Priscilla woke to a feeling that something wasn't right. She opened her eyes to her dark room, split by narrow cracks of light that shone between the edges of blinds that struggled to hold the late morning sun at bay. The house was quiet, but that was hardly unusual. Perhaps she had over slept on one of the few days her mother had not stopped in to rouse her during her morning routine? She really needed to stop staying up so late, deep in books. It was really quite distressing to be out of sorts and groggy all morning when there were lessons to prepare for.
Crawling from her bed, she studiously made it in the dim light before she went over to the wash basin to freshen up. Her brow furrowed at the room temperature water meeting her porcelain hands.
Odd, Miss Libby always brought warm water up from the kitchen in the morning for her to wash with, even if she did sleep late. Had she really slept that long? Perhaps the servant needed a reminder of her duties. Quickly and uncomfortably, she washed. Her stomach grumbled at the late hour for breakfast and she left her room, still in her night gown and cap.
Surely it could not be late enough in the day she would be scorned by her mother for laying about...
Exiting her room, the hall was dark too. The window at the end of the hall had not been opened and the lamps were unlit. It was very peculiar indeed. Priscilla recalled the last time something like this happened, one of their previous servants, a miserable old woman, died in the night. The other servants hardly did anything for a week in a languorous morose. She dreaded the thought of what would be left undone if that were the case.
As she walked down the hall to the front stairs, she heard the sounds of light crying and soft voices drifting up from the parlor; she grimaced. Slowly picking her way down the stairs she strained to hear what was being said.
"Now, now, Miss. Everything is going to be all right." The familiar brassy tone assured. "Miss. Gardner will take care of everything. She has a good head on her shoulders."
'Miss Gardner'? Why were they talking about her?
"Once you have had a few moments to calm yourself, you can go fetch her, and I will break the news." Another less familiar voice informed more than assured.
Who are they going to fetch??
Priscilla rounded the bottom of the stairs at the landing and headed through the open French doors to the parlor. Miss Libby was sitting on one of the sofa's, mothers favorite; printed with flowers on a pink background, dabbing her red eyes with a hand kerchief. Priscilla cocked an eyebrow; the servants were not allowed to sit on the sofa's. Especially when they had visitors! Mister Jeb knelt beside her, big hand on her shoulder, looking grim despite the reassuring smile that bent his lips.
Mister Wendell Patrick Gardener, her uncle, her father's brother, stood opposite the small coffee table, looking rather uncomfortable at the display. He seemed more than happy to turn away from the pair and face Priscilla as she entered the room. Miss Libby let out a renewed sob, apparently at the sight of
her, and Mister Jeb's eyes dropped to the floor.
Odd. Uncle Wendell did come to visit often, but only with her father. He had never shown any interest in the servants before...
She felt anger begin to rise in her chest. Not only had Libby not preformed her morning duties, but now she caterwauled while guests were in their home! She doubted that her father had even been informed he had a visitor yet! Pushing it down, she gracefully curtsied to her uncle, as a proper lady should; her cheeks reddening slightly at remembering she was still in her night gown.
"Good morning Uncle, shall I fetch my father for you?"
In truth, she had no idea where her father was yet, but someone had to remember their senses this mourning.
A grim look crossed her uncles face. Priscilla didn't understand why. Had she done something wrong? Surely he wouldn't hold her responsible for this pair's lack of decorum. That coal of anger grew hotter in her belly.
"I am afraid Priscilla." He began carefully. Still looking uncomfortable. She opened her mouth to begin an apology for the failings of their servants when he continued. "Your mother and father. Died last night. Their buggy overturned."
A fresh wail escaped from Miss Libby and Uncle Wendell continued. Priscilla didn't register anything after that. Something clicked inside her, and she suddenly felt very heavy.
The following days, she didn't register how many there were, blurred together. One moment she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the next, out in the blazing sun the sounds of horse shoes on cobbles stones echoing in her ears and distant conversation. An office with the smell of Tabaco smoke and the rhythmic voice of a spectacled man reading to her. She didn't hear what he was saying, but the movements of his mouth, the flashing of yellow teeth made her feel ill.
Then she was in a field, the warm air carried floral scents and the sounds of birds. Two beautiful wooden boxes stood open, side by side. Her Father in one, her Mother in the other.
They looked so, peaceful. It felt like a lifetime since she had last seen them. She missed them dearly. Her chest tightened and she gasped. An arm wrapped around her, pulling her into the side of a black suited man, and she cried. Between ragged breaths she burried her face into the chest of the man holding her tight. She never knew anything could hurt this badly.
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