~ Prologue ~ Flora ~
* The Night Before *
Every day I woke up wishing that I could discover something new. Every night I went to bed hoping for a better tomorrow. According to the books I managed to scrounge, the rest of the world was full of passion and adventure. Somewhere over the horizon, there were interesting people. Challenges beyond matching gray thread to rough gray fabric.
But in my dull little village of Glenbert, each day stretched out as if time itself were sucking the color and life from it.
Perhaps it was that my father had rationed my food even more severely, and I was becoming exhausted. Perhaps it was working fourteen-hour days now. Or perhaps it was the shifty glances from the townsfolk finally wearing me down.
It was hard to believe that my own father would spread rumors that I was some sort of simpleton. All because I wouldn't marry the man he had attempted to betroth me to. Now he was also calling me a trollop, which was completely senseless since he was still trying to find a man to wed me.
Even at the tender age of nineteen years old, life had already beaten me down to the point where I did not dare to dream of anything better. Yet even with my horrid, dismal, passionless life, I could not bring myself to marry Thomas Glazenby, a rich yet disturbing man in his fifties.
I would not be traded simply to have my father in the Glazenby family's good graces. I could not build a life with a man who wanted nothing more than to practically tether me to his home so that I may do his bidding and bear his children.
Women rarely had the chance to stand up for themselves, but there must be a way to have a tiny shred of my own life.
I almost dreamed of being a schoolteacher like my mother had been long ago. I would love to teach children how to read, and develop a love of stories. But my father said it would not bring in enough money to pay for my food and clothing.
I almost dreamed of working in the bakery, as I’d always loved to cook. But my father had said that the baker's family were from the bad neighborhood over the river and had a terrible reputation.
Occasionally I was concerned with my own reputation. My father seemed to take every opportunity to spread lies about me to whoever would listen. I had never dared enter the pub where the men would drink ale and spin their tales until they were blurry. I knew how easily tales became lies. How some men longed to appear rich with knowledge, and faked it for the sake of holding the attention of the table.
A few times when I was feeling particularly brave, I would sneak out at night and hide under the open windows of the alehouse. My imagination would swim while listening to the adventures of the men who had sailed farther than we could ever have seen from the docks.
There were towns and cities so far away that the people had different foods. Different clothing. It sounded like some people were very rich, and had money to spend on frivolous things like decorative hats and exotic teas from the far East.
My heart ached for the opportunity to meet someone from afar. It had always been difficult for me to make conversation, as I’d always been the quiet sort. But maybe I could be brave enough to ask questions. How I would love to learn about these other lands.
Instead, I worked with my mother, sewing the most basic clothing, sheets, slipcovers, and staples for the local shops. I was surrounded by piles of cream, gray, and black fabric at all times. I swore to myself that someday I would fashion a brightly colored dress, like the wealthy women wore on Sundays. Yet I would wear mine for no occasion at all.
I almost dared to dream of a day and a place where I could have a bit of room to breathe freely. A life without every action analyzed by my overbearing father and his archaic views.
I knew that I was a nice girl. Proper, polite, and quiet. Exactly what I’d been taught. There was nothing shameful in wanting to learn about the world. Books were not sinful, and neither was asking questions of the neighbors and their travels. I was getting tired of having to cover my tracks and sneak around just to cross town to borrow a book, or trade buttons with a fellow seamstress.
I didn’t know at what point I would be allowed to live my own life. There were rumors that the Langston brothers were finishing their schooling, and at least one of them would be coming back to the village. I could well imagine that my father would latch onto them immediately, and try once again to marry me off.
My shyness was frustrating enough with people I knew fairly well, and ran into at the market. Suddenly being handed to a strange man to… I couldn’t even finish the thought. I knew at some point I’d be married and have to give myself to a man. Of all the outlandish dreams I tried to sweep out of my mind, the hope for a nice, honorable man who would be kind to me was the most important of all.
Mother had been married off to father to join their parent’s properties together, back in the day. I don’t recall ever seeing my mother give a genuine smile to my father. It was heartbreaking.
Longing for a life of laughter, and bright colors, and new adventures… I may as well have wished for the moon itself.
As the pale blue-white orb began to peek up over the horizon, I looked down at the darkened docks from my tiny bedroom window. I tried to think of its faint light as a beacon to the outside world. For the thousandth time, I wished upon the moon. Although I knew it was a silly superstition, I wished for the chance for a bigger, better life.
The moon ignored me, rising slowly over the sea.