Faynman
New Member
Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert lived in the outskirts of the capital, to the east, where bustling flea markets, commerce, and merchants were replaced with sparse housing, tranquil silence, and wide plains of great green nothing. A long, shoddy road that had its roots in the capital led to the Cuthbert's commune: a large acre of land that housed no more than ten families. The road took travelers a full day's ride, in a tunnel of endless trees and tall grass, before seeing any sign of civilization. This, and the fact that the couple only needed to travel during harvest season, meant that it was rare for them to see visitors and just as rare for them to go out to visit. However, those who ventured down the road would find their visit quite rewarding, particularly during harvest season. The road ended in a hall of apple blossoms which greeted all those who entered with a warm blanket of pink flowers that covered the dirt like snow. Across the trees was a lake. A warped reflection of the sun shined ever so brightly on its surface, and crystal clear water reflected rays that bathed nearby fishermen and wildlife in incandescent light. This was a different world from the city. One that Laurianne had used as her place of solace for as long as she could remember.
Laurianne sat inside the kitchen of the Cuthbert home, a three bedroom cottage made of graying brick, gazing out at a prairie. She leaned her elbows on top of the desk in front of her, resting her chin on a net of meshed fingers. The quill she had been using sat firmly between her thumb and palm, and she showed no signs of discomfort as it brushed along the side of her jaw and towards the edge of her eye. She looked downwards. A half written letter laid next to a full pot of ink besides her right elbow. Written on the top left corner was a methodical ‘To My Dear Marilla and Matthew Cuthberts’, below a plethora of scribbled out sentences.
It was only a month ago that she had gotten news of the High King's decree to wed her with Baron Brigham. Unlike other girls, she hated the idea of marriage. It made her feel she had to relinquish her hobbies, passions, and desires to satisfy a man she had no love for. She reminded herself of yesterday, the night before the wedding. Her mother went to bed early for the ceremonial preparations and rehearsals at dawn. She was instructed to do the same but couldn't shake the feeling that she was holding onto her world with a finger. So she paced. She paced back and forth. Her mind reading through her list of things that made the Baron unsuitable for marriage: too short, too thin, too many freckles. Finally deciding to act, she rode for the Cuthberts at midnight. The cacophony of croaks and howls terrified her throughout the night.
She turned her attention outside the window. Grass stretched out across the horizon like a massive green ocean, and summer winds brushed the land, making the grass look like soft bristles. Losing herself, she resurfaced an old memory. She must've been no more than ten at the time. Matthew had made a comment about how manual labor was unfit for someone of her stature, and little Laurianne, as hot-headed and arrogant as she was then, had taken it as an insult and made up her mind to prove her competence by challenging Matthew to a milking competition. After Laurianne had finally realized she couldn't get a drop inside her bucket, she kicked it down and began to cry profusely. Her tears washed away the sticky coating of dried milk on her hands. Laurianne road home that day with a mission. She wanted to learn how to milk cows, till land, and sow seeds better than anyone. She worked towards this goal fervidly and voraciously consumed volumes of farmers almanacs and how-tos. During her next visit, the Cuthberts were admittedly impressed when she lectured them on harvest cycles and proper fertilization techniques. She grinned and jumped in joy when they praised her. They spent the rest of the afternoon exchanging facts. Surprisingly, she was all too eager for Matthew to point out any holes in her knowledge and made a note to herself to remember them in the future. The nostalgia made Laurianne's heart swell and filled her stomach with an unexplainable warmth. Although she was rightfully embarrassed at her old brash and childish behaviour, she joyed in the thought that there were people who loved her enough to deal with her constant tantrums. Memories like these were coming back more often now. She wondered if they’d be her last.
"Laurianne!" A muffled voice broke Laurianne's spell.
Beginning to return to reality, Laurianne blinked twice and jolted in the voice's direction. The suddenness made her knock over the ink pot. A resounding thud followed its impact. Before she knew it, black tendrils had covered the sheet of paper in front of her. Laurianne let out an irate ‘tsk’ before she pinched a corner of the sheet and lifted it up. It was heavy from saturation, and driplings oozed down to stain her desk. After a brief moment, she twisted her lips, exhaled, and turned her head to notice a large blotch of ink right beneath the dinner table. A dark trail encircled the blotch and thinned out as it reached the empty ink pot.
"Laurianne!" The voice called again.
"Coming!" Laurianne allowed the ink soaked paper to drop onto the floor as she rushed towards the front door. Two hands gripping the sides of her skirt.
