The Girl Next Door
Emily missed her mother very, very much. Excruciatingly much.
Mother had died nearly a year ago, and still Emily felt her loss just as keenly as though it had happened yesterday. No matter what relatives and friends said, time did nothing for wounds. Nothing at all. Emily's father felt the same way. It was why he'd uprooted them from their family home, leaving Mother's grave, their remaining family, their house, Father's business, and most of their belongings behind. Father hoped that a new village would mean a new start.
For Emily, all it had meant was a gaping loneliness. She was thirteen years old, and there was nobody else her age in this entire village. She didn't have a governess. Or a cat, or a bird. All those had been left behind. To Emily, this new life seemed barren. Utterly barren. She was completely alone, without even the comfort of familiar carpets and furniture.
Their new house was much smaller than their old one, which was perhaps the only nice thing about having left so many heirlooms behind. This tiny place wouldn't have been able to hold them all. During the long days spent alone while Father conducted business from his study on the ground floor, Emily roamed the new house. It was tall and narrow, and only separated from its nearly identical neighbor by a breath of alleyway. If only Mother were still alive. She'd have someone to talk to.
"Go make a friend," encouraged Father over dinner one evening about a week after they had arrived. Emily had been unable to hide her bad feelings. Though she congratulated herself on her good sense in not mentioning Mother before Father. A year ago she most likely would not have had that much restraint.
"It's hard to make friends here," Emily replied grumpily. "There are no friends here to make." And she left it at that.
Father did not press her further. He'd merely turned back to his food, finished quickly, and then retreated back to his study. Father had never moped before Mother died. Emily wanted to help, but didn't know how. And so she let Father encourage her, and then ignored the way he kept himself locked up in his study all day and night. Surely if Father needed her help, he would say so.
So Emily went about her business, missing her mother and wishing for some kind of companion. When she'd reached the point that she'd roamed the house enough that she knew the exact number of cracks in the plaster in the dining room ceiling (eight), she took to finding other ways to amuse herself. Luckily their old piano was one of the few large items Father had agreed to bring along to the new village. She played, she sang to herself the songs her mother had liked.
When she wasn't playing music, she took walks. Sometimes she petted the two stray pepper-colored cats that roamed the village. This was Emily's life now. It made her miss her old life, her normal, light-filled, pleasant life, with happy parents and plenty of guests and lots of music.
Day to day life in this village was quiet. The pace was that of a garden snail next to the speed of life in her old town. There were no grand parties. There were no festivals. Even the church bells were hard to hear, as the church was across the river. Almost like an afterthought. The cathedral in Emily's hometown had been right smack in the middle of things, and the pealing of its bells were heard all the time.
As the weeks went on Emily explored more, and she found she truly enjoyed being out in the air. The sky was usually grey and the sunshine was weak, but Emily liked it all anyway. She investigated her street—two houses, the back side of the milliner's, cobbled, ending in a dead end at the village wall. From there she went around the corner to the square—much more modest than at home, one statue, a row of terraced houses, a little roped-off square of green where a lone sheep grazed, a clockmaker's and a dress shop, all topped off by the austere Everglot mansion, which Emily found a bit cold and off-putting.
Down another street off the square she found the market. The crown jewel of that street was a little place with a sign that said TAVERN. Once she even walked outside of the gates and made a circle around the walled village, ending up right back where she started. That was the entirety of her new home. If she couldn't know people, she might as well know every brick and cobblestone and make the best of it.
At first she was self-conscious going about without a chaperone, but when no one made any remarks or gave her strange looks she grew bolder and more assured. At last, she felt more at home in the village's narrow, crooked streets. There were people she nodded to as she walked. A few she knew enough to chat with. There was Miss Plum at the Tavern, who sent meals along to Emily's house, and who had once said how pretty Emily's dress was. Nearby was nice middle-aged Mr. Van Dort (and not-so-nice old Mr. Van Dort) at the fish stall, who she saw every Friday when she was allowed to buy the fish for dinner. There was the funny little town crier, who reported the weather and the day's news, and who usually made her laugh with how serious he was about his task.
While she was pleased with her acquaintances, she still longed for a friend. A real, heartfelt, bosom friend.
Father didn't seem to be making many new friends, either, though he didn't seem as bothered by it as Emily was. He seemed content enough alone. At home, in the big town she'd grown up in, when Mother was alive, there were callers three times a week. Mother and Emily went out on calls the other days. No one seemed to do that here. People walked, but usually alone, and they only seemed to visit on business.
