(1) Every Monday Morning

Every Monday morning she would sit in the foyer. She is always dressed in her best gown with her long black hair curled and pinned. She has a small tiara set in her hair, amongst the pile of curls that rests around her head. There sat there on the leftmost couch in our best foyer, staring blankly at the delicate book in her hands or out the foyer window as the day went by. The book remains unopened on her lap, her hands gently clasping it as the sun rises and sets. Her eyes remained bright and hopeful and would shimmer with mistaken joy anytime she heard the rattle of a carriage or the soft thuds of horses.