“What took you so long?” Marilla stood with slightly furrowed brows and a bucket in each hand. White bumps rose over the bucket’s edge like hills across the horizon, and this made Laurianne curious. “Take these and bring them into the kitchen,” Marilla gestured the buckets towards Laurianne.
Laurianne looked downwards to see the buckets filled to the brim with eggs. Eyes widened with surprise, she let out a childlike squeal. “Wow Marilla! There’s so many. How did you get so much?” She asked, keeping her gaze on the buckets as she took them away.
A bead of sweat rolled down Marilla's cheek, and she brushed her face against the sleeve of her blouse to scratch her cheeks and the edge of her wrinkly eyes. “Nevermind that. What have you been doing?” Marilla’s hands were on her hips now like she was about to lecture. Soot coated her hands with a grayish hue and darkened the area between her fingernails. While they both wore similar attires, Marilla couldn’t look any more different from the young girl infront of her. Marilla’s peasant blouse was grimy, soaked in sweat, and filled with dark brown patches from a hard day’s work. She wore her sleeves rolled up from mobility and her raven black hair tied to a short bun. Laurianne, on the other hand, wore her pleasant blouse according to the style of today’s youths: unrolled, frilly, and clean. She had small twin braids at the top of her auburn head that trickled and merged into a long ponytail.
“I was writing a letter, Marilla” Laurianne said, turning her head towards Marilla and slightly downwards like she was expecting something.
"I have no problem with you riding in the middle of the night for a surprise visit, but I won’t let you in again if you spend all your time writing letters instead of helping me and Matthew,” Marilla said, sighing afterwards as if the delivery was painful.
"I'm sorry Marilla. Let me help you make dinner tonight," Laurianne said. Her lips curved into a slight frown. She knew Marilla would never lock her out, but the thought of the Cuthberts shutting her away in a time of need made her feel a needle stab at her heart.
"Well then if you want to prepare meals for me and Matthew, you better finish your chores quickly," said Marilla, turning to point at a series of empty buckets leaning against the barn behind her. As if Laurianne had nothing to say, Marilla began cleaning her hands with her apron and made her way towards the field.
Laurianne watched Marilla walk away into the distance. Many years ago, she hated Marilla's sharp tongue, which was the cause for a small portion of her tantrums, but she thought it endearing now. It was weird, she reflected, but she preferred to be noticed and scolded by Marilla than neglected by her mother. Feeling rejuvenated, Laurianne filled her thoughts with the pleasant conversations and catching up she'd have with the Cuthberts during tonight's dinner, which allowed her to finish her chores with haste. An occasional itch, however, nagged at her to say she had forgotten something. She’d stop to think, but all she could remember was that it was something in the kitchen.
Laurianne sat inside the kitchen of the Cuthbert home, a three bedroom cottage made of graying brick, gazing out at a prairie. She leaned her elbows on top of the desk in front of her, resting her chin on a net of meshed fingers. The quill she had been using sat firmly between her thumb and palm, and she showed no signs of discomfort as it brushed along the side of her jaw and towards the edge of her eye. She looked downwards. A half written letter laid next to a full pot of ink besides her right elbow. Written on the top left corner was a methodical ‘To My Dear Marilla and Matthew Cuthberts’, below a plethora of scribbled out sentences.
It was only a month ago that she had gotten news of the High King's decree to wed her with Baron Brigham. Unlike other girls, she hated the idea of marriage. It made her feel she had to relinquish her hobbies, passions, and desires to satisfy a man she had no love for. She reminded herself of yesterday, the night before the wedding. Her mother went to bed early for the ceremonial preparations and rehearsals at dawn. She was instructed to do the same but couldn't shake the feeling that she was holding onto her world with a finger. So she paced. She paced back and forth. Her mind reading through her list of things that made the Baron unsuitable for marriage: too short, too thin, too many freckles. Finally deciding to act, she rode for the Cuthberts at midnight. The cacophony of croaks and howls terrified her throughout the night.