Only once had Emily had the opportunity to be hostess. The neighbors, a sweet older couple called the Wadleighs, had come to call. They lived next door. While they hadn't even stayed long enough for Emily to offer to try to figure out how to put tea on, they had had a pleasant little chat. On the way out they had left their card, and had mentioned their at-home days. When Emily had related the news to Father, and shown him the card, he hadn't seemed all that interested. So Emily kept the card herself. She tucked it into the frame of the portrait of her mother that she kept in her room. She thrilled to see it there. Grown-up friends nearly old enough to be her grandparents were better than no friends at all!
So pleased was she with having finally received a call, Emily lost no time in spreading the word. While picking up the day's meals from Miss Plum, she said, "You'll never guess what! I've had a call! The Wadleighs, who live next door. They told me their at-home days and everything and said that I should come by to visit them!"
"Well, isn't that nice news," Miss Plum replied, and Emily felt herself grow warm with pleasure as she nodded in agreement. "They're nice folks, in here every week-" Before she could say more, she was interrupted by a loud crash from the floor above, followed by angry shouting in French.
"Goodbye, dear," Miss Plum said, ushering Emily hastily out the door. "Let us know how your visiting goes."
At the fish stall, Emily watched as Mr. Van Dort weighed out sardines. "I've met my neighbors!" she informed him happily. "The Wadleighs paid me a call. They left their card!"
"Fitting in already, Miss!" he replied with a kindly grin as he handed over her order. Emily grinned back. When Mr. Van Dort gave her a thumbs-up, she giggled. "Give it time, give it time."
On the way home she happened to cross paths with the crier, who had paused next to the statue in the square to catch his breath and rest his ringing arm.
"I'm going out on a call soon!" she told him, still fit to burst with her news. Hastily she readjusted her grip on her packages, which she'd neglected in her enthusiasm and had started to slip from her grasp. Something shifted in an alarming way in the big box. Emily hoped it wasn't Miss Plum's delicious blintzes being crushed and spoiled.
"I'm officially in society now!" she went on excitedly. "Surely that's a news item? You can ring about it?"
The crier gave his wrist and fingers one more flex. "Well, I might could find a place for it on the noontime rounds. After the weather, maybe."
In her delight Emily started to clap her hands, just in time remembering that she was carrying parcels. So she settled for a bob that made her crinoline cage bounce. "Thank you! Thank you! That's so very kind!"
"What is the name of the party you intend to call on?" the crier asked, his tone very official and important. Emily raised her chin and responded in kind.
"Captain and Mrs. Wadleigh," she said. The crier stopped stock still in the middle of a very smart nod. Emily would have giggled at the sight, had she not noticed the look he was giving her.
"What?" she asked, alarmed. Had she misstepped, somehow? No one else she'd spoken to had reacted that way. He took a glance around the square, and then leaned toward her.
"You're new, aren't you, Miss?" he asked in return, cupping his hand around his mouth to amplify his theatrical whisper. Emily leaned closer.
"Yes," she whispered back. "Why?" She bit her lip, nervous and confused, as the crier seemed to weigh his response.
"No one receives them," he told her, still in that exaggerated whisper. "Not officially. Headline news years ago. Very public. I can give you more details, but not just now. Retrospectives are on Saturdays." This last was punctuated with a gentle tinkle of his bell.
Emily stared, mouth open. Not received? She'd never heard of that before. Why, everyone was received. And the Wadleighs were sweet and kind and charming and had treated her very nicely. Emily decided the crier was mistaken, or perhaps telling her a naughty fib as a joke. Before she could attempt to defend her new friends, though, the crier had moved away from her and was straightening his hat.
"Their niece is very respected, though, despite everything. She lives with them," the crier added, full voice now. "If you want to pay calls you might try her, she's only a little older than you. Maudeline Elvstead. I was saving this for the six-o'clock news, but she'll be home from a country estate stay this evening."
A niece? Emily opened her mouth to ask more about this startling revelation, but the crier was already clanging his bell, walking away from her across the square, shouting some news item to do with the Everglots.
"There's a girl who lives next door?" Emily said wonderingly to herself. The slightly upsetting and confusing news about the Wadleighs quite forgotten, Emily smiled. A girl lived next door. A new friend. Not minding her parcels or her skirts, Emily rushed home to begin preparations for her social call the next day.