Ch. 2

"Look at her.over there.refuses to dance.such a trivial thing." The whispers met my ears as I wallowed in self-pride apart from the dancing and gaiety. I would not go over there and dance. It was much too ridiculous. The rich men would simply dance and discard. It was a treacherous pattern that my father quite enjoyed, but I refused to be apart of it. In the distance, I saw Melanie's thin form coated in her beautiful blue satin dress. She was twirling and dancing across the floor with some blonde- haired gentleman. New money, as father said. She met my gaze and I looked away. "Excuse me for interrupting-" "You're not excused." As I said this, I looked slyly into the face of something quite surprising. A young man looked deeply into my eyes. He was very brazen in his manner and very smug as well. Although this was the case, all I could think was 'He is beautiful.' Dark, intense blue eyes stared into mine, a thin smooth lipped smile accompanying it. His mysterious brown hair waved slightly over his velvety forehead. Dimples appeared on his cheeks as he took in what I had said. "Goodness, it takes so much to get a lady's approval here." "You will be lucky if you ever get it," I retorted, coming out of my trance. He smiled, making his navy blue eyes renovate to a shade lighter. Beautiful again. "What does it take to get a ladies approval.I mean.in particular, this lady's approval?" I shrugged, folding my white-gloved hands in my lap. "Well, you could start by introducing yourself and your purpose, if indeed it may be worthy." My words caused him to throw his head back and laugh. "It takes so much to get an introduction! I wonder how much it would take to get a dance." He questioningly stared at me, but I merely smiled and shook my head. "I think you should stick with the introduction. It's more likely than the dance." He shrugged and bowed slightly, not seeming to care. As he bowed in presentation, I looked around the room and noticed several old ladies stares. They were mystified. He came up and stared sweetly into my eyes once again, only causing me to wonder more of the beauty he possessed. "My name is Michael, Michael Priton. I just moved here with my family from Boston. I'm eighteen, and very enthralled by your company." With this, I laughed heartily. "We've only spoken for three minutes, three inspirited minutes full of insults, and already you enjoy my company? Tell me, who paid you to come and speak to me." It would not be surprising if an old lady had slipped some gold in his pocket for several minutes of fun. "I had no idea one had to pay to speak with you." His idiotic comment was not whole-hearted. He was jesting with me, and, for once, it was funny. "Well, Michael Priton, its nice to meet you-" "You never told me your name, so I suppose it's not a proper greeting." I raised an eyebrow, and pursed my lips against his humorous comment. "My name, good sir, is Anna, Anna Willing." This time his eyebrows raised in surprise. "So this is the girl that all of Brooklyn is talking about. I am indeed-" "I'm sure you are interested in the many rumors that Brooklyn seems to spread about me, but I, on the other hand, am not. If you would excuse me." With that, I had stood up and walked away from Michael Priton, my feathers ruffled tremendously. He had in turn said smugly, "This won't be the last time I'll talk to you, Ms. Willing." "Perhaps not, but this certainly will be the last time I speak to you." I suppose he saw the red anger on my face, but he simply bowed shaking his head at my fury. How wrong I had been then. "Michael, eh?" I suddenly jerked myself up, facing someone that I had never before seen in my life. Arms aching at the effort, I frighteningly surveyed the speaker. She was young, with freckles dotting her cheeks, and wild, crazy red hair. She looked younger than I did as well, by three or four years. Having had enough of staring at an unrecognizable maid, my eyes wandered around the room I was located. It was new, nothing I had ever seen before. The bed I slept in was soft, smelling of newly washed sheets, and the pillow beneath my back was heavenly. The walls were a deep red, endowing the room with an almost eerie light. I noticed how it was richly furnished. This was no pauper's home, which made the situation even more mind- boggling. Panicked and fearful at the thought of unfamiliarity, I remained sitting up even through the pain. The young woman analyzed me, her hands planted on her hips with a "know all" regard. Her eyebrows were cocked in disbelief and curtness. She stopped her duties, regarding my nervous manner. "What's wrong witcha?" I turned to her questioningly. She stared back, laughter in her brown eyes. "Where am I?" I asked finally. With that, she cackled. "Is dat what ya worried bout?" Again she laughed, her hands scratching her sweating forehead. I rolled my eyes, unimpressed by her sense of self worth. She seemed friendly, but my fear and uneasy feeling of the foreign place I was in, caused me to become impatient. "Where am I?" I asked again, staring seriously toward her. "Ay, calm down, calm down!" she replied shaking her head, her frizzy mess of hair waving along her back. "Yous in