The Truncbulls were very rich, but they were not very kind people-to anyone poor, unhandsome, or unpretty at least. Even so, no one in the small village of Vanford liked or admired them.
Everyone in Vanford agreed that Theodore was a whiskey-imbibing miser who spent most of his money at the tavern. It was also well known that Elizabeth was a terrible housekeeper who downed tremendous amounts of liquor and gin. Word went around that Theodore Trunchbull would drink up his father's inheritance as fast as lightning.
A few months had passed since Agatha's birth. Theodore and Elizabeth began to discuss her future.
"She may be our first child, but she is not pretty enough to inherit our families' fortunes," Theodore was stating. "What shall we do with her?"
Drunkenly, Elizabeth shrugged. "I don't know. I guess we'll have to put her to work. But she'll only get a job as a teacher or a maid, with her looks," she mumbled thickly. "I don't care what happens as long as she doesn't inherit any of our possessions."
Theodore nodded. "Yes. But someone has to have our possessions, and we don't have any other relatives. We'll have to have more children. Hopefully, they'll look better than her," he declared.
"Well, I'm not ready to have another baby yet. I've had enough of pain giving birth to her," growled Elizabeth.
They never referred to their daughter as Agatha. If a neighbor chanced to hear them, they would have felt pity for Agatha and disgust for Theodore and Elizabeth.
Everyone in Vanford knew that Theodore and Elizabeth have a baby, but she was rarely seen. Elizabeth did not leave the mansion very often before Agatha's birth. Afterwards, she was only seen once or twice. The citizens of the village thought that she was busy taking care of Agatha. Truthfully, however, Theodore and Elizabeth just did not want to be seen with "an ugly baby."
So, from the beginning, Agatha was fighting a losing battle. Worse yet, no one would know about it for a very long time.
(Four years later)
Agatha was huddled against the refrigerator, cowering away from her father. In the short for years of her life, her most prominent emotion was fear.
Agatha had been running around playing with her doll when she had bumped into a shelf, sending china plates crashing to the floor. Her father heard the noise, and when he saw what she done, he gave her a stinging slap across her face.
"See what you have done? Clean it up, you ugly little pissworm!" bellowed Theodore.
Still cowering, Agatha took the broom and dustpan and swept up the mess.
When she was done, her father shoved her away. "Go to your room. I've had enough of you."
Knowing that it was best to obey, Agatha hurried upstairs to her small bedroom. She laid down on her bed and held her doll close to her. "Why don't my parents love me, Clarabel?" she tearfully asked her doll. "I do a lot of nice things for them, and I do everything they tell me, but they still don't love me."
Indeed, Agatha could tell that her parents hated her. They barely talked to her, but when they did, they were usually screaming. They never offered her comfort. instead, they smacked her around and called her terrible names. Instead of playing with her, her parents pushed her away or ignored her.
Lately, Agatha noticed that they were pushing her away and ignoring her even more than usual. They often seemed nervous, especially her mother.
What she did not know was that her mother was pregnant with a second child, and that her parents were hoping that it would look better than her.
One day, while Agatha was sitting in the livingroom, her father marched up to her.
"Listen, you," he claimed. "Your mother is not going to be feeling well for the next several weeks. So, you are not to bother her. Also, you will need to be quiet, for noise will only upset your mother. If I hear a peep out of you, you will wish that you had never been born. Do you understand?"
Agatha nodded. She wished her father would stop calling her "you", "her", "girl", and "that child." It made her feel like she was nothing but a beast of burden to them. Usually, she had the feeling that she was.
Then her thoughts shifted to her mother. What was wrong with her? Was she horribly sick? True, Mother did seem worried, but she did not appear to be sick. Agatha wanted to do something for her, but what?
As she turned around, she looked out of the window and saw the daisies and lobelias in the flower bed. Perking up, she went outside and gathered most of the flowers into a bouquet. After tying the stems with a string, she tiptoed upstairs.
"Come in," her mother called when Agatha knocked on the door.
Opening the door, Agatha peeked into the room. Her mother was sitting, reading a book. She looked up as Agatha. "Oh, it's you," she grumbled sullenly. "What do you want?"
Stepping closer to her, Agatha murmured, "Father said that you were sick, so I picked these flowers for you." She held up the bouquet.
Elizabeth's eyes hardened. "Where did you get those flowers?"
"From the flower bed," Agatha responded.
Elizabeth instantly turned red with rage. "You impudent child! How dare you take flowers from that flower bed? Those flowers are not meant to be picked!" she hollered.
Agatha was shocked. She had not expected this reaction. "B-but Mother, aren't they pretty? Don't you like them?"
"No, I don't like them! You ruined my flowers and my flower bed. If you EVER touch my plants again, you shall be whipped! Get out of my room at once!"
Beginning to cry, Agatha dashed out of the room and went back outside. Sitting on the bottom step, she wept bitterly. Then, in a fit of anger, she threw the bouquet in the flower bed.
She did not understand why her mother did not like the bouquet. She was only trying to please her and make her feel better.
Agatha was to learn soon that she could never please her parents, and why.
Agatha could tell that something was wrong, despite the sunny day. She had long since learned that just because a day looked beautiful, it would not be a good one. For one thing, the air felt thick like cold soup and it sent a shiver up her back.
Five weeks had passed since the bouquet episode. During that time, Elizabeth had grown increasingly weaker. Plus, she was often in pain. Until today, the pain had only been dull. Now, it was stabbing her.
"Theodore," Elizabeth whispered. "Get a doctor." She arched her back. "Please."
Theodore rushed out the house and ran down the lane to Dr. Briggs' house.
When the doctor answered the door, Theodore quickly explained the situation and they hurried back to the mansion.
Back at the house, Agatha was wondering where her father went, and why he seemed so frantic. Then it come to her. Mother may be even more sick. Maybe she was dying!
Agatha went upstairs and peeked into her mother's room.
Elizabeth was lying down in bed, groaning in pain. Agatha opened the door wider. "Mother?" she whispered.
Her mother did not hear her.
"Mother?" Agatha said louder.
"YOU!" a voice shouted behind her. Agatha pivoted to see her father and Dr. Briggs ambling down the corridor. "Didn't I tell you not to bother your mother?"
"Yes. I'm sorry, father," mumbled Agatha. She backed away.
The doctor was horrified. He could not believe that Theodore talked to her daughter like that! But before he could comment on it, Elizabeth let out a scream.
Distracted, the doctor bolted into the roo, and Theodore took to pacing in the hallway. Agatha sat down in a corner, watching him.
Forty-five minutes later, they heard a baby's cry. Agatha's and Theodore's heads jerked up in excitement.
The doctor opened the door. "You have another daughter," he announced with a smile.
Theodore walked into the room. Elizabeth looked up and grinned weakly. "She's a beautiful one," she declared.
The baby was beautiful. She had Elizabeth's dark-blue eyes and her father's fine nose and sweet mouth. She also had honey-blonde hair, her father's modelled features, and was nice and plump.
Agatha stepped into the room just as Theodore said. "She is lovely. She shall inherit everything and receive everything she wants. We will name her Rebecca Anne."
Agatha frowned. She did not know what inheritance was, but she felt a pang of jealousy when she heard her say that he would give her little sister everything she wanted.
All of her life, Agatha had never gotten much from her parents, except clothes. Other than that, she mostly had to do for herself. She had to make her own toys and playthings, and they were always made of old, cheap cloths. Even her doll, Clarabel, was something she found trampled on the lane. What she wanted was pretty things, but they were not given to her.
It was because of this that Agatha felt a burning hatred towards Rebecca, which would grow as the years went by.
