Secret Planning

Secret Planning

A Story by mae23

With my ear pressed against the wall, chills run through my body not only from the breeze ruffling my thin nightgown, but also from knowing that I am not supposed to be here. As I struggle to hear the whispering voices through the door I wonder if the glass-to-the-wall trick really does work. A loud THUMP against the door I’m leaning on interrupts my thoughts. Floorboards creak as I jump back and I freeze for a moment waiting for the door to swing open and for me to get caught. But the thump has seemed to surprise everybody because the voices I am listening to raise immediately.

I pick my mother’s voice out of the yelling and hear “She’s 17 for Christ’s sake! Mr. Beach say something to this absurdity!” The noise level lowers as the rest of the room’s occupants await my father’s address.

“Well, uh” my father stammers. I can picture the flabbergasted look on his face. The same one I see when I pull silly pranks on him or my mother catches him off-guard, as I suppose she has just done. “Yes, she is just 17, but she is not a child any more.”

“So I’m supposed to just marry my child off simply because she is now old enough bear children of her own? This is insanity.”

Marry her off?? My head screams. White spots start to appear in my blurred vision. I hear my loud, thumping heartbeat in my brain and I press hard against my temples willing the pain away. I knew this was coming, I really did, but this soon? I turned 17 two and a half weeks ago, I thought I had a little more time!

I stumble backwards and catch myself on the wooden railing of our old wooden staircase. Dropping to the bottom step I put my head between my bent knees and feel thick, heavy blood rush to my brain. The darkness of the hallway swallows me as my head continues to swim. I hear another THUMP and think Did someone else hit the door? Again my vision goes blurry but I make out figures rushing out of the door I was pressed against seconds ago. Although all the figures rushing towards me are sideways.

Soft fingers caress my face and my mother’s gentle touch seems to ease the pain in my head. As she speaks to me I cannot understand the words but I can hear that the anger and urgency I had heard in her voice earlier has disappeared leaving behind only worry. The hallway air feels stuffy and the coldness of the night is lost to me as my nightgown sticks to my body with sweat. I feel the strong arms of my father lift me up by my armpits and my bare feet scrape against the step I had just been sitting on. All light fades as I am placed in my bed under thick sheets. The open window lets in a chilled breeze and the hair not stuck to my forehead dances in the wind.

My mother and father leave my room and I am left alone. But the bedroom door does not close all the way, allowing me to hear the conversation from down stairs continue, although this time it sounds as if it is reaching an end.

“It’s settled, no more arguing” my father’s voice declares. “She will meet the Duke of Hartford tomorrow and the wedding date will be set.”

Another voice I do not recognize grunts in agreement and the only fight left in my mother is a sad, disappointed sigh.

© 2017 mae23


Author's Note

mae23
Please be critical.

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Reviews

I love the way you describe your fears and feelings, and all the things you expected came life.

Posted 6 Years Ago


mae23

6 Years Ago

Thank you very much! And thank you for the review
You provide an interesting story. It starts off and for the most part has the reader sympathetic to the teenager and her dilemma. The twist you insert at the end "She will meet the Duke . . . . ." certainly leaves one wondering and also hoping to find out more.

Posted 6 Years Ago


mae23

6 Years Ago

Thank you I'm glad it was intriguing
I like this piece. I feel like it could have come out of a historical romance novel. Actually I think it could have come from any novel really.

Posted 6 Years Ago


mae23

6 Years Ago

Thank you very much!

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Added on July 15, 2017
Last Updated on July 20, 2017

Author

mae23
mae23

NY



About
"My memories are the only places I'll ever see any of it again, and I wonder if this is what writers are supposed to do, rebuild places it in there minds - places long gone, places that disappear, and.. more..

Writing