Mr. Shatton's 'ouse. Dat's all. Ain't no reason ta go lookin' all angry like dat." With an "hmph" she waited for me to respond. I shook my head. "Who is Mr. Shatton?" I inquired looking around a little more easily. At least I was nowhere dangerous, or fatal, like the workhouse. Even worse, my old home. "Why da hella ya heah if yous ain't knowin' whos saved ya?" I quizzically contemplated what she was saying. Who had saved me from what? I thought back, trying to remember what had happened. I was greeted with several comforting faces like Michael and Spot, but I knew somehow that they had nothing to do with this situation. "Saved me?" Again, I shook my head, coming up with nothing to satisfy my curiosity. "Ah!" she groaned, picking up the tidying chore she had begun when I had woken up. "Mr. Shatton sure enjoys bringin' in da strange ones. Foist ya talk bout some fella' named Michael, an' now ya ain't even knowin' where ya are an' what 'appened ta ya. I bet ya don't even know ya own name!" I lay back onto the pillows, feeling a disagreeable tendency when speaking with her. "I know my own name," I muttered. "Den lets test out ya memory," she countered. "What's ya name?" "Anna," I responded, raising my eyebrow. "Ya could be lyin'," she answered, shrugging. "I don't tink it's a trustworthy name. 'Sides, ya don't look like an Anna ta me. Ya look like ya name could be Colleen or sometin. Sometin foreign." Finally, I felt my annoyance wash away and I laughed. She smiled as well. "Now ya don't look so unfriendly. Maybe its safe fer me ta talk ta ya normally." I nodded and she continued. "Da names Emily. I's guess I cin tell ya dat now." "Nice to meet you, Emily," I said politely, trying to acknowledge kindly my critical maid. "It is nice, ain't it? Nicer den you anyways!" she said laughing slightly. I felt as if I were a five-year-old again, playing silly mind games to manipulate and get what I wanted. Too soon did my defiance and difficultness start afresh. "I'm not unfriendly. I just don't understand how I got here. I don't know anyone by the name of Shatton and I've never seen anything like this before." She finished dusting the counters of everything in the room before she responded. When she had finally finished, she stared at me, her brown eyes attempting to think of a plausible answer. "Truthfully, Anna, (if dat's what ya name is) I ain't understandin' how ya got heah eider. I mean, Mr. Shatton, 'e's a lonely man. Ain't really nuthin social bout 'im. I ain't eva seen ya afore, an' I don't tink Mr. Shatton has eider. Said sometin bout eyes but." All I did was turn my head away from her, again trying to remember the events of before. Vaguely my mind reminisced on running away from the workhouse, a constant fear, and staring into the face of an elderly gentleman that would not permit me to finish my duty. Mr. Shatton had to be that gentleman, but why in the world would he take me here? I had been so sure that he would turn me in. As the girl was opening the door to leave me, I whispered a quick, "Wait!" She turned to me, the perpetual smile gracing her lips. "Wha' is it now?" she asked. I noticed that her accent seemed not to be just of New York. She wasn't of these parts, but was trying to fit in with a fake accent. Nevertheless, I got to the point. "Where is Mr. Shatton? Can I speak with him?" "Ay, Ay!" she said loudly, pushing her hands to slow me down I suppose. She glanced nervously out of the door. "Be patient. It ain't right fer ya ta talk ta him now. When he's ready, den you'll talk. 'Sides, he ain't home durin' da day!" Her animated personality was on the brink of annoyance and on the edge of a smile. I didn't know which one to do. I studied her for several more seconds before she left, trying to decide if I agreed with her traits. Seeing the wild, free hair, the defining freckles, and reading quietly her worried eyes, I knew that even if it was not now, my feelings toward her would be friendly. "Get some sleep, Anna-" she shook her head brusquely. "I ain't likin' Anna too much. I wanna call ya Colleen." "Please don't," I muttered sarcastically, my eyes becoming wide with apprehension. "Ay," she said again in thought. After several moments of this supposed deep, troubling contemplation, she looked at me, her eyes shining mildly. "I know what I's 'll call ya. Yous can be A. C. I don't know which name fits ya bedda yet cuz I ain't knowin' ya too well, but when I gets ta know ya, I'll decide on a name fer ya." I laughed meekly. "How diplomatic of you." She shook her head in my direction. "Sleep," was all she would say, and then closed the door behind her. I looked at the tall clock in the room. It was nearly three o' clock in the afternoon. How long it had been since the escape, I had no idea. I had no idea what was happening to me, or even why I was here in the first place, but the worst part of all this worrying was the fact that I had three hours to wait in a hopeful longing. Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Shatton would answer some of these questions and fears for me. With any luck, maybe he would even qualm my apprehensions quickly, perhaps tonight.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