She turned her attention outside the window. Grass stretched out across the horizon like a massive green ocean, and summer winds brushed the land, making the grass look like soft bristles. Losing herself, she resurfaced an old memory. She must've been no more than ten at the time. Matthew had made a comment about how manual labor was unfit for someone of her stature, and little Laurianne, as hot-headed and arrogant as she was then, had taken it as an insult and made up her mind to prove her competence by challenging Matthew to a milking competition. After Laurianne had finally realized she couldn't get a drop inside her bucket, she kicked it down and began to cry profusely. Her tears washed away the sticky coating of dried milk on her hands. Laurianne road home that day with a mission. She wanted to learn how to milk cows, till land, and sow seeds better than anyone. She worked towards this goal fervidly and voraciously consumed volumes of farmers almanacs and how-tos. During her next visit, the Cuthberts were admittedly impressed when she lectured them on harvest cycles and proper fertilization techniques. She grinned and jumped in joy when they praised her. They spent the rest of the afternoon exchanging facts. Surprisingly, she was all too eager for Matthew to point out any holes in her knowledge and made a note to herself to remember them in the future. The nostalgia made Laurianne's heart swell and filled her stomach with an unexplainable warmth. Although she was rightfully embarrassed at her old brash and childish behaviour, she joyed in the thought that there were people who loved her enough to deal with her constant tantrums. Memories like these were coming back more often now. She wondered if they’d be her last.
"Laurianne!" A muffled voice broke Laurianne's spell.
Beginning to return to reality, Laurianne blinked twice and jolted in the voice's direction. The suddenness made her knock over the ink pot. A resounding thud followed its impact. Before she knew it, black tendrils had covered the sheet of paper in front of her. Laurianne let out an irate ‘tsk’ before she pinched a corner of the sheet and lifted it up. It was heavy from saturation, and driplings oozed down to stain her desk. After a brief moment, she twisted her lips, exhaled, and turned her head to notice a large blotch of ink right beneath the dinner table. A dark trail encircled the blotch and thinned out as it reached the empty ink pot.
"Laurianne!" The voice called again.
"Coming!" Laurianne allowed the ink soaked paper to drop onto the floor as she rushed towards the front door. Two hands gripping the sides of her skirt.
“What took you so long?” Marilla stood with slightly furrowed brows and a bucket in each hand. White bumps rose over the bucket’s edge like hills across the horizon, and this made Laurianne curious. “Take these and bring them into the kitchen,” Marilla gestured the buckets towards Laurianne.
Laurianne looked downwards to see the buckets filled to the brim with eggs. Eyes widened with surprise, she let out a childlike squeal. “Wow Marilla! There’s so many. How did you get so much?” She asked, keeping her gaze on the buckets as she took them away.
A bead of sweat rolled down Marilla's cheek, and she brushed her face against the sleeve of her blouse to scratch her cheeks and the edge of her wrinkly eyes. “Nevermind that. What have you been doing?” Marilla’s hands were on her hips now like she was about to lecture. Soot coated her hands with a grayish hue and darkened the area between her fingernails. While they both wore similar attires, Marilla couldn’t look any more different from the young girl infront of her. Marilla’s peasant blouse was grimy, soaked in sweat, and filled with dark brown patches from a hard day’s work. She wore her sleeves rolled up from mobility and her raven black hair tied to a short bun. Laurianne, on the other hand, wore her pleasant blouse according to the style of today’s youths: unrolled, frilly, and clean. She had small twin braids at the top of her auburn head that trickled and merged into a long ponytail.
“I was writing a letter, Marilla” Laurianne said, turning her head towards Marilla and slightly downwards like she was expecting something.
"I have no problem with you riding in the middle of the night for a surprise visit, but I won’t let you in again if you spend all your time writing letters instead of helping me and Matthew,” Marilla said, sighing afterwards as if the delivery was painful.
"I'm sorry Marilla. Let me help you make dinner tonight," Laurianne said. Her lips curved into a slight frown. She knew Marilla would never lock her out, but the thought of the Cuthberts shutting her away in a time of need made her feel a needle stab at her heart.
"Well then if you want to prepare meals for me and Matthew, you better finish your chores quickly," said Marilla, turning to point at a series of empty buckets leaning against the barn behind her. As if Laurianne had nothing to say, Marilla began cleaning her hands with her apron and made her way towards the field.
Laurianne watched Marilla walk away into the distance. Many years ago, she hated Marilla's sharp tongue, which was the cause for a small portion of her tantrums, but she thought it endearing now. It was weird, she reflected, but she preferred to be noticed and scolded by Marilla than neglected by her mother. Feeling rejuvenated, Laurianne filled her thoughts with the pleasant conversations and catching up she'd have with the Cuthberts during tonight's dinner, which allowed her to finish her chores with haste. An occasional itch, however, nagged at her to say she had forgotten something. She’d stop to think, but all she could remember was that it was something in the kitchen.
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