This Monday Morning
This Monday morning seemed harder than the last. The young mistress wouldn't wake with as much joy as she had the day before. She would sit still, some excitement in her voice as she chatted with her nannies and maids as they bathed her for the day. That excitement would build as her hair was carefully curled over the next hour and then neatly arranged with much attention on top of her head. Her black locks were now delicately arranged, and much care was taken as she slipped into her newest dress. This was a gift from the young lady next door, pink fabric with bows and laces and ribbons decorating it. The skirt was full, the lace intricate, and the bows of silk that were masterfully tied. The dress had come with matching glows of a paler pink lace and a parasol of similar color. As she sat there in front of her silver vanity bedecked with emerald she admired the dress her friend had sent her. When the butler arrived with the regular reports she would nod politely and give instructions every now and then, which he would dutifully note. He was soon sent away by her nannies and maids as the emerald tiara he had made was rested upon the nest of curls on her head. She would take her place in the green sitting room on the leftmost couch of a pale sea blue. His favorite book in hand, which he had read to her countless times, was softly read aloud as she waited for him to arrive. Today she was more desperately hopeful, her birthday not even a week away. And so the rattle of carriage wheels or thuds of horses hooves had her quickly jumping from her seat in excitement as she rushed to the window to see if it was him.
(5) This Sunday Morning
This Sunday morning the little mistress would be up before the sun, unable to sleep due to her excitement at what was to come. She would sit on the edge of her large four-poster bed until the maids entered and opened the heavy damask curtains. As her large quarters were flooded with the early morning light, she would jump from her bed in pure delight. The maids would be hurried in their regular morning cleaning, the kitchen rushed to prepare her morning meal, and the butlers were quick to enter her room to serve her as the sun rose. There was much-excited chatter throughout the House of the Cadells, servants rushing this way and that as they hopefully prepared for his arrival for his return home. The most bustling was, of course, in the young lady’s rooms. The nannies chitters and coos as they bathed her in the finest soaps and brushed through her silken black locks with an ivory brush. Their talk today was about the birthday that she would soon be celebrating, one that she would hopefully not be celebrating alone again. She was dressed and made up in only her finest, as she was every Sunday so that she would be able to properly greet him. By the time the sun had fully risen she was dressed in a soft, simple, yet elegant silk dress with her long hair brushed into a gentle sheen as it hung down her back. His trinkets in hand or around her neck as the sun slipped through the slatted windows and bounced off of the emeralds that decorated her. She waited there, staring out onto the beautiful spring day as the sun rose higher into the sky. The orchards were blossoming as his favorite season came to its peak. The gentle pink and green blooms would start to scatter their petals soon, a perfect time for his arrival. The sun would carry on through the sky, slowly setting in front of the house. He hadn't come again today, but she stayed there until the moon was high into the sky, unable to walk away.
(4) Every Saturday Morning
Every Saturday morning she would be filled with excitement. Today she had written a letter to the young lady next door, informing her of the good news. The letter that arrived yesterday was written by the young mistress's uncle, a man who shared no relation to her but was his best friend and most trusted confidant. She was sure today more than any of the Saturdays before, that he would truly be arriving soon. As she was primed that morning she picked out the dress and jewels that she would wear for his arrival. As the servants stood below her as she spoke from the landing leading to their rooms she gave suggestions and specifications for how everything should be for his return, how it all needed to be absolute perfection for when he arrived home after so long. She would spend the whole day going over everything that was being done. Making sure that the tables and rooms and curtains had been cleaned, and that the stables and gardens and feeders had been refreshed and tidied. The mistress would select plates and food and table cloth for his first meal home in nearly ten years. She wanted it all to be perfect, her joy and hope were soaring high as she did what she could to set it all up. Not only had that letter been written by her Uncle, telling her that they would be here this week or the next, but within were the words ‘He’s doing well, as one can on a battlefield.’ a confirmation of his health that she had been begging for.
(4) Every Friday Morning
Every Friday morning her excitement seemed to return in full. Her golden eyes seemed ablaze with hope this morning. She rose as the sun did, hurriedly bursting through the double doors of her quarters and out into the hall. After a quick apology she would be running, bare feet padding against the carpets and hair flying in its loose tangles behind her. In moments she would go from her room to the main entrance of the house, throwing the doors open right as the postal men had reached to knock. As usual, they politely greeted her and quickly turned to face away or look at their letters. Smartly avoiding staring at her directly or glancing at her for too long, wanting to hurriedly deliver their mail and be on their way before the glares from the nannies and butlers burned holes through their hats. They handed over the thick stack to the head of the servants, the younger of the two murmuring an apology to the mistress. They had no letter for her today, the two of them knew how much she looked forward to receiving them. When they left she was quiet as she was escorted to a seat where she remained in a saddened state. It wasn't until a finely dressed butler knocked on the door, demanding to hand the letter to her in person did she run to the entrance to see who it was. The butler announced that he had a letter for her, from Lord Contrell. Quickly she took the letter before he even had the chance to finish his speech as she ripped it open.
‘It's from Uncle, he is with father and they are coming home.’