Sleep had not indulged me for hours. I lay on my comfortable bed, the dullness encompassing my body. It was boring doing nothing for hours. My joints ached and I felt a slight sense of hunger but dared not move. Even though I knew no danger surrounded me, I waited expectantly and cautiously for something to happen. Being too weak to cause anything interesting, my waiting continued dismally. Finally, seeing as nothing else held my interest, I took the covers off me, ready to see what exactly I looked like. Thankfully, I noticed how my ratty clothes had been changed, and how most of the dirt and dust that had caked itself onto my legs and arms for months was mostly gone. I was still recognizably dirty, but clean enough to be presentable. The white nightgown I was wearing was plain Linen, but comfortable and fresh smelling. The fresh smells that engulfed everything in the room and on me made me reminisce, hauntingly remembering old times. This nightgown had a slight aroma of Melanie. She had always smelled so sweetly, as if she had lain in flowers while sleeping and bathed in honey. When Melanie had entered a room, her scent would stay there for days, the twinge of perfume in the air causing one to stop. It was inspiration for the sad; it had been a joyful boost for the hopeless. It had wiped the tears of a crying, despairing sister who had desperately wished to silence both sadness and hopelessness.

"Mel, am I a failure?" I was vulnerable, passed on from the viciousness we usually shared. She softly put her cold hand on my shoulder, her eyes bent down in hurt for my pain. "Anna, he says things he doesn't mean. You know him-"I shook my head to silence her. It wasn't her speaking. It was brainwashed words in a passive rehearsed voice. My vulnerability was forgotten. There was no use confiding in her. She quickly closed her mouth. "Mel-" "Anna, you are you. You are beautiful. You are smart. You are my sister." I stared into her eyes, the wetness matching my own. She was trying to sound like it mattered, trying to sound like she could make a difference, but I doubted her then, weakness was apparent in her eyes. "You won't mean that in three months. You wouldn't have meant it three weeks ago." Her eyes contracted in shock. She pulled away. "What is that supposed to mean?" She wasn't angry. She had realized the truth. "Don't act stupid, Melanie. All you do is defend father. You defend him when he says things that aren't true, you defend him when he speaks to me. Then you try to make everything like old times when we're alone. That's not real!" "He knows best." I closed my eyes, not wishing to look at her face. The aroma hit my nostrils, calming me. I had no need to yell at her. I had no need to get angry. There would come a day when she would say those words and again.it would be too late.

I shook my head, wishing immediately to take off the nightgown. I was disgusted with my memory and even more disgusted with the flashback it chose to grace me with. Melanie was gone and I was just as far away from her as I had been before. I saw no point in reconciling, though something told me I wished to see her. My blood was boiling to yell the insults that had been held back this past year and a half. I wanted to yell, I wanted to scream, but most importantly, I wanted to show her what I had gone through to fix the mistake that her loving father had caused. "You haven't fixed it yet," I reminded myself slowly, trying to calm my boiling nerves and muscles. Every inch of me wanted to transfer the horrendous pain I had experienced onto her weak being. She had been the one always, that had wanted it more than I had. She had always asked why I took the initiative, why I went down the stairs and pushed her out of the way.

Suddenly, below me, I heard the smack of a heavy wooden door closing. I sat up straight in my bed, the dullness washing away. I heard heavy footsteps downstairs. They stopped. I heard a low voice speaking to someone, but it was too muffled to understand the words. Quietly, I decided that the closer I got to the floor, the more audible it would be. I leaned down, off the bed, stretching my muscles to the point of excruciating pain.

