Edward Masen

The New World

My leg hit the edge of the dock, my foot thumping against the wood. The sun was high in the afternoon, the rays of light burning heat on the back of my hair covered neck. My long copper hair—pulled back into the stylish ponytail that was popular among my kin—was dripped with sweat, the beads of perspiration falling heavily onto the ground beneath me.

I looked around at my new homeland—for a little while, at least. The Colonies of America, the called it back home. It was supposed to be full of rich, fertile land, and wild, beautiful women.

Not that either of those were my reasons for coming here.

Not that I'd wantedto be here in the first place.

I'd much rather be back in London, working on my studies than climbing off the disgusting, cramped ship I had. Even staying in the large quarters that had been assigned to me, it was clear I much preferred my feet be on solid ground to sea.

"It's hot as hell here," I hear my father mutter behind me, beginning to unbutton his coat. I turned to see his fingers had almost reached the second button before my mother stepped in, her panicked fingers quickly moving his out of the way.

"No, don't dear," she ordered in a fluttery tone. "A guest of the royal governor's can not appear at the house in his waistcoat. Think of how people will talk!"

My father sighed deeply, his chest rising and falling with the movement. "You're quite right, dear." He re-button his coat. I stifled a laugh as I watched them.

My father, his tall figure, standing next to my debutant mother was a sight to see. My appearance could be easily seen in both of them. My face structure in my father's strong, noble cheek bones and wide, intimidating eyes. His form was tall and slightly muscled, built more for speed than fight. These characteristics I had kept from my father mixed with my mother's emerald eye color and coppery hair.

Approaching us from behind, I heard the sound of horses' feet against the wooden dock, and I swiveled around to face the thundering clap.

A large carriage pulls up, the horses all a light brown caramel. The driver had perfect posture, as he should, and hops down immediately, bowing to all of us in turn.

"Mr. and Mrs. Masen, " he says lowing his form deeply. Then, turning to me and repeating the action, "Master Masen, An honor to serve you. The Governor has sent his best carriage to recive you."

My mother is nothing if not appreciative of the finest things in life. She nods her head in thank, approaching the door and waiting. The servant take a hold of her hand, helping to lift her gently into the horse drown carriage. My father follows after her with little assistance and I come in last.

We each had a seat on the luxurious leather benches, me facing my mother and father.

The carriage begins to move with a harsh jolt, sending me half flying into the open window next to me.

"Good gracious," my mother murmurs, straightening her cap. It is a shining green, matching her hankercheif and quilted silk petticoat. It brought out the forest shade in her bright eyes. "These roads are a bit.." thud "Bumpy."

I stifled another laugh, which got a pointed glare from both my parents. It wasn't right for a member of a family our stature to be so frivolous in public.

Up ahead, we approached a large mansion. It was made of symmetrical, perfectly sculpted bricks. Blue curtains were masked by a dozen pale white window panes, the dull eggshell color barely managing to brighten the glooy air the royal house presented. I sighed in exasperation, my thoughts beginning to travel down a depressing path. Living in a lonely place like this was just another of the challanges my father's new living arrangments placed upon on me.

The welcoming gates were close to ten feet tall, bronze statues lining the entryway. The carriage pulled to a rough stop, jerking my body almost completely out of seat.

"Really," my father scoffed slightly.

The driver came around again, opening the door and offering my mother his hand. She pretended he didn't exist, nodding at my father. He exited the cab, helping his wife.

After we were all out, my father did not tip the driver.

I felt a strong wave of sympathy for the man.

Most people of wealth seemed to forget that we were all once poor—that sometime in our families' history there was a servant boy or girl.

I was distracted from my pity for the poor man as a loud yell came from behind the bronze entryway.

"Edward Masen! As I live and breath!"

The man who shouted was a plump figure, the buttons on his waist coat pulled tight to the point of popping. Surrounding him were several men in British red military uniforms. They had muskets strapped onto their backs, expressions on their face solemn.

The man they were guarding—the governor—was anything but solemn.

His clothes were brightly-and somewhat eccentrily--colored, a wide, feather brimmed hat placed upon his pimple-like head. His cheeks were natrually rose, as though an adoring mother had repeatedly pinched them tightly. His smile was wide and laugh lines covered his face. He looked like the kind of ma that smiled easily, and frowned with difficulty.

His feet, large and sheathed in in cream colored boots seemed to skip to a tune only he could hear as he approched my father. It seemed odd to me how my father--stern, dry witted, father--could ever be friendly with a man such as this.

"Ed!" the govener called as he stepped forward. He pulled my father into a kind, deep hug and then pulled back to examin him closer. A kind, large, familiar smile spread over the face of the roayl governor and a spark filled his pale blue eyes. "You're looking old, my friend" he told my father with mock seriousness.

