I'm not cinderella, I can be an hour late.
Eight -
Betrothal. A meaningless big word to a girl of eight, there is mud in front of me, and I jump into it. I laugh. My mother scowls, and my father tsks in secret approval. It covers the new dress she bought me to impress his family. He was a blacksmith, or an apprentice of one, and I was a farmer’s girl with a little endowment. Money meant nothing to me, I was poor and eight years old. I loved my life very much. I loved my father, I loved my brother and I loved my mother. I loved waking up in the morning and feeding the animals, and running across the fields with my friends. The hot sun on my back all day, I loved to work and get dirty -
I was so content, but my family wanted more than that. My brother came dashing down the field, he was old-much older than me, seventeen-the army was taking him soon. He didn’t mind serving our King, but I did. People died in the army, my friends talked about it all the time. Deliah’s mother was widowed because of it. I didn’t want my brother to die. He didn’t understand, he didn’t care-
He just didn’t want to be a farmer’s boy anymore. “They’re coming!” he huffed. And my mother expected me up and down, sighing in disproval.
“For God’s sake Elizabeth stop fidgeting.” She tightened up my hair, and it ached my scalp. She brushed at my dress, and I wanted to take it off. I wanted to go play. But I had to meet him, I didn’t see the big deal he was a blacksmith, not the king of England. I stood up straight anyways, I’d rather please my mother then get beaten by my mother. Their carriage pulled up, it was a nice one - not like the one father gets, it’s one of those nice clean ones that mother always wanted. But we never had the money to get.
There was a woman, and man and another smaller man. He wasn’t a boy. It was clear by the way he stood with determination. He looked unpleased with his surroundings, clearly he felt that he could do better than a small peasant girl. I glared at him. I hated him. He was handsome, dark black locks and pretty green eyes - but he didn’t want this anymore than I did. I don’t know what apprentices did in their free time, but I imagined he’d rather be doing that instead of meeting me.
I hated him, my brother snickered; clearly the only person aware of it. My mother shot him a look and then step in front of me. “Mr. Frank, charmed.” Mr. Frank was a taller version of my betrothal, and Mrs. Frank looked like nobody at all. She was a short pudgy woman with a warm smile on her face, blonde locks and sparkling blue eyes. She shook my mother’s hand, clearly the happiest of the three.
“Mrs. Stein, a pleasure to finally meet you.” My mother ever the social woman took to her immediately. They started to chat and I tuned them out, my father stretched and Mr. Frank yawned. My brother stood in place, bored, and I stood behind him impatient. The young man sighed, and we all turned to him.
“So, she’s it then,” he said to his father studying me. I turned displeased with the looks he kept giving me. “She’s the girl I have to spend the rest of my life with.” I didn’t like the tone in his voice like I was some sort of animal. My father’s eyebrow rose, and my brother got quiet.
Mr. Frank looked at his son, his expression unreadable. “Yes, this is your future wife.” The air was getting tense. As we all waited for his response anxiously, and he sighed again.
“At least she’s pretty.” My face flushed red, and my brother laughed. And my father looked at Mr. Frank and they both smiled.
It was a start of a beautiful friendship.
Fourteen-
He was twenty-three when he died. My brother was young too young to be taken from the world, I stood by his wife and we didn’t cry, we just stood staring at his body holding hands, the other hand on the bump on the bump on her stomach. His daughter run beneath us, unaware that her father was very much dead. My sister-in-law’s face was pained, her dark hair was in her face in attempt to hide her pain, but it was there in her blue eyes. I could see it, it reflected my own pain.
Nobody really saw it, but Mathew was worn down from war, and it was getting to him. Even after he built a family for himself, and provided them a home. Even though he wasn’t a farmer boy anymore, and he was finally living he’s dream. He was happy. God thought that was as far as he should go, and he was killed. It was so horrible. Death. He died at the hands of a thief, a petty thief, and the anger overwhelmed me. A thief took my brother’s life. I wanted to find the fucker and make him pay. This selfish person took away a father, a husband, a son, and a brother all for a few gold coins. Selfish. Pathetic.
My parents said, “God will punish him.” But I didn’t believe that. I couldn’t believe that. God let this happen, so why would God take back what he did. And I was angry with God. I was angry with my brother for leaving again, he didn’t need to. He didn’t have to. But he wanted to. He loved the adventure, and he felt he needed the money, because it was never enough to be content for him. His family was well provided for, and now they’re widowed. All they had was me, and I wasn’t much. I was a father or a lover, or any of that. I was just a fourteen year old girl sent by my parents to comfort his wife. I hated them for it. I hated everyone and everything . But mostly, I was angry at God. I hated him for doing this.
