The brisk morning air hit my shoulders and I shuddered with sleep, chills, and fear. My husband stood in front of me on a scaffold waiting to be hanged until dead. He had gone so long and hadn't been caught. It was his own fault for trying to poison that man. I can't believe he could be so foolish to think a no good crook was worth it.
"Samuel Green," I muttered to myself, "why did you do it?" I chuckled under my breath with a tear forming in my eye. The vocal chords bunched in my throat and I swallowed them as best as I could, but I only began crying.
Stop it you good for nothing whore. They can't know of your feelings for this bastard. Stop it. Conceal your emotions and leave right now. You know you should have never come. The sharp ridged voice from within me voices its opinion.
"It is right," I thought. Air filled my lungs as I gave my dear husband one last grim smile. He gave me a grin with those rotting crooked teeth gleaming in the sun. My parasol went up with ease. The sun shadowed myself from the crowd of incestuous filths surrounding me. I waved good-bye and turned away as the preacher asked him his final words.
His words still ring through my ears. "They shall know my fate, for I have written my confession out in full." I can still hear the grin in his words. That cheeky bastard I've always loved. A tear left my eye as the preacher asked him if he was penitent for the sins he committed. If you wish. I heard a lever pull and the rope tighten with, one, two, three, bounces before it was done. A woman shrieked and the men were muttering to each other. It is probably for the best that I couldn't hear them or else I would've been next to my Samuel in Hell right now.
I hurried home. No one could see me crying after the execution of a murderer wearing black at that. I mustn't show my mourning; not in public anyway.
Oh my love. If only he was here. He was here for me when I needed him after my mother's passing. Nothing can be right ever again. Oh woe. How must I cope? How must I live? He was the one who loved me and I him. I must play piano. I must find work somewhere, maybe a news girl; I've always enjoyed news. That's what I'll do. I shall be a news girl helping with the prints. I must move now. I must move out of our home. But, what if I forget him? I cannot forget my love. I could just stay at home for a while. Maybe I could invest in a companion like a cat. No, not a cat; not an animal for that matter. I've had problems with those before. Who could forget the incident with mother's cat. She probably still hates me for that. So a new job and a new life; that is what will happen.
My mind flittered. It wouldn't stop. The door opened with ease and the housemaid tried to greet me warmly and I wouldn't have it. "Matilda, get the party liquor out now," I said gasping for air with a sharpness in my breath.
Matilda ran and I went to the drawing room and sat painfully in my dear Samuel's chair. My breaths got worse to where I couldn't breathe. Anxiety flowed through my veins and I felt as if I was to vomit. I made some retching noise I didn't want to make. Vomit left my mouth and covered the rug that sat before me. Matilda ran into the room with the whiskey and the wine and the rum all lined neatly on a tray. How she managed to not spill them all amazes me.
She rushed to my side to hold my dress from getting into the pile of digested oatmeal, beef, and bread that lay before me. "Miss! Miss Smith!" She held my hand nervously shaking it a bit. "Miss, are you alright? Is this about Mister Green? I know you two were close. Grew up together even. Miss? Answer me. Are you okay ma'am?"
"Yes, Matilda. Yes to it all. Now please leave me in peace. I have just lost my childhood friend," I forced out while grabbing the bottle of whiskey. The delicate top with a glass ball came off easily. I clenched the bottle by its neck, being sure that I wouldn't lose the bottle filled with gold, and I chugged. One gulp. Two gulps. Three. It was all sliding down so easily. The liquid fire burned within me and Matilda's eyes stared at me in horror. "Miss Matilda, I don't know what you know of manners, but when asked to leave you do."
Her expression grew with more horror; her eyes never leaving the bottle I held so tightly. She quickly left the drawing room and ran to stay away from me. It was for the best she did. I put that bottle back to my lips and it was all gone when it parted them.
All thirty ounces of whiskey gone and for some reason I didn't feel any different. The room spun a little, but no more than usual. Those retched voices were coming back in whispers and laughs. I went for Samuel's "secret" supply of opiates; while I loved my Samuel, he couldn't keep a secret to save his life. After he had used those damned things, he'd come into the kitchen proudly announcing what he'd done.
Quickly, I snatched the wooden box off the top of the bookcase in the drawing room. The little gold initials read S.G. and they were cold as ice. I blew the thin layer of dust off the top of it; it has been weeks since any hands have touched this box. It opened with ease to reveal the red velvet lining. I grabbed the brass syringe full of morphine. The vein was practically popping out of my arm. The cool syringe slid easily into my arm and the liquid soothed my nerves. As happiness warmed my body, I sighed remembering my childhood with such fondness.
