June 15th 1812 – Three Days Until the War
Tying up my dress, one that I’ve had for years, sighing internally seeing that the already- short length was starting to climb above my ankles.
The smell of breakfast wafted up the stairs into the small loft. The smell of cooking porridge always reminded me of my sweetest memory, my grandmother cooking large pots full of porridge for the poor, but always remembering to save me a bowl if I helped out.
I climbed down the narrow staircase into our tiny kitchen, keeping my head bowed as I greeted my mother.
“Hello, mother. How was your sleep?” I asked the usual question.
“Peaceful,” She replied formally, picking up the dishcloth that fell to the floor.
I could see that she was in dire need for a new dress of her own, the one she had was falling to pieces! A slight rip in the back showed her undergarments, and the hem at the bottom was fraying. She turned to stirring the porridge she was making for breakfast.
I sat down into the old wooden chair at the dinning table, facing mother.
“Mother...” I paused, trying to find a way to say this without sounding vain, “when do you think we can have some new clothing?”
She stopped stirring, muscles tense, and staring strait ahead at the wall.
“Mother?”
She grit her teeth, whipped her head around to give me a scolding, “you know we do not have enough money for clothing! Barely enough for food!”
I looked down, “Sorry, but I hate wearing old clothing! Its ripping!” I showed her a long rip from when I tripped in the woods a couple of days ago.
Mother sighed, and walked towards me to give me a consoling hug, “It’s okay, tell you what? I’ll get you a new dress, on your birthday!”
I thought for a moment, “My birthday is so far away, mama, it wont be until July 15, 1812!”
“A month isn’t that long to wait for, especially if you have fun...” she smiled, adding playfully, turning back to making “or if you help me with the garden! Becoming seventeen is huge! Oh, and tomorrow were going to town”
I sighed, my lips turning into a pout thinking about clumps of dirt staining my hands brown, and shivered.
Getting up to get some bread from the breadbox, I opened it, I could see there was only a quarter of a stale loaf left, mother never ever let us go with half a loaf, much less stale bread! Something serious must be coming…
I closed the breadbox and sat down.
Mother finished the porridge and scooped a small bit into my bowl, a large amount into Father’s and the rest into hers.
Placing the pot on the stove she made her way to the door leading outside to call father in.
“Harold! Time for Breakfast! Come and Eat!”
“Yes Mary!” I could hear his distant voice.
Mother sat down across from me at the table, whispering a quick prayer for herself and I.
“So, Elena…” Mother started as she stirred her porridge to eat.
I glanced up at mother, admiring how her golden locks of hair framed her face, and how she always seemed to be positive, even in the hardest of times. I always envied that. My hair was only a deep chocolate brown, and my eyes were a dull gray, nothing that made me special.
“Yes mama?”
“This is a little hard to say, but a wealthy family living down in America has requested for you to marry their son.” Mother looked into my eyes, willing me to understand.
But I did not.
“What?!” I practically screamed, outraged.
I stood up, both hands clutching the table so hard that my knuckles turned white.
“You couldn’t- can’t- it’s my…” I sputtered.
“Oh Honey,” mother got up too, looking at me with concern.
“But mom I’m only sixteen!”
“This American family can-“
“wait, wait, wait, wait… did you say AMERICAN?!”
“I did, but-“
“I thought we were going to war with the Americans, How could you even THINK of agreeing to throw away my life to marry one of them!?”
“Elena! Stop shouting at your mother!” I heard a deep, commanding voice say.
I looked up to see my six foot nine father tower above me, standing between mother and I.
“Yes father,” I muttered, and looked down.
“My family should not bicker like cats.”
Mother and I both nodded solemnly.
“Elena,” Father looked at me with concern, his dark brown hair falling over his eyes, “If we cannot find you a suitable husband, we will all die. There is almost no food left. I know he and his family are American, but Elena, your mother and I believe this is our only ticket to happiness. And yes Elena, there is going to be a war, they recruited me today.”
“Harold, No! Your bad back! Remember the fall you took, last year? Oh Harold!” Mother slipped into her seat, her hands covering her face.
“I know Elena, but our country needs us, Canada needs us!”
I sat down to finish my now cold porridge.
Father was the last to sit down, but as soon as he sat, mother and I could both tell he wouldn’t change his mind about anything.
Also, why does the year have to be so explicitly specified? I don't go around saying the year in which my next birthday is; the date and month is sufficient.
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