be so careless?!" He asked.

"Father... I'm, sorry, please... My hand," I showed him my bloody mess.

"Clean up this mess, and fix your own hand that you injured yourself!"

I cried, my tears hitting the wooden floor of our house and he walked away to his and my Mother's chambers of the house. I stood up, and swept the glass outside to a place where no one would step on it. Then I was attempting to fix my hand. I couldn't gently remove the glass, so I closed my eyes, grabbed it and pulled it out, more blood coming out of it. I was in pain, so I cleaned the wound in the water and wrapped it with a bandage.

I couldn't believe how my own Father treated me that night, and suddenly, all the guilt I had for lying to him, disappeared.

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