This is Prompt No. 37-Glitter
Mitchie was sitting in front of her mirror, gently reapplying her ever-fading bruise coloring when she heard a knock at the door. Her eyes widened hurriedly as she finished the last stroke and jammed the contents of the kit into the bottom drawer of her vanity. "One moment!" she called as she leapt up, pushing her hair out of her face. "Come in!"
The door opened and the maid that had accompanied Mitchie and her mother to the dress shop came in, holding a parcel in her hands. "Your dress is here, miss," she said politely.
Mitchie smiled and took the dress from the maid's arms. "Thank you very much," she told the maid.
The maid curtsied. "Will you need help, miss?" she asked, hands clasped together in front of her.
Mitchie pretended to think for a moment, glancing first at the dress and then at the vanity where all her hair supplies lay. "No, I think not," she finally replied, drawing out her hesitancy. "Thank you though." She smiled and made a shooing motion with her hands. "You go get changed yourself. The dresses arrived late, and it's almost time for people to be arriving."
The maid bobbed again. "Thank you, miss," she said and slipped out the door as quietly as she had come in.
Mitchie turned and set the parcel on her bed, eagerly unwrapping the packaging. She wanted to see what the little tailor had come up with. When the paper fell away, Mitchie couldn't help but stare. With the feeling that the dress might disintegrate under her fingers, Mitchie picked it up and turned toward the mirror, holding the dress up in front of her so that she might see the full effect of its loveliness.
"Beautiful," she whispered.
With care, she set the dress back on the bed and began to slip out of the day dress she had put on while she had been waiting for the delivery. Without someone to help her, it was a difficult task, but with some wiggling and squirming, she managed to slide out of its confines. Then, she began to dress for the party. On went the stockings and the petticoats with relative ease, but Mitchie gasped aloud when she slid on the corset. It had been fitted according to her measurements taken that day at the dress shop and she was now finding it hard to breath.
"Oh gosh!" she hissed as she gave it the final tug that settled it into place. Corsets, when fitted according to your waist size without cheating, were bad enough, but this was pure torture!
With that done, she slipped the dress over her head, sighing as the silk slipped coolly over her shoulders. The buttons on the back required a bit of twisting and stretching, but Mitchie managed to button them all, sighing with relief as she reached the last button. Next, she headed to her vanity to sweep her hair up into a fashionable style. She tried several before she found a simple one that suited her. It wasn't terribly fashionable, but like the dress, it looked beautiful. Doing her hair in such a style by herself was slightly difficult, but she soon found that like the everyday hairstyle tricks Caitlyn had taught her, ball styles had their tricks as well.
"There!" she exclaimed, satisfied, as she examined herself in the mirror.
She bent down and slipped on her shoes, and then she was ready. Now came the hardest part of throwing a ball: the waiting. Mitchie glanced toward the clock in the corner of her room and realized that she had over two hours before even the earliest guests began to arrive. She rose from her vanity and moved to stand in front of her dresser.
On the dresser stood her jewelry box, and she dug around in there, looking for the perfect piece to complete her ensemble. "Ah," she whispered to herself as she drew out a short string of silky pearls and held them up to her throat. "Perfect."
She unclasped the necklace and fitted it around her slim neck. "If only Shane could see me now," Mitchie whispered. She examined herself in the vanity mirror and sighed. In her opinion, she looked almost as pretty as she had on her wedding day. A morose feeling settled over her heart, but she pushed it away before it could manifest and ruin her night. Perhaps, when everything was over, she could take the dress with her and show Shane when he came back to her.
Mitchie crossed to the window seat and sat down, glad that her window faced towards the back of the property. She could sit here and think until she was called for downstairs. As she sat on the comfortable seat, Mitchie leaned her shoulder against the pane and sighed. She missed her life at the base already, but she missed Shania fiercely. Her thoughts swirled back to her little girl, and thoughts of her baby kept her occupied for quite a while.
It was only when the shadows grew longer and the sun began to dim that Mitchie's mind turned back to the mission ahead of her. The general had explained all the specifics to her, starting by telling her that she must worm her way into the good graces of the chief Confederate officials. He had explained what information she needed to get, and told her that the UUS would be sending another agent in to "rescue" her. The "rescue," which would be a faux wedding ceremony, would get both agents out and away from the south.
