Wow, I can't describe how thrilled I was to get so many fast responses to this story. Thanks so much everyone! It means so much to me. =)
Furthermore, I (am insanely tempted to but) am not answering any of your questions or confirming any silly guesses. Sorry! It's all part of the mystery and keeping things on the down low… and… yeah. xD
This took a little while longer than I would have liked because I finished planning out my chapter outline first. If things stick to plan, I'll have twenty-seven chapters including the prologue. Hope you stick around for it!
Note: This chapter is veeery short. Sorry! I assume this sort of thing will happen quite a bit though: some chapters will be near five thousand words while others linger just around a thousand. It's all just part of the job though.
Next update will hopefully come before the end of the week. n_n
The Letter A
Angela rose abruptly from her bed. Throwing the quilt hastily aside, she only managed to take three steps before hurling. Head spinning and the taste of bile in her mouth, Angela squeezed out a few tears and stood. She hadn't realized she had fallen to the ground on her knees.
The first morning sickness.
The rest of the morning seemed uneventful after clearing away the vomit. Angela, who was hopeful to have a breakfast of eggs from her chickens, settled on a hot cup of stomach soothing tea instead. Probably a wise decision.
Leaning back in her chair, she stared at the ceiling. She admired the intricacies in the wooden beams, tracing the patterns of the grooves with her eyes before closing them. Angela let out a long, loud sigh. Already, she was so tired… Just a day after the trial, too. Good thing she wasn't puking at the church plaza. That might've caused more of a stir… Might've gained her a bit of sympathy if she was trying to think optimistically…
A timid knock on the door roused her from her thoughts. Standing and tying her robe tighter about her person, she threw a hand through her tousled short hair and briskly walked to the door. Clearing her throat, she swung the port wide.
Candace, the sepulchral looking girl from Sonata Tailoring, was on the stoop. The young woman blessed Angela with a rare, small smile before hiding back inside her bubble of insecurity. Angela wondered how she got along so well with her outgoing husband Julius. He was so… frivolous. So different. But that was beside the point.
"Hello, Candace."
"Hi, Angela." Candace said quietly. Angela suddenly noticed a piece of pale pink fabric in her hands. "I… I didn't know if you knew, but… I figured I would just deliver it to you straight – why make the trip into town? And… um… here."
Angela looked down. Candace's fragile, pale hands clutched an embroidered letter 'A'. It was twined with sharp red thread on pastel pink. The 'A' itself was a loopy cursive font that reminded Angela of something you might see at the beginning of a chapter book when the first word began with 'A' and it was intricate and larger than all the other letters. 'A long time ago, in a land far away, there lived a beautiful princess…' –something along those lines would start the story. Certainly not Angela's story.
Hamilton probably requested the Tailor's to make this for her. Glad they were prompt with the order.
Angela smiled and took the letter. "Thank you, Candace."
Things grew quiet.
What was she supposed to say? 'I appreciate it?' 'Thank you for the symbol of my treacherous misery?' 'Nice penmanship?' All ludicrous observations. And so the awkward silence lingered until Angela tried clearing her throat again.
Fondling with one of her bulbous blue braids, winding the hairs between her fingers, Candace nervously asked: "So how are you doing? Is-is there anything I can get you?"
Angela shook her head in the negative. "No… Thank you, Candace. I'll be fine. It's very kind of you though."
"Well… you are carrying…" She mumbled. "It's not… right to treat you like this…"
Angela could have argued on a hundred different levels, but she felt berating Candace with reasons and explanations and truths would bore and frankly terrify the girl. Angela simply shrugged with an understanding smile as response.
Still, the girl stayed.
If she hadn't gotten the hint before, Angela was certainly aware now. Candace had something on her mind and she was trying to find a way to share whatever it was in the best way possible. Angela was a patient person. She would not spook Candace; she would wait until the silence made it imperative she speak. That would be pressure enough.
"I-!" Candace stammered, looking in all directions with her crystalline eyes. "I'm sorry I've kept you so long. I should get-get going."
"Are you sure? You seem a bit—"
Angela was cut off with a quick reply in the negative. "No, I'm just stalling. Sorry; b-back to work!" Candace forced a smile. Turning on her heel, she left Angela in her doorway with the offending gift hanging limply at her side.
Softly closing the door behind her, waiting for the near silent click, Angela sighed again. She held up the scarlet letter and eyed it again, letting her eyes roam up and down the article. "What a strange girl."
On the way back to the Tailor's, Candace was silently scolding herself for chickening out. But it was too soon! Angela really didn't need more to worry about… But she should be fairly warned… I mean – I would want to know if my husband was returned home after eight years… We all thought him dead!