A scoff of disbelief escaped Eliza’s lips.
“That idiot!” Her Father burst into anger, “Does he have no respect for anything!?”
Agatha got on her knees to beg for forgiveness, “I’m so sorry Gregory! Please forgive him! He didn’t mean to!”
Eliza’s ear became deaf. She didn’t hear anything after that. Just static, white noise. She couldn’t tell you what went through her mind at that moment, she didn’t remember after. Just that her entire world was broken open, with all her memories pouring out. “Amelia, Amelia, Amelia, Amelia…” kept repeating in her head as every picture of her face flashed in front of her. “It hurts…”her mind repeated in shock, “I can’t breathe…I can’t breathe…I can’t breathe…”
Then it was black. No sound, no sight, no thoughts. Just the pain in her chest that she could feel even in her sleep. Was it really true? Was Amelia really, gone? All of her life, all of her hard work, all of her, everything? No. No, it couldn’t be. Could it?
Her eyes crept open, sore and swollen. She didn’t know where she was for a moment, and she was disoriented and confused.
“W-where am I? What happened..?” She asked groggily, being to weak to get up.
“Lady Elizabeth!” exclaimed Martha, their middle-aged house maid, scurrying to Eliza’s side.
“Mister Connor!” she heard another house hand calling her Father, “She’s awake!” Conner being their last name.
As she looked around her room, still confused, not remembering what had happened, she felt dizzy and weak. The light hurt her eyes so she couldn’t keep them open all the way. Her Father came in in with his coat still on from the yard.
“Elizabeth!” he thundered softly, coming to her side.
“Father I-“ she suddenly recalled her last moments awake, and with it came flooding back the pain. She started to stumble out of the covers, too weak to get anywhere.
“You can’t get up you idiot!” her Father exclaimed holding back.
Tears welled up and started to stream as she began sobbing. “Amelia, let me go see her!” she cried, “I need to see her!”
But her Father just held her in place as she wailed trying to go to Amelia’s room, hoping with all her heart that she was there. Gregory’s fists tightened around Eliza’s thin arm and the pain of it pulled her to her senses that Amelia wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere, anymore. Her body fell limp into despair, in tears and unwilling to believe still. Her Father just held tight to her, and ever so slightly pulled her close to his chest. With his eyes closed and face frozen with furrowed brows, he sat there while Eliza cried every last tear her body owned. That moment lasted an eternity, and Eliza was to distraught to even realize that that was the first time in what must have been fifteen years her Father had embraced her.
That day passed, with a visit from the doctor, telling Gregory not to “Let her too much hard work for two or three days.” Gregor really didn’t know what to do with her, so he continued doing what he had plans to do.
Eliza sat in her room at the vanity the next morning, empty. Lost.
“Psst! Amelia!” Ten-year-old Eliza whispered to nine-year-old Amelia from under the table after dinner.
With a small stack of plates Amelia knelt down to see. She let out a yip as Eliza suddenly pulled her under the table and scared her.
“Shhhhhhh!” Eliza hushed her with her finger on her lips.
Amelia looked confused, rightfully so. Then Eliza started to pull something out of her apron and giving it to Amelia. Amelia saw she was pulling out cherry tarts from her dinner. Amelia was never fed those things. It wasn’t every day Eliza got them either.
“I saved my tarts for you to have them.” Eliza started hiding them in Amelia’s apron.
Amelia was shocked. “Elizabeth I can’t!”
“I said to call me Eliza! Elizabeth is what mean people call me” she pouted.
“Miss Eliza” Amelia corrected, I can’t.”
“We’ll work on that” Eliza shook her head, “Yes you can cuz’ I said so now take it.”
With that she finished stuffing Amelia’s pockets and shoved her out and took off. Leaving Amelia with no choice but to keep the sweet, tart treats for herself. That day was the first day she had ever had a cherry tart. Her favorite.
At that vanity, swollen eyes, bloodshot. Hands twitching, muscles quivering.
The rain was pouring down outside, not a flash of lighting or a boom of thunder in the distance. Twelve-year-old Eliza stared out the main room window with a mischievous look. Upstairs she was sure her Father was sleeping, sick. So it was the perfect chance. Around the corner she tiptoed past the kitchen towards Amelia’s room. She came in quiet and full of energy, grabbed Amelia’s hand, scaring her a bit, and dragged her out of the room, gesturing her to be quiet. They ran towards the back door, Eliza threw her cloak over Amelia’s shoulders since hers was warmer, and she put on Amelia’s. They ran out into the rain pouring down by the gallon, and squealed at the initial cold shock, but quickly started to splash around and play. In the mud stirring up on the ground, Eliza jumped in with no hesitation, with Amelia second guessing, but following suit. They laughed harder than they had in god knows how long, not even thinking about getting in trouble, or how they would clean up in time. They were just kids. Being kids. After the rain started to die down a bit, they gathered themselves to sneak back into the house.
“Hare we going to get caught?” Amelia questioned.
“No” said Eliza, wringing out her hair, “Of course not, we just have to be quiet.”
And quiet they were. Snuck inside, somehow kept all the mud on themselves, into where the housemaid bathed, and turned on the big copper shower head. The two of them got in clothes and all, and started to vigorously scrub down, trying to keep their mischievous giggles quiet, as they found everything funny for no reason. To Amelia’s surprise, they actually pulled it off. Dried, changed, and got back to work within an hour. And just in the nick of time too, because as Eliza was coming out of her room after changing and met her Father in the hallway getting up from his sleep. She remembered thinking that him being such a large man made him extra scary when he got angry. He was built like a six-foot-two Viking. Not the kind of man you would want to make angry or pick a fight with.
“Is your hair wet?” he said to her.
Her nerves ran wild, “I washed it Father.”
He looked at her for a nerve-wracking moment, “Ah, well done.” And went on his groggy way.
She could not explain the happiness that she felt in that victorious moment. That was a great day.
Eliza’s dead-eyed gaze crept into her reflection, seeing the mess that she was.
Thirteen-year-old Eliza came into the kitchen to Amelia washing the cups, seeming to be in pain.
“Amelia?” Eliza gently placed her hand on her shoulder, “Are you okay?”
Amelia looked down, which meant no, and said “Yes.”
“Eliza pushed the cup out of her hands into the sink, “No, tell me what’s wrong, did you get hurt?”
“No” she said, but was hesitant to tell her what was wrong with her.
“It’s okay Eliza tenderly reassured her, “You can tell me, I’ll help you.”
Eliza leaned down a bit so Amelia could whisper it to her. Then she grinned, “You should have said so.”
So she brought some water to a boil, carefully poured it into a flask, and closed up tight. With a good shake she tucked it into Amelia’s apron and cinched it up to keep it close to her stomach.
“Heat helps, and if you do this, you can do it while you’re working.”
Amelia pressed it onto her body, and the relief was visible. It was clear that that was exactly what she had needed.
“Is that better?” Eliza asked.
Amelia nodded coyly. Eliza laughed tenderly, patting her on the head gently. A close, tender sign of affection. She remembered thinking, “I would die for this girl.”
“I would die for this girl”…
Suddenly, a sort of life came back to Eliza’s soulless eyes. She stared into own reflection, with flames brewing beneath the surface of her skin. She weakly reached up and pulled her long hair to the front on each side. The sun shone in on her and her hair became aglow in its red and brown beauty. In that moment, Eliza Connor made a life decision. No one, not even her really, knew what this would turn into. But one thing was for sure.
Things were about to get real.
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