Mitchie bit her lip. What would Shane say if he heard about this wedding ceremony? Would he understand that it was in the line of duty and that her love was for him, and him only, or would he become angry? Would it even be mentioned to him? "I'm so confused," she groaned.
There was an almost inaudible tap at the door and Mitchie called, "Come in!"
The maid slipped inside and her eyes widened when she saw Mitchie's dress. "Oh, miss, you look lovely!" she exclaimed, keeping her voice soft and quiet.
Mitchie smiled. "Thank you. You're dress looks beautiful on you as well."
The maid blushed and curtsied. "I-I was h-hoping that I could ask you som-something," she stuttered, embarrassed and no doubt fearful that she was completely out of line.
Mitchie smiled once again and patted the window seat. "Of course," she said. "Come sit, please."
The maid glanced toward the door. "I really shouldn't," she began, but her refusal trailed off mid-sentence and she said no more. She sat down across from Mitchie and opened her mouth, but Mitchie stopped her.
"First off," Mitchie said, "you must call me Mitchie, not miss, and please, don't call me Michelle." Her face screwed up in comical disgust and the maid smiled.
"Are you sure?" she asked hesitantly.
"Of course."
"Very well, Mitchie it is," the maid said with a smile. "I'm Louisa."
Mitchie smiled. "Pretty name for a pretty young lady," she complimented. Louisa blushed, so Mitchie quickly changed the subject. "What did you want to ask me, Louisa?"
Louisa bit her lip and asked after a moment, "May I be blunt with you?"
Mitchie frowned, confused, but nodded. "Of course."
"Why are you here?"
Mitchie was slightly shocked by the question. Well, she had said that Louisa could be blunt, and there it was, the question that had obviously been interesting her. "Uh," she began, and then remembered her story. "I'm here because this is my family."
Louisa gave her a friendly, yet disbelieving look. "That may be true," she said, "but I want to know why you're really here."
"I don't understand," Mitchie told her, confused.
"You're not who you say you are, and you're not here for the reasons you say you are," Louisa explained. "You were never a prisoner of war."
The determined look on Louisa's face made Mitchie quiver. Was her plan about to be foiled? "How would you know?" she asked, trying to bluff.
Louisa raised an eyebrow. "I was the one who bathed you when you first came here, and I was the one that reapplied that bruise of yours."
Mitchie's hand flew to her bruise and she jumped up from the window seat, remembering the bath from the first day she had come back to the plantation and how she had fallen asleep for a short while after that. "I can explain-" she began.
Louisa raised her hands for silence. "I don't want you to explain," she said. "The less I know, the less they can get out of me should they ask about you. All I want to know is: Are you fighting for or against slavery?"
"Against," Mitchie told her honestly, knowing that there was no reason to keep such an answer from her.
Louisa nodded. "Thank you," she said honestly, her gaze conveying her appreciation for what Mitchie was doing as she stood and brushed at imaginary wrinkles on her dress. "I was actually sent to fetch you. The guests are arriving. Your mother wants you to come down the main staircase. She's telling everyone about you."
Mitchie groaned. "Great," she muttered sarcastically. "Thanks for warning me."
Louisa nodded and slipped out the door. Mitchie waited an appropriate amount of time before she followed, descending the main staircase as slowly as she could. She glanced into the ballroom, knowing that the guests would be glancing at her curiously, and couldn't help but feel proud of her gown. Of a shimmering sea green, the dress seemed to glitter like the sea itself. It flowed out like a living thing from the very small train at the end of her dress, winding up to blend with her pale skin, covered modestly unlike most of the other dresses.
She smiled at the guests as she scanned the room, trying to identify the generals and commanders of the Confederates. As her eyes swept the room, they lit upon a figure in the corner next to the punch bowl and she almost stumbled from shock. Their eyes met and his orbs betrayed the same shock that hers did. His cup paused midway to his lips, and he twisted in her direction, making the buttons on his Confederate uniform sparkle slightly from the lights of the chandelier.
Mitchie's hand gripped the banister tightly and her lips formed the name that she had waited so long to say.
"Shane."
A/N: Surprise! Liked it? Let me know!