I attempted to get out of my bed, noticing that leaning did nothing to the sound quality. As I stood up though, I lost my balance and fell out of my bed. The thump that followed caused the talking downstairs to stop. "Ow," I whispered. I picked myself up slightly, but my head began spinning again. I sat down again on the floor. Seemingly, this was another example of how my body spent more time on the floor than on my feet. I heard urgent commands being made and then the patter of the footsteps on the stairs told me that my presence had been announced. My door was suddenly flung open and Emily stood on the other side, her eyes blazing with worry, her hair frazzled in her crazy rush. "A.C.!" she exclaimed. I rolled my eyes as she came up to me attempting to help me up. "I can do it myself," I mumbled, pushing her hands away. "Good Lord!" she shouted again as I stood on shaky feet and lay on my bed, exhausted. "Would you quit yelling?" Her persistent high-pitched, fake-accented voice was annoying and ear piercing. "Ay! Mr. Shatton hoid ya all da way down stairs. Whatcha doin' fallin' out da bed like dat?" "I was testing my flying skills," I answered out of breath. Her eyes became even wider, her mouth a thin tight line. "Dat was definitely an Anna comment. Yous so mean!" Her face, already covered with red freckles, turned a bright pink. An Irish temper apparently. "Well my name is Anna!" I sat myself up on the bed. "And I want to see Shatton." With that, she put her nose in the air, turning to the side. "Shatton ain't wantin' ta see ya tonight. I'se jist gonna bring ya dinner up heah. 'Sides, you ain't strong enough yet ta go see 'im. Maybe tomorra' or da next day." With that, I fell back, disappointed. I wanted answers badly, and being here all by myself just made me recollect to the point of insanity. I could not sit up here by myself for another hour. On the other hand, Emily's pompous actions annoyed me, especially considering she was an uneducated maid of about thirteen. She easily got under my skin, and my impatience would not tolerate her adolescent qualities. I was on the verge of wanting to kill her within the first day of meeting her. Perhaps, even though it was extremely lonely, I would manage to eat dinner alone, given that the partner of my choice didn't exist. I rolled my eyes and she did the same. The mimic made me grit my teeth. "Ain't seein' why youses important anyway." At this point, I chose not to respond to her childlike manner of making fun of me. I simply turned away from her on the bed, putting the pillow over my head. She in turn stomped out of the room. Vaguely I saw a tiny freckled tongue stick out of her mouth as she left. Why was a cursed with such a trivial thing that was driving me up the wall? Emily was in all forms, the little sister that I was glad I never had.

When I sat up, my eyes scanning the room hazily from the annoyance and anger I possessed, I suddenly noticed something about it that I hadn't before. I squinted to make sure I was seeing it right, but there was no change of scene. It was as clear as crystal. All around the room, on the table and on the chairs were books with blue covers. They were new, polished blue covers, shadowing many pages of white unwritten paper. There were about ten in the room, but the familiarity was impossible to ignore. They were the exact twins of the diary I possessed except for one thing: their locks were not secured. I covered my mouth, my hand shaking. I felt so cold all alone in that room and so stupid. I could not see the connection. I didn't know how to see it. This was a clue, there was something here I had to find out. There was something here connecting me to Mother.

The door opened and Emily angrily brought in a tray for me. On it was some meat, cheese, and hot bread. I stared at it my mouth watering. The workhouses had made me forget how wonderful food smelled. I ravenously ate it all. I noticed Emily's confused and unraveled stare. She handed me a napkin to wipe off the mess. "Aintcha got manners?" she asked. "Not when I'm starving," I replied. "When'd ya eat last?" I shrugged. She questioningly glanced at me again. "Dat ain't right. Where in da woild did ya come from? I ain't eva seen someone eat like dat in a long." My angry stare caused her to stop talking. "Why don't you stop asking questions that don't concern you. Let me ask you one instead." Again, I felt the discord between us. She angrily huffed at me, though still allowing the question. "Why are all those blue diaries in here?" I asked hesitantly, feeling my throat tightening up. With that, her frazzled furious look transformed to a look of engaging humor. She laughed. "What?" I asked, seeing nothing funny enough to laugh at. "Dat ain't none o' yer business," she replied, putting her hands on hips, an attitude mildly apparent on her face. I snorted, again tired of her company. She was trying to make me feel inferior and uncomfortable, but that was not easily done. Not even Melanie had succeeded, and considering my sister had been quite a worthy opponent, Emily would not hold a match to her. "I'm done with my dinner," I said callously after several minutes of pondering on the past. She shook her head and contemptuously grabbed the tray on my lap. "I guess I'll bes seein' ya tamorra." I raised my eyebrows as Emily stood in the doorway. Still she looked angered and unlikable, but there was something funny about her. I found myself smirking. "Maybe yous be nicer tamorra!" With that, she swung her hair, head roughly turned away, and left me alone in my room to do what not with the dreariness surrounding me. Since my options were few, I decided to take the one that used the less thought. Sleeping was easily achieved that night. Tired from the effort and from the distressing things all around me, I put my head on the fluffy, soft pillow and soon found myself surrounded by a constant blackness that weaved in and out of areas in my mind that had not yet been touched.