The beginnings of a story.....
He stood outside the carriage, staring at it wonderingly. In his memory, an image floated slowly to his eyes, one where he’s stood, another lifetime ago, outside a different carriage. With his mother. She was beautiful then, no more or less than ever before, with her wavy blonde hair bouncing as if the breath of the gods always blew across it at the precise angle. Her blue eyes always seemed to reflect the greatest oceans known to man, sparkling and shining, full of joy and freedom and laughter. One could never know from looking into her carefree eyes that she woke every morning fearing for her life as well as her son’s, that in her mind, every stranger in the hollow world of 1886 London posed a potential death threat. Her eyes did not tell her story, as authors claimed eyeballs always should, but instead took on a certain façade.
This was the image that came to haunt Tom now, the apparent last time he’d seen his mother, as she paid the carriage driver a sum of pounds and lifter him into the buggy, whispering goodbye. He had just turned nine and did not understand why she looked so sad nor where he was going. Tom had assumed he was merely being taken around for a ride, perhaps around town, and would arrive back in time for dinner, so his mother could give him a piece of bread and kiss him good night as she always did. Instead, he was taken to his Uncle Jack’s and apprenticed under him for five years in the dull art of tailoring.
Once Tom had earned a reasonable sum, which even then was hardly sufficient, he’d left his uncle’s home in the outskirts and returned to London. There he’d tried to make good on all he learned of tailoring, but it proved more difficult than he’d anticipated. He was kicked out of his first job after just two days and failed to last a full week at another.
It was not that Tom was incapable of doing the job, he found out, but rather that he lacked the overall work experience. Feeling dejected and slightly desperate, Tom could not understand this reasoning; if one could only work after gaining proper experience yet not get a job without experience, how could one achieve anything at all?
He’d at last had to settle for a job that required no experience whatsoever: paper delivery. During that seven-month stint, he awoke each morning before dawn and truly, he felt, before a reasonable time. He’d walk the two miles to the printing shop, gather the deliveries in his bag, and set out on the owner’s rickety bicycle, which Tom felt made his job more dangerous than any possible one in a factory.
Since only the rich had their papers delivered, Tom had the rare opportunity to become acquainted with some of London’s most brilliant. Of course, he only saw them from a distance, as he’d dealt strictly with their servants for payments. However, the kind ones would wave once in a while as he passed, making him feel as important as a fourteen-year-old could.
After he felt he’d served enough time with such a talentless job, he’d returned to looking for a job in tailoring, now that he had the proper “experience.” He’d been offered a full-time job on the spot as soon as he’d mentioned he knew were most of London’s aristocrats lived and did not mind making deliveries.
It happened after about three months at the job. A would-be gorgeous lady rushed into the store, her face plastered with stress and worry. She’d asked the boss, Mr. Daniels, whether he made wedding dresses. When he’d replied yes, she’d hurriedly went on to specify that the material must be of the finest cotton and of a yellow color with a silk white collar, and was this possible? Of course, Mr. Daniel’s had replied yes and the lady had nearly burst into tears of relief as she’d breathlessly recounted she’d been all over town and no one else would even hear of a silk collar.
Once Mr. Daniels had recorded all the specific measurements, the lady, who by now had let it be known she was called Miss Amanda Whitney, asked to have it delivered to the Burgeon House. Mr. Daniels had glanced at Tom and he’d apologetically told her that he already had two deliveries booked for today. Miss Whitney would hear none of that though, and she’d snapped open her purse and shoved a thick stack of pounds into Mr. Daniel’s surprised hands before coolly saying, “Before 4:30, if you don’t mind, gentlemen,” and walking out the door.
When four o’clock had come around, Tom had bid farewell to Mr. Daniels and set out for the Burgeon House. Everyone in London, of course, knew the Burgeon House was home to Charles Smith, the building financer of nearly the entire north side of the city. Tom had been excited to be going there, even if it was just to ring the bell and offer a bag holding a yellow and white wedding dress to a servant. The homes of the rich had always fascinated him, if for no other reason than the success of the people who lived there.
Tom had arrived at the house at 4:20. He’d been stopped at the front gate by the guard but been pointed to the front door once he’d explained his purpose. Walking up the long winding path, he’d watched the gargantuan yards, as rich people’s yards should. As he’d craned his head around the endless grass fields, he saw a group of older young girls playing with a slightly older lady down by the first gate he’d crossed. The lady looked to be in her early thirties, with light-colored hair and a fair smile. The young girls stood making a crown out of dandelions and placing it on the lady’s hair, who laughed and accepted the gift kindly.
Watching the scene, Tom had thought the wedding dress must be for her, suddenly understanding why Miss Whitney had ordered such precise colors and materials. He’d found himself at the end of the long path and hurried up the brick steps. At the front door, he’d been spared the need to announce his arrival, as he’d been greeted immediately by a servant. She’d seized the bag out of his hands and shooed him off, slamming the door rudely in his face.
He’d tread back down towards the entrance, now walking slightly faster, thinking of the other two deliveries he had yet to make. Tom had raised his hand in acknowledgement to the guard as he left the premises but had only received a cold stare in return. He’d shrugged, wondering why he bothered being nice to rich people at all.
Now outside the premises, he’d turned to look at the house once more before, when his eyes fell on the fair lady, and the laughing young kids now rolling about in the grass. He had stood and looked more closely at the lady, watching the sun reflect her wavy blonde hair. At that moment, she’d inclined her head and caught his glance. Ordinarily, Tom’s first thought would have been to apologize immediately for rudely staring but that was not what he did at all. Instead, his senses had been shocked stupid as he’d looked back at the lady’s bright, sparkling blue eyes and realized how beautiful and familiar she looked.
C-could it be? He’d suddenly wanted to wave, shout, do something to find out if she was –
I have written more at this point, but I'm not gonna post it all yet at the risk of people seeing how long it is and suddenly not wanting to read it all. If you like what you've read, please tell me and leave some crit, and I'll post more.
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