My father gave a low, deep laugh as he shook his head in exasperation. "Hark who is speaking, Jonothan."And then, with a smirk pulling up at his cracked lips, "Or should I say, Royal Governor Patricks."

Governor Patricks laughed again, dismissing my father with a light wave of his hand. He moved to face my mother. His eyes traveled over her form and he smiled before bowing lowly, placing a polite kiss on her palm. "You, however, Madam Masen, haven't changed a bit. Beautiful as always."

My mother flushed lightlly at the compliment before subboring and curtsying to the governor.

I stiffled a chuckle, and this unfortunatly caused the man's attention to
focus onto me.

He stepped to focus on me, his child-like eyes eyes bright with curiousity.

"So this is the young master, Edward?" he asked rhetorically. I bowed at the waist, forcing a friendly smile to cross over my features.

"You look like your father, " he told me, his brow quirking upwards, but then, another deep smirk lightening his face, "But not too much like him, thankfully."

My father rolled his eyes at us both, but otherwise said nothing.

"It is an honor to meet you, governor." I greeted automatically, having all but rehearsed the line.

The man smiled at me, but otherwise said nother, as he waved his hand forward. "My friends," he told us, "Please, come inside." I'll have my servants show you to your quarters."

We followed behind him, a few of the guards surronding us picking up our luggage that had been loaded onto the back of the carriage.

As we grew close to the grand, wooden doors they were pulled open from the inside, letting us enter.

The inside of the Royal Govneror's palace was somehow even more magnificent than the outside. The ceiling was decorated with golden leaves and vines, seeming to spiral up to heaven. Cherubs danced along the flowers and skies. It
was lovely.

"Oh my," my mother said, echoing off the arched ceiling as if we were in the high Alps. "It's so beautiful, Governor Patricks. Your house is marvelous."

"Thank you, Mrs. Masen," the governor said to her, a small air of smugness in his voice. "I had it done about three years ago by an up and coming artist."

"Oh?" My mother asked again, suprised by knowlege of someone she wasn't familiar with. "Anyone I know?"

Patricks shook his head, looking bemused by the middle aged wife. "I would guess not, Mrs. Masen. He lives here, in Boston."

"Ah."

A servant walked into the parlor then, his expression twisted into a look of nervousness. "Sir?" he asked quietly, calling to the Governor. "Mr. Masen and Master Masen's rooms have been preapred."

"Ah yes," the govenoer said happily, clapping his hands together as if he were an enlightend child, fiannly getting the toy he always wanted. He shook my father's hand again, bowing to my mother. "Won't you freshen up and join the rest of the house for supper, won't you?"

"We'd love to," my mother answered as I nodded respectfully.

We followed the servant upstairs his staute perfect and posture prestine. He held himself with all of the underestimated strength that was required for being a servant. I respected him, being able to hold himself with dignity while not having any freedom of his own. It saddened me, sometimes, how people like my parents--people like me--often didn't think about how much perseverance it took to be a servant. How much self confidence it must have cost to walk among the wealthy and be treated as less than human.

The servant led my parents down the hall first, to the larger room, I entered through the door, my mother giving me a small pat on the shoulder for comfort. She knew how difficult it was to be here--how much I wished I were back in London.

I gave her a half-hearted smile until the door had closed, following the man in front of me to the second to last room in the hall. "Thank you," I told him once he had bowed to me lowly.

"Not a problem, Master Masen."

"What is your name?" I asked him, my hand positioned on the door knob.

He bowed again. "Holard, Master Masen."

I smiled at him, forcing myself to make it appear genuine. "It was a pleasure to met you, Holard. If you wouldn't mind, however, please call me Edward."

He looked startled by this, surprised by my forwardness. "Yes Mast--Edward. What ever you wish, Sir."

I shook my head at him, a pretend frown crossing over my features. "Sir? Holard, sir is my father. I'm just Edward."

Holard appeared to be amused now, by my antics. "As you wish, Edward. Would you like a bath drawn up?"

I nodded. "Yes please--piping hot."

"Right away."

I walked through the door.

My room here was much larger than mine back home. There was a large four poster bed in the middle, dark blue curtains hanging from the wood banisters. In the corner, in a wood matching the color of the large bed, was a massive wardobe. My bag sat beside it, already empty. I assumed, rightfully, as I found out later, that one of the maids had already placed my clothing in the dresser. A small bedpan sat underneath the bed slip. A empty basin sat next to the wadrobe, just big enough for me to bath in.

I sat down on the fully stuffed mattress, resting my hands on my knees and sighing was my new home, it seemed.

I missed London, but this would have to do.