"A Past Left Behind"
Williamsburg, Virginia
6th March 1857

It was never my plan to be married. Marriage meant relying on a man for every want and need, becoming nothing other than a housewife, stripped of her freedom. I wasn't raised to become an extension of another person, or to adhere to society's expectations of women. I was raised to be myself. To break the mold of society and become a woman who had her freedom. Whose life was her own.

My father wasn't an ordinary man, he thought of my mother as his equal. He believed that she should be able to live her life with the same freedoms that men had, because she was a person. Our home was a sanctuary, a completely different world than the one outside. My parents loved me, and cared for me. They provided everything a child needed and more. It was the three of us against the world, and we were happy.

Then it all came crashing down. My innocence and carelessness shattered, just like their bones. My hopes and dreams crushed, the same way their bodies had. The world as I knew it was dead, and so were my parents.

And the happy young girl I once was, was buried along with them.

My Uncle Lamb was the only other family I had, and at the ripe young age of six, going to live with him was just about the only option I had.

The first few weeks were rough, what with me still in a constant state of grief and my Uncle having no idea on how to comfort me. When I wasn't crying, I was locked inside my bedroom, avoiding the life that awaited me on the other side of the door. I hardly ate or slept, I couldn't. How could I go on? How could I live while they were left in the ground to rot? How could I live without them?

Even so, sitting in the dark and wallowing in my pain was not a life. I had become a person I no longer recognized, a person that I hated.

I was drowning, giving up and letting go. My body collapsing beneath the tide, the air in my lungs going with it. No one could save me, only I could do that.

So when I left that room, I emerged from the suffocating depths of the sea, and took a breath.

Uncle Lamb did his best to raise me in an environment that was similar to the one I had. I'm sure it wasn't easy for him, living the life of a bachelor and then suddenly landing with the responsibility of raising a six-year-old. But he loved me and did his best, and that was enough.

I had grown into a woman that I was proud of, and one that I knew my parents would have been proud of.

I had planned a life for myself, a plan that was my future. I wanted to become a nurse, a woman who made her own living.

Healing people was my passion, especially knowing there was something I could do to help. Something I could do to possibly even save their life. I couldn't do it for my parents, but I could do it for other's. At least, I could try.

I knew that if I married, it was unlikely that I could continue doing that. And I was damned if anyone else died without having that chance.

But Uncle Lamb was sick, and it wasn't anything I could help. Once he was gone, I would be out of a home and forced onto the streets. We didn't have much to begin with, and now there would be even less money coming in. He gave me everything he could, there wasn't much left.

So before he died, he arranged a marriage, so that I was taken care of and protected.

The groom-to-be was a soldier, and there was much more than a few pennies to his name. He was charming, and he wasn't unattractive.

This was my Uncle's dying wish, how could I refuse? It wasn't what I wanted, but perhaps it wouldn't be so bad?

Wrong.

I had only met him a few times before the ceremony, and he was very kind to me. But once the vows were read, things were very different.

In public, he acted as polite and charming as he had when I first met him; but behind closed doors, that man disappeared entirely.

Jonathan Wolverton Randall is not the man he wants you to believe.

I tried to fight him, tried to get away, tried to escape the hell I had walked in to. All to no avail.

He took what he wanted, did as he pleased; no was a word that ceased to exist. Once, my life had been so full of hope and possibilities. Now it was like I was back in that room, stranded at sea and left to drown.

If only Uncle Lamb knew that this man was not my protector, but a man to be protected from.

I used to be strong. I knew what I wanted and I fought for it. I fought for others when they didn't have the strength to. But now there was no more fight left in me.

I didn't care if he hit me, I didn't care if he raped me, I didn't care. There was no point in fighting, I wouldn't win.

I began to hope that he would cut me deep enough so I would bleed out, so it would finally be over. But it was never deep enough, it was never hard enough. Never enough to kill me, but enough so that I wished it did.

He broke me, and there is no fun playing with broken toys.

So he left. To find a new toy, and left me to rot.

I had begged and prayed to be free for so long, and now I could.

If I wanted.

I laid there, naked and alone, staring into the dark. The empty black that I prayed would swallow me whole, to take my battered body from this dank room and carry me away.

I no longer knew what I wanted. I didn't know if I even wanted to live. How could I recover? How could I just go back? How could I look at other people and know that while they were out living their lives and pursuing their dreams; mine were being crushed. While they were living, I wished I were dead.

So I closed my eyes, and succumbed to the pain that ravaged my body.

When I opened my eyes, I was still there. The acrid taste of bile rose in my throat, and whatever was left in my stomach was now on the floor.

Hot tears burned my eyes and down my cheeks, my throat felt like it was closing and I could no longer breathe.

I was disappointed. I was sad. I was angry.

Angry at my parents and uncle for leaving me. Angry at the man who stole my life. Angry at the people who couldn't hear my screams. Angry at myself, for giving up.

Every feeling I ignored, every thought I pushed away, every happy memory that I thought dead, came rushing to the surface.

I sobbed. I screamed. I punched the wall until my knuckles bled.

It was then that I decided I would not let him beat me. I would not give up. I would make him pay for what he did. No other girl would go through what I went through, not if I could help it.

So when the light faded, I put on the clothes that I had been deprived of, and headed onto the street.

I left that place and everything in it. I would never be that woman again. Claire Beauchamp was dead, and Julia Lambert was born. And I never looked back.