Breathing out slowly, my mother Jenny brushed my long blonde hair slowly and carefully. She was humming her favourite tune, and I just looked straight ahead in the wall-length mirror and saw a pale, innocent face. Today was to be my first day at a new school, in rural America. It was the early 1880s, and we had just moved from England to America as my father had got a new job as the manager of some mine nearby. Mother would assure me that I would make new friends, but no new friends could possibly heal the homesickness I felt from being away from familiar London. The huge, towering factory chimneys would pump out black smoke, and the huge ships would sail gallantly on the river Thames. Together, I and my best friend John would sit at the riverside benches in the local park, where we watched the clouds and ate al fresco. Often, the choking film of smoke would affect our picnics, but that didn't matter. In fact we laughed about it.
Telling him I had to leave to some new place named America was the hardest thing I had to do at the time. When I sadly told him, he hugged me close and I started crying sadly, wondering why I had to have my happy old life ripped away from me so suddenly. He told me to write plenty of letters to him, and whispered in my ear that I was lucky to go on such a grand adventure. Since he said that, those words were my prophecy.
Recalling all these memories of bliss made my brown eyes water, and my mother gently said that it would be all right. Being the new girl, with a different accent and different look, would be tough. As my mother called me, I stood up, brushing my knee-length brown dress down, and went downstairs to receive my satchel full of schoolbooks and walk out of the door.
Unlike London, where the cool air swirled around you, the blistering heat from the sun sat on my shoulders like a weight. I held my mother's hand tightly, and we walked down our avenue, shifting the hem of my dress uncertainly. It was quite a lot for me at six years old.
We passed several couples of young children and their mothers; all the children looked at me and it instantly made me insecure and the weight of the heat heavier. On the verge of tears, we walked to the school gates, where I would leave my mother to be in some...strange place without her by my side.
I hugged my mother close.
"Tell me how school went when I meet you, okay?" Her kind voice told me protectively "and don't worry, it will all be alright." She added, wiping my tears and fears away with her thumb.
"I will, Mother." I told her quietly.
"Good girl. I'll be here to pick you up." She gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek and started to walk away.
I was left there standing, and then I began crying. I didn't want to do this, not now. A kind teacher heard my cries and gently held my hand and led me indoors where we headed towards a classroom full of young cheerful children. We walked in, and every pair of eyes looked at us intently, silently saying 'you're the new girl'. However, on seeing my tear-stained face, their stares softened considerably.
Then, the teacher, whose name was Miss Appleby, told a young boy, who looked at me kindly:
"George, I would like you to lead this young girl, Maria, around the school. Mr Herman will be with you."
As he was told, he walked towards me and gave me an approving nod. I smiled and curtseyed. He bowed, his tidy brown hair flopping forward.
"Hello. I'm George." He told me with a surprising strong American accent.
Nervous to say anything, I braced and introduced myself.
"I-I-I'm Mar-r-ria." I stuttered, blushing at my dopiness.
He blinked his big blue eyes behind his round glasses, astounded at my British accent.
"Did you enjoy the journey here then?" He asked with a nervous giggle.
"Actually, no, I was a bit ill." I laughed back, giggling at each other's accents.
Afterwards, we were inseparable. I found a John in George. We hung out together at lunch, sharing sandwiches and letting me try some American food, such as slow-roasted chicken. It was absolutely delicious, and in turn, let him try some British food, which he didn't enjoy as much. Like my mother said, I was getting new friends. Although George was my best friend, I made other friends as well. We were all in a group together; it featured Gloria, Jennifer, Erin, Mason, Laurence, Kay and of course I, Maria, and George. Together, we all hung out in the playground, playing hopscotch on squares drawn by chalks found near the close-by quarry, or skipping rope. After school, we all went to the local lake and splashed about, the boys were rolling their shorts up and the girls hitching their petticoats up.
My mother beamed happily every day now. She and Father were becoming closer, as he was home much more often than he was in Britain. I didn't like it when he first came home though, as coal was all over his face and he looked like some horrific fantasy monster. After he washed though, he was like any other dad; cuddling me, disciplined me with schoolwork and became a stricter father overall.
Another change was the lullaby my mother sang to me. Before, it was classic sing-songs sung quietly in my ear, but now, she had made a new melody, a melody that meant a lot to me:
La la la la laaaaaaaa, la la la la laaaaaaaaaaa, la la la laaaa laa, la la la laaaaaaa
It was such a beautiful melody that always lulled me to sleep, although every time she sung it, I always felt it was unfinished.