Making Waves
One of the hardest things one can face in life is being someone that they aren't. Following strict guidelines that someone feels they have the right to lay out for you. I've struggled with this my entire life. I hope that no one I love ever feels this pressure. Mother says complaining is weakness. I guess I can't say I have had a terrible life. Avonlea is picturesque to say the least, on the surface, that is.
My name is Aurora. My family, and my closest of friends have always called me Rory. I wouldn't say it is the nickname I would've chosen for myself, if I was given the opportunity. It seems that when you are a non-verbal newborn, people make decisions for you. So it goes; everyone making decisions for me; the dresses I'd wear, the way I wore my hair, the friends I have, the life I will live, the man I will marry.
I'm not sure if I feel so defiant because I've never really been given the opportunity to decide something for myself, or if it's truly because what I am doing with my life is not at all what I want to be doing. Though, when you're an Ashton woman, you are there for show, you make no waves, but you make every head turn. At least that's what my mother has always said.
I remember when I attended my first holiday ball at the mere age of 12. Believe me, it was nothing I desired to do. When I was dressing for the event, I was being laced up in one of my mother's corsets from her adolescent years. Normally my governess would dress me, but that night mother came into my bed chamber and dismissed Prudy (she's been my governess since I was born). I remember she came and grabbed the laces, and almost pushed me forward as if to say my posture wasn't right, or maybe she just did it to be cruel. I remember her words as if she said them just minute ago. I vividly remember the haunting tone that rolled from her lips. She said:
"You have a duty as an Ashton woman, Aurora. You make no waves, but you make every head turn. Do you understand me?" Naturally, I was perplexed. But I learned in my childhood that it was certainly better to just agree with Mother, rather than question her. But I knew that these words were different. She spoke them so sternly, and coldly, I knew it wasn't a suggestion, rather an order.
Several years later, my brother Bennett and I visited my grandmother on her estate in Montreal. While I never cared much for the aristocratic life, I did respect my grandmother to the highest degree. She was a powerful woman with ambition, something most of the women in my life lacked. Ben (that's what we call Bennett) had gone with one of my late grandfather's dear friends to visit McGill University. Ben always had the utmost desire to attend college. When he was gone, my grandmother and I sat in the conservatory reading. She plopped Wuthering Heights in my lap and told me it would feed my soul. I closed the book rather suddenly and rather firmly at one point. Grandmother looked up at me with a grim look on her face. She said:
'Well that isn't very elegant, Aurora." I knew it wasn't, but this was nearly the perfect opportunity to ask someone the question I'd always been wondering.
"Why do women have to be elegant?" I said in a very inquisitive tone. My grandmother at that point looked pale as a ghost, but also had a bit of a smirk on her face.
"What brings that question to your head, child?" she chuckled. I shrugged it off, and reopened the book. But grandmother didn't continue reading. I made eye contact with her on and off before she finally huffed; "Women have to be elegant, because that is the way it has always been, my dear one." She came over and sat next to me, something that she didn't often do. While I loved her dearly, she was always somewhat distant with my family. I knew she loved me too, but it always seemed she had a brighter smile on her face when my cousins came to visit as well.
"Now are you going to tell me why this has come up?" she inquired once again.
"Oh, no reason, really, Grandmother." I said with a smile, hoping that it was believable enough. Unfortunately, she was never easily fooled.
"Aurora Arabella Ashton, you are lying straight through your teeth." She said roughly.
"It's been years, but mother told me I have a duty, to not make waves, but to turn every head I can. What does that mean?" Grandmother closed her eyes, shook her head slowly and sighed quietly.
"Your mother has a rather twisted view of reality, child. But that stays between you, me, and the fine China. Understood?" she questioned me hardly.
"Yes, grandmother."
"Very well, continue reading." She pointed to the dusty Emily Bronte novel. That was the end of that conversation. Though, if there is any point in my life that I remember so well it is that conversation. I carry it with me because in that moment I felt stronger, like someone had finally come to realize what I'd been seeing my entire life, even if I didn't realize what I was seeing until that very moment in the conservatory with Grandmother Claudia.
If you look into the future, about five years to be exact, my mother still holds me to her 'proclamation', more so now than ever. I am sixteen years old, and am nearly ready to make my mark on the world, or so I wish. My life has already been plotted out, milestone by milestone. My destiny in life is to be the perfect hostess. Against my mother's wishes I attend school in Avonlea with my brother. My father has always been insistent on giving both of his children an education. Avonlea hosts a wonderful education for a small farming village. Tomorrow is the first day of my last year of school. I will go onto finishing school where instead of learning the basic curriculum, I will be exposed to the world of 'housewife'. I will learn the necessities to being a perfect wife, something that my mother has certainly perfected. She hosts the very best parties at Willowcreek, that's the name of our estate. Willowcreek has so much history, some good, some very bad. I've spent the entire summer wondering what life will be like without Willowcreek, when my mother finally finds me a suitable husband, and I have to leave.
"Prudy, what have you laid out for Rory to wear to school tomorrow?" my mother asked as she helped the maids serve our dinner.
"I haven't chosen something just yet, ma'am." She said with her head down. It was obvious my mother instilled fear in her.
"Prudy, isn't this just like you! Waiting until the very last minute to make important decisions." My mother said. She is not normally this cold. Particularly not to Prudy, who we all think of as family.
"My sincerest apologies, ma'am. I will get to it right away." She said with a ghostly look across her face. She bolted for the hallway. You could hear her nearly sprinting up the staircase where she would open my wardrobe and find the shackles and chains I would have to go to school in tomorrow.
"Was that necessary, Marine?" my father said as he chewed a piece of chicken.
"Presentation is important this year, Barclay. This is her final year at Avonlea. She needs to make good impressions."
"To whom?" I asked, probably out of turn. My mother looked at me as if I had questioned her intelligence.
"Everyone." She said. And that is all she said. We all finished our meal in silence. After father excused us all from the table I headed straight for the library where I grabbed the first novel I spotted and headed straight for my room. Ben stood in my way as I tried to climb the staircase.
"Ben, if you would please allow me through, I have things to do." I barked.
"Rory, you really should be more careful questioning mother like that. You know how much it irks her to be questioned." Ben pointed his finger at me, scolding me for speaking out of turn.
"Curious minds want to know, brother." I tapped his shoulder and headed for my room. Instead of wondering to his own room, he followed me.
"Are you ready for tomorrow?" he asked softly. It's evident he genuinely cared.
"Are you?" I set the book down on my armoire, and sat in my rocking chair. He stood in the doorway. Now, while I was correct in saying Avonlea has a wonderful education opportunity, I can't say that the people within that school are friendly. There are some very dark, and vicious souls that sit at those desks five days a week. Of course, there are some genuinely good souls, too. But, I cannot lie and say that I am not scared to go back. Jacob Harrington is enough of a reason to not want to go back at all. He is someone that I hope to never have to see again after this school year. "I don't want to see Jacob Harrington." I added several minutes later, after staring into space percolating all of the horrid scenarios we could encounter tomorrow.
"Just ignore him. He won't bother you." Ben shrugged off my concerns.
"Yes, true, but he bothers others. Particularly ones that did nothing to deserve his attention."
"Remember what mother has always told you, don't make waves."
Sometimes not making waves is really hard.
