Disclaimer: Harvest Moon is not mine.
Author's note: Hey! The theme for this month's writing contest, at the Village Square forum, was 'Doubt' and this is my entry. It's a little bit short, but overall, I'm reasonably pleased with it. :) Initially, I was writing a totally different oneshot for my entry, but then this idea hit me and I did a u-turn. Enjoy!
A Simple Question
It was late; way past one and nearer to the morning than the evening when the Inn finally succumbed to silence.
Ann flicked off the lights, bade goodnight to her father and slipped wearily into her bedroom. She knew that she would not sleep tonight. No chance. Normally, Ann was utterly unshakeable, unfazed by everything. Nothing ever bothered her...
...But this.
A gentle tug and the white ribbon came away in her hand, sending her hair tumbling down past her shoulders. She kicked off her trainers and shuffled into faded, childhood slippers. They were once pink - believe it or not - but had worn, over time, to a dull, murky grey. Her thumbs hooked the straps of her demin overalls, to ease them over the curves of her shoulders, but she paused suddenly, exhausted, and sank down onto the edge of the bed. In her mind's eye, swam his face, wrought with expectation as it had been earlier this evening. Expectations she knew she could never fullfil.
And in his palm sat the simplest of objects: a feather. But this was no ordinary feather, you understand. It glittered, almost twinkled in the dim lamplight. Blue. And terrifying.
Scariest of all, though?
It was for her. She assumed, at first, that it was simply a silly practical joke. When she finished laughing, she sought another explanation. Maybe he was just after her opinion. That feather, she thought, was surely for anyone but her. Mary; beauty and brains; or Karen, the green-eyed goddess; or Elli, sweet-natured and hard-working; or young, vibrant Popuri...? Anybody but good ol' Ann, who was destined never to settle...
No, wait, scratch that.
The truly frightening thing, was the feeling that swelled in her chest at the mere sight of it, threatening to burst out. It was the desire to say 'yes'.
So instead she said nothing. She needed more time, okay? It was no lie. Her father had been left in the dark over the proposal, for fear of letting him down. The truth was, he'd been waiting for this day for years; since her mother died, probably...
Ann let out a long sigh and threaded her fingers through her hair. Though she was reluctant to admit it, it felt like silk beneath her fingertips. And she loved that sensation, tomboy or not.
She jumped to feet again, restless.
Everyone thought they knew her, of course, inside out. 'Ann's never been the girly type... always a tomboy... she'll never settle.' Good ol' Ann.
No.
When she turned to her mirror, unused and dusty on the wall, it was her mother's face staring back at her where her own should have been. With her hair loose and flowing down her back, it was difficult to tell the two apart. The startling similarities broke her heart, and probably her father's too.
That was the reason why she started wearing her hair up in the first place: to avoid the daily torture of seeing her dead mother's reflection. Her mother wore perfume and dresses; she was elegant, motherly, feminine. Ann became the opposite.
She could not cope with being a wife and mother, when she had strived for years to avoid that stereotype. Sometimes, though, when she stopped for a break from waiting on tables, she found herself longing for that very same life. Her secret desire was almost painful. To slip on the soft, white folds of a wedding dress and see if it fitted, to feel the smooth floorboards of a new, shared home beneath bare feet; a million experiences, dependant on one small syllable. Yes.
But what if history repeated itself and the dream became ashes? In that case, 'no' was clearly the most sensible answer. She couldn't die like her mother, leave him heartbroken, couldn't fall short as a wife, mess up motherhood...
Couldn't... live.
The realisation hit so hard and fast, that the ground seemed to rock beneath her feet. His face surfaced again in her memory, pulled like a forgotten treasure to the forefront of her mind. This time he was smiling and laughing ecstatically. In love.
And then she knew, without a doubt, the answer she had to give.