IndiaIdania
Carlisle et Esme
Morning Light
La Lumière du Matin
Prologue
January 26, 2009
Prologue
Since I am half French, I am not very tall, but I do have nice curves, pale skin, and caramel colored hair. My eyes are hazel like my father's, but for the most part I look just like my mother. My name is Esme Anne Platt. My father named me because my mother was so weak after she had me. The doctors assumed that she wouldn't last a week, but she did. My mother has always been a strong woman.
My father's family was English and had immigrated in the late 1700s; my father's family had never been able to gain a high social status because his father would drink and gamble more than half his wages away at the town saloon. He was smart enough to set aside a little to feed his family and clothe them properly; but other than that, the money supplied his gambling and alcohol.
My mother was from Le Havre, France. She was from a wealthy, but abusive family. Le Havre is in the north of France and is a major port. She was tired of being abused and fled on a cruise ship to the United States. Her name is Angelique Mercier. She spoke broken English and somehow found her way to my father.
My parents were not cruel and truly loved and valued me. I was their only child. Unlike most of the girls my age, I wasn't looked upon as a piece of property to be used as a link to higher social status. Most of my friends' parents had stretched their resources to dress their eldest daughters up as elaborately as they could to flaunt them under the men belonging to the upper class hoping they would acquire an advantageous marriage mainly benefiting the parents. Giving them connections… When you're a lower middle class girl in the 1930s, that's what your life revolves around… trying to catch the eye of a rich man to make him want you and pay your parents a considerable amount of money for your hand. Slowly, my friends began to attract husbands, and I began to see less and less of them, until the only time I saw them was when I was running errands and saw one of them get into a fancy chaise. Of course my parents had never treated me in that fashion. I didn't want my friends to think that I was bragging, so I never told them how my father and mother looked at me in different ways than the other parents had. I knew I was adored by my father and loved by my mother. I wasn't afraid of being practically sold for my family to gain connections to high society. I was content with my life. I only hoped that someday I would find a man to love me as much as my father loved my mother. He never hit or talked down to her. When he would come in from working he would always cradle her head in right hand and kiss her tenderly on her forehead and then stroke her cheek once with his thumb. It wasn't a passionate kiss or embrace, but it said more than if he would have.
Shortly after I turned thirteen I became a woman. I was so proud of myself. Looking back I'm not sure why. I think it was because all the other girls my age had began bleeding when they were twelve; a few had began at the age of eleven. My body began to fill out quickly after. My thin face filled out and took on a heart-shape. My bust filled out nicely; not overly big, but I was proud of my definite cleavage. My waist curved inward and my hips rounded nicely. I wasn't vain about my looks, but I was confident. When I turned fifteen my father lost his job. He began to search for any jobs he could find. He worked a few short term occupations like building a fence for Mr. Chapman, or grooming Mrs. Louis' yard while her gardener was sick. Slowly our supplies were dwindling. My mother worked for a seamstress for a while before she was accused of stealing some of the finer fabrics Mrs. Louis had imported from France. I didn't know how long this would go on, and I felt a change coming.
One day in the beginning of August my father and mother approached me. I was sitting at the table trying to finish a dress that I was embroidering for Sunday. My father's gaze was detached as he sat down beside me, and told me that I shouldn't be frightened. As soon as he said that, I was. He began to explain that he had tried his best to support my mother and me, and give us a comfortable home, but he wasn't able to support all of us now. He tried to explain that he never wanted to resort to this type of behavior, but he had no choice. In the end, it would be best for me to marry. I sucked in my breath and became lightheaded. Oh, no! I though, I'm not ready to be a wife. I'm afraid. What if he forces me to bed with him like the man Emma had married? What if he is cruel and hits me like Mary's husband? As if he was reading my mind, he quickly assured me that the man he had chosen was a gentleman. He wasn't very wealthy, but he had built a nice farm for himself in the country. I was to be married on Sunday. I looked down at the dress I was embroidering. It would be my wedding dress. As my parents embraced me, I let a tear stream down my face. What would become of me?