This is Prompt No.69-Explode
Mitchie opened her eyes slowly, blinking as she looked around, slightly disoriented. After three weeks on a ship, she was not quite used to fine sheets and fluffy pillows once again. She took a moment to look around, remembering that she was back home in Virginia, and smiled. She stretched, raising her hands above her head until they touched to bed frame above her head and letting out a content sigh.
"Good," someone said. "You're awake."
Mitchie turned her head to the side and saw Anna sitting in the rocking chair next to the fire, her knitting needles flying at a clipped pace. "Morning," she said lazily, causing Anna to smile.
"Morning," she replied, "was over two hours ago."
Mitchie sat up in bed. "What?" she cried, surprised. She looked at the shutters that covered her window and saw that they were closed, but that warm sunlight did indeed peek through the cracks. "Oh my gosh!" she cried, jumping out of bed, all sleepiness replaced by embarrassment.
Mitchie ran around the room, looking for her clothes until Anna put an affectionate hand on her arm and stopped her. "A suitable dress is hanging up over there, along with everything else you need, your brother wants to speak with you when you wake up, and your mother's having that terrible Mrs. Prindle over for tea in two hours." Anna made a face as she handed Mitchie a comb. "She expects you to be there as well."
Mitchie smiled at her friend, thankful that she had someone to fill her in on the day's activities before they were even to begin. "Thank you, Anna," she said, giving her friend a long hug before hurrying over to her vast wardrobe where Anna had gathered all the accessories necessary. "Is this new?" Mitchie asked, holding up the dress in question at arm's length.
Anna nodded with a smile on her face. "It's from your father to welcome you home," she answered, obviously pleased. "He asked me what you might like."
Mitchie looked over the beautiful dress at her friend and raised her eyebrows. "Really?" she asked.
Anna nodded. "I hope you like it."
Mitchie glanced back at the beautiful fabric, a soft burgundy color and smiled at her friend. "I love it. Thank you!" She hurried to get dressed, letting Anna help her with her corset, and then put on her favorite pair of shoes. "Thanks," she said to Anna once again. "I'd better go find my brother now."
Anna smiled and began tidying the room. "Try Mr. Torres' study. Tell Mitchell I say hi," she said, blushing slightly.
Mitchie smiled back at her. "I will," she promised and shut the door to her room. She walked to the end of the hallway and started down the staircase. Turning to her left at the bottom, she slipped past her mother's dayroom, hoping not to have to talk with her for a while, and headed toward her father's study.
The smile faded when she reached the end of the hall and heard raised, angry voices. "I will not have it!" her father boomed, and voice caused the door to shake for a moment, rattling on its hinges. Mitchie hoped that whoever he was talking to, it wasn't her brother. The speaker dashed her hopes, though, by announcing, "You're a disgrace to your mother, to me, and to your sister, Mitchell! Why will you not join if there's to be a war?"
Mitchie found herself edging toward the door, half hoping and half dreading that Mitchell would tell their father about his relationship with Anna. "Oh Mitchell," she whispered, knowing that her sweet brother was probably using this time of silence to control the anger he was feeling.
"Because I don't support your cause," came Mitchell's voice, he tone deadly low and controlled, daring his father to respond.
"What?!" his father exploded, his booming voice rattling the door even more this time. Mitchie shrank away from the door, the anger she was hearing frightening her. "Why not?"
"Because I think that slavery is wrong!" Mitchell shouted back, and Mitchie realized that he was reaching the end of his self control. Mitchell, under normal circumstances, would never raise his voice to his father, and their argument must have been going on for a while for him to be so angry. "I'll not fight for something I don't believe in!"
"You mark my words," Mr. Torres shouted, "I'll send you to serve yet! They'll come and collect you one day without warning if I have my way with this!"
Mitchie gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. "No," she whispered. She stood, not wanting to hear anymore, and fled, not caring if her mother saw her. She lifted her skirts up to her knees so that she could run up the stairs, her feet pounding down the hallway as she ran into her room. Kneeling by the side of her bed, Mitchie felt around for the item she wanted.
"Where are you?" she muttered, fear causing her to move at a frenzied pace. Her fingers found what she wanted, and she gave a tug, freeing the small box. Mitchie pulled it out, hurriedly wrenching the lid off and grabbing the small, leather bound book inside.
She took the steps two at a time, almost tripping over her skirts as she reached the bottom floor and wrenched the front door open. Her skirts flew and billowed around her as she ran across the property towards the willow tree. The distance made her lungs ache, and her chest heaved under the exertion, but she kept running, not stopping until she collapsed against the trunk of the tree, sobs tearing at her throat. Tears stung her eyes and splattered on her dress as she clutched the leather journal to her chest, once again glad for the comfort and seclusion that the willow tree provided. Its boughs concealed her trembling figure to any onlookers, affording her privacy while she opened her journal and began to write.
The feelings she had kept in her heart for so long needed to be written down on paper so that the whole world might know.