(4) Every Thursday Morning
Every Thursday morning the young lady from the house next door would be brought up to the front in a pale blue carriage drawn by speckled horses. Her smile would be bright and her hair in its usual braided buns as she politely greeted the servants at the door. She would be escorted to the sitting room, the pale yellow sitting room where she sat each week while she waited for the young mistress to be roused. Her hand would play with a loose strand of hair or delicately run over the curve of the sunny yellow couch she sat on. When she heard whispered voices and soft footsteps she would quickly rise and go to open the door, greeting her ravenette friend. The two would sit in the yellow sitting room and talk softly about whatever came to mind. When the sun was higher she would link the younger’s arm in hers as she marched them down the garden path. She would gasp and point at all the different birds, turning to her golden-eyed friend to ask about them. A quiet answer of ‘sparrow’ or ‘finch’ would come, slowly growing into more cheerful explanations. They would continue to walk and talk until the sun began to set, and the pale blue carriage came to bring her home. When the two said goodbye, one standing at the top of the entrance stairs and the other darting towards her carriage, one could see that the ravennettes' eyes were slightly brighter than they had been that morning.
(4) Every Wednesday Morning
Every Wednesday morning she was able to at least get out of her bed. There was nothing but soft silence from her as she was bathed and dressed and done up for the day. Her long and usually soft raven hair had not been touched by a brush this morning, leaving it all to fall around her in tangles. She would wander around the grounds of the mansion, ignoring the bright shining sun and the songs of the birds flying from branch to branch in the garden. She used to love the birds and would insist on spending as much time as possible outside just to watch them flit around and to hear them chirp to each other. Watching the little feathered creatures used to bring her so much joy, but even it doesn't seem to lift her spirits anymore. She would walk the grounds, wander through the gardens, and pass by the stables and stalls, all while mindlessly walking with a blank look in her dull golden eyes. Those two shining orbs that used to shine like the sun were now matte and vacant more and more lately. Her feet would slowly guide her to the library, as they did every week. She would pass through the large doors and wander through the shelves until she came across his seat and coat. She would curl up in the armchair in front of a cold fireplace and sit there, wrapped in his coat until she was fetched and brought to bed.
(4) Every Tuesday Morning
Every Tuesday morning the young mistress was unable to leave her bed. The four posters weighed down with heavy velvet curtains blocking out the reality that she faced once again. Another week had gone by where she had waited and hoped and waited for him to come. Another week where he has not arrived, where she had slowly fallen into grief throughout the Monday prior. Another week where her grief at the lack of his presence was so strong she was unable to do anything but weep. She lay on that lavish bed, amongst imported plushies and soft silks and cozy furs. She lay there sobbing as the realization of another week without him hit her. Small murmurs could be heard, and she promised she would never misbehave again. Promises of being the best child he could want, the most perfect daughter for him, the most proper young lady she could be. It was as if she was hoping that they would be carried to him and that these promises would convince him to come back home. To come back to her. He had left when she was barely eight and already ten years had passed. In two more weeks, her birthday would once again pass, the eleventh year he had been gone. That morning she simply lay there, begging the silence of her bedroom to let her celebrate this year with him.
(4) Every Monday Morning
Every Monday morning she would rise slower than the day before. She had stayed up past midnight, only going to bed when the butlers had insisted upon it. She was done up once again in front of her silver vanity on the sage green plush stool. The nannies and maids spent nearly an hour getting her hair into its perfect tight curls, and more time after that to arrange them neatly on her head. Her newest dress, of a light green, slipped onto her as the maids began to unpack her many jewels and gems to wear for the day. A butler stood off to the side, reading the weekly report to our young lady of the house and the servants and the Cadell’s businesses. Though she was still young he had asked her to take care of things for the short while he would be away. The short while turned into months, and then many more months, then a year, and then two, and now the third year was approaching. The butler was shooed away as the nannies gently rested her emerald tiara into her curls. She would then walk to the foyer, the one that she had decorated so long ago, and sit on the leftmost couch as she stared out the window. He was just running late was all she murmured as she gently ran her fingers over the small book’s pages. He’ll be here soon, that's what the letter had said.
(4) Every Sunday Morning
Every Sunday morning she would rise with joy when her nannies went in to wake her. She would hardly be able to sit still on her plush vanity stool as her hair was done and her dress slipped onto her. She would sit in front of her vanity mirror which was surrounded by silver and decorated with beads of emerald and quartz. Her hands would be clutched around his trinket that hung from a delicate silver chain from around her neck. Her dark black hair would be brushed until it was as smooth and shiny as silk. Her gown had been chosen with great care and after much deliberation between the nannies and butlers and maids. The nannies and maids eventually agree to one of the little Miss’s simple yet extravagant dresses. The one that she had picked was slim in figure and a pale sage green in color. The dress had a long skirt that would trail slightly behind her as she walked towards her tall slatted windows. The young mistress’s hair fell down her back, passing her waist with sweet little ringlets on the ends of her hair. Her pale and delicate hand, which was heavy with the band of emerald he had given to her so many years ago, would wrap timidly around the pendant and key he had left her. The sun would rise and set, casting its golden rays onto her figure as she stood by the window, waiting for his arrival.
(3) Every Saturday Morning
Every Saturday morning she wasn't able to sit still. Her hands were playing with her hair or her skirts as she was just trembling with excitement. The nannies and the maids rushed around her, chattering about the latest trends from where he would be coming from and the most classic trends from here in his homelands. Jewelry would be presented, gowns would be sworn by as her caretakers went to and fro setting about getting her ready for the next day. The butlers would go in and out of her quarters, presenting menu options or tableware for her to choose from. They would ask what books should be left on his nightstand, what sheets should they dress his bed with, how the hedges should be trimmed, and which flowers were to be brought in to decorate the many vases. Late into the evening when she had decided that all would be to his liking she would creep into the vast library that he had loved so dearly. She would search out his favorite books, the fables, and fairytales that he would regal her with every night before he left. She’d hold them close to her chest as she went back to her quarters, the books a happy reminder of what would be coming tomorrow.