I was the new girl in school. My brown ringlets bounced as I walked in my new lilac dress. No one knew me and I knew no one. This was not my good English Girl's Boarding School. There was no dress code here. This was Newhampton.
"They do not have rules. Boys go to the same school as girls! It is so much insanity. I cannot believe that they would corrupt young men's minds with girl's running around them. How could one learn with the opposite sex in the same room? It is unimaginable," I shake my head and feel the curls hit my cheeks. I smile and clutch my books closer to my chest. The curls make me happy. Even if I am going to a hellacious school I will always have my curls. Nothing less than curls for the rest of my life. How can women cut their hair ever or put it up? It is too much fun having curls. That is why I must go to school. I must learn to be a proper lady. I must do away with my imaginary friends and I must learn to do away with my curls.
I walk into the school yard gates. A young man with a dirt smudged face and tattered clothes is painting the fence. He must have done wrong. The smell of paint filled the air. That fence was awfully white, even if the nails in it were not even in the slightest. That boy must have done wrong and had to put up the fence as well!
The cooling fall air blows summer away bitterly as the schoolmaster comes out calling for the day to begin. All the children have bright shining faces and I am the one with ringlets and a lacy lilac dress! This will never do! I must have mother buy me new clothing at once! I must fit in.
"Class, this is Miss Victoria Edwards," the schoolmaster smiles; his clean shaven face reflecting the sun that shown through the window.
"Hello Miss Edwards," the class recited drone-like in unison.
The schoolmaster looks disappointed in them. I must please him. I will be sure to be cheery when reciting things. We mustn't let schoolmaster be upset. Be a good girl. Don't act out of place again. Mum and Dad will send you away again if you act out of place. You don't want to go back there. Be good. Don't upset anyone.
"Miss Edwards because we don't have any seats next to a girl open you will have to sit in Mister Green's seat and he will stand during class," schoolmaster gestured to the back and the young man that was working on the fence rose. He doesn't look happy. You've already done wrong.
"Schoolmaster, it isn't right to let him alone stand. I shall sit with him today and then tomorrow I shall bring my own desk so we both might sit." Good girl. You've compromised. Remember smile and make them happy. You won't have to go back.
Why does schoolmaster look so shocked? Have I done wrong? Oh you terrible girl. Stupid. Stupid. Why must you be so stupid? But the boy is smiling. Why is he smiling? Everyone is staring at me. They look so odd and surprised. Why is he happy? Oh, Mister Green stop smiling at me. I have done wrong. I deserve no approval. None at all. Stop it won't you. I've clearly upset schoolmaster and the other pupils. I hope I haven't interrupted the day's learning. Oh how terrible it would be if they couldn't learn today! I only wish to learn. I want us all to learn. Silly girl. Maybe you can take it back.
"Miss Edwards, you're from England correct?" he smiled at me trying to understand. I nod sheepishly. "Well, here we do things a little differently. No girl will sit with any boy. It is a rule. For now, Mister Green will stand, but I will bring in a desk for him tomorrow."
I walk effortlessly to my seat and Mister Green writes me a note on his chalkboard. That must be very out of line. I read it. 'Hi name's Samuel. You can call me Sam.'
I remember 1806 like it was yesterday. We were only 10 years old. That day in class was the first time I met the worst boy I would ever meet. He was my best friend. My companion. My lover. My husband.
The miracle left my veins and I returned to reality. How I miss those simple days. The river came back to my face. I thought they were gone; I was wrong. I lost him.
He is gone now. He will never be back. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. He was dead and gone now. Gone. I would never feel his touch again. Gone. I would never see that hellacious smile again. Gone. I would never help him with his mischievous plans. Gone. I would never be called his again. He is gone and people mustn't know. What would happened if people knew I was really Ms. Green and not Miss Edwards or Miss Smith? I cannot be married to a criminal. They would take me away. Again. I cannot have that. For now I must keep going. I must leave here. Go to New York or travel. I can do anything I guess. Samuel and I got enough money over the years. I can run away. I can pack my things away tonight and leave a note for Matilda. I could become a whore if nothing else. Prostituting is not a respectable profession, but money is money and I would know how to do it. Today, April 25, 1822, I will run and never look back. Today I lost my love, but I will not let today live down in infamy as the day that destroyed me. Victoria Green died today with her husband, as Victoria Edwards died the day she married her husband. Today, Victoria Smith thrives.