The service was short, and then they buried him. A hole in the ground, that’s what the King gave him, he didn’t care about him. Not like I cared or his wife cared, or his young daughter cared and certainly not like his unborn child cared. The baby will never meet his father, and it’s all the King’s fault. And all the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t fix this problem, couldn’t heal the sin. I hated them silently. I bit my lip, as my sister-in-law thanked people for coming, I went outside. I wanted to be alone. I closed my eyes, and the wind trickled underneath my hair tugging at it slightly but lovingly. The sun kissed the sky, and the day went on. Life went on. I wanted it to rain, I wanted the world to feel my pain; this hole left in my heart. I wanted someone to knowledge this feeling stuck in my throat, clawing at my teeth trying to escape my lips. But I didn’t bother. It was selfish. I couldn’t speak.
And that’s when someone grabbed me from behind, I turned quickly and smacked the face of the person who dared touching me. It was young Mister Frank. My eyes widened, and I stood there dumfounded. I didn’t expect him to come. The thought of him slipped my mind completely, but he made it - late as always, dirty; covered and sweat and a hard days’ work. My brother would have appreciated that. I opened my mouth to apologize, but he placed his finger on my lips and shushed me.
“How are you?”
Horrible. Angry. Bitter. “Fine.” I lied. My eyes narrowed at him, that’s what I supposed to do, keep him happy. I hated him for it, he knew it.
“I see.” He rubbed his face, my hand print apparent on his face. “Where’d you learn to hit like that?” I shrugged, a smirked slipped past my lips, despite myself. It was nice to cause someone else pain, after my heart ached. It was nice to make someone else feel a bit daft. Even if it was a painless slap. He sighed loudly, and I looked at him; really looked at him. He looked tired, circles were dark underneath his eyes, and I felt no pity for him. I felt no sympathy or remorse. I just felt anger, the same I felt for everyone else. “Look I know I didn’t know Mathew well.”
And that was just it, I couldn’t take any more of it. He said my brother’s name like he was a common everyday thing. And I had it, I had enough of everyone pretending that they knew how I had felt. How my sister-n-law felt. My parents. Nobody understood. It didn’t click right. And maybe that’s what caused it all in the first place.
“Don’t.” I hissed through my teeth. “You dare you know how I feel. Don’t relate to me. You have no idea the pain I feel!” And once it started I just couldn’t stop. “You don’t know what it’s like to have someone who was in your life every single day of it, to suddenly not be there anymore. And you have no idea how much it hurts to be okay for everyone else.” I was angry at everyone, and after the service - after everything was said and done, I was finally able to let go and I was finally able to just cry. And I did, tears started to stream down my face, and I couldn’t hold back a sob. I couldn’t hold back anything anymore. My hatred for the King, God, my future husband-the remorse in my stomach, the pain in my heart. I couldn’t hold anything back, and I couldn’t stop; no matter how much I tried.
I didn’t expect him to do anything, we had an odd relationship; Patrick and I, we’d write to each other, and talk in formal occasions - but we’d never really been alone in our six years of courtship. In fact I that was the first time I talked to him, really talked to him. The first time I was really emotional around him. Mother said composure was the key to keeping a man, and so that’s what I did. I was composed and elegant, and now he was going to break it off, he was going to trade me for someone who could keep it all together. Someone who didn’t melt. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stop sobbing.
He grabbed me, and at first I thought he was going to slap me (like my mother did so many times before) but instead he embraced me. I was surprised, though it only came out as a hiccup amongst my sobs, his embrace was tentative at first. Like he was unsure how’d I react, I tucked my face into his chest and I kept sobbing. There was a strange comfort in just crying in his arms like that, something pure that at fourteen I couldn’t describe. I felt safe and warm, I felt loved and alright. It was perfect. And when I was done; he didn’t push me away like father, or ignore me like my sister-in-law or smiled awkwardly like my brother. He lifted my head up by chin, and kissed me on my lips and not one of those pecks; a real kiss, gentle and sweet. I smiled, it lifted me up to my tippy toes. And for the first time since Mathew died, I felt okay. I felt happy.
It was the first kiss of my life, it was perfect.
Eighteen-
Some people are force to marry people they hate, they are taken from what they love and who the love for the sake of status. I guess I got lucky, because walking down that isle (wasn’t the death march) I knew I was going to be happy and I knew I was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. He pulls up my veil, and his smile is wide. And nothing matters.
I feel infinite.