The Final Moment

This is long over due, my apoliges. Enjoy!

Tucking up the last inch of my pointe shoe ribbon I stood up and glanced at myself in the mirror one last time. My hair was slicked back and twisted into a circular bun, a pink ribbon dangled from the bottom. Blush had brushed my cheeks, red lipstick painted my lips, and my eyelashes were blanketed with mascara. My costume rested snugly on my torso and the skirt flowed down to my knees. I looked ready.

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First Impressions, cont'd

I jumped. Hesitatingly, I placed my hand in his and stepped out of the carriage. Another man appeared to take my trunk. I followed them up the front walk where they opened both doors and ushered me inside.
I blinked. The foyer was huge. It was made from dark wood, mahogany I guessed it to be, Father had taught me to identify tree wood well enough. The black mouth of an empty fireplace gaped at me from the left wall. Up above it a dozen weapons were mounted to the wall. On the opposite wall a few swords decorated the wall and a large oil painting hung between them. Above the two doorways dangled the national flag.
"This way, miss," the butler said and I followed him all the way down the hall, taking a right turn at the end of it and down a flight of stairs. We entered into the main hustle and bustle of Fernfield Hall's life.
The butler called over the housekeeper, a Mrs. Maddock, and introduced me as the new housemaid. She quickly put me to work, telling me to follow "Jenny" as she was going to dust the drawing room.
"Jenny's" head popped up at the sound of her name. She was a small, young girl, her face pre-maturely aged with cares from serving. Being a housemaid had taken its toll on her already. Her hands were chapped and calloused, I noticed, as she handed me a dust rag. I blindly followed her up to first floor and we entered the drawing room.

First Impressions

Unfortunately, this isn't as clever as Pride and Prejudice. I don't think it's the greatest title, but it was the first thing I thought of and I hate posting something and not having a title accompany it. So it stays till I come up with a better one. This probably needs some work, but here are the beginnings and hopefully I'll find some time to continue it. Enjoy!

The wheels on the carriage rolled over the cobblestone drive with a clatter. I had been jolted around in the carriage for the past three hours and my destination lay just ahead. My limbs were cramped from being held in one position for so long and I longed for the chance to get out and stretch. The carriage slowed down and the main house loomed into view. The red bricks were stacked and cemented with absolute precision and the builders made perfect squares for the glass window panes to be placed. Both of the front doors stood wide open and a slight woman, dressed in what appeared to me to be servant's garb, came out balancing a large basket of laundry on her hip. The shrubbery circled around the house and flowers were planted along the walk and stood ready to greet one with a cheerful face.
I pressed my back against the carriage's seat, intimidated by the size and precision of everything. I had come expecting a small little plantation, much like the ones I'm accustomed to seeing at home. Instead I found a large estate--something I only dreamt about. Here was a home with more than one garden, multitudes of butlers and maids, it's own stable and wash house. What stood before me replaced paintings and stories with the real thing.
The carriage door opened and the butler's hand appeared, "Miss?"

Thoughts for Thursday

"It is a terrible thing that the worst of all the vices can smuggle itself into the very centre of our religious life...The devil laughs. He is perfectly content to see you becoming chaste and brave and self controlled provided, all the time, he is setting you up in the Dictatorship of Pride...For pride is spiritual cancer: it eats up the very possibility of love, or contentment, or even common sense."


~CS Lewis, Mere Christianity

Thoughts for Thursday

"The hero does not set out to be one. He is probably more surprised than others by such recognition. He was there when the crisis occurred...and he responded as he always had in any situation. He was simply doing what had to be done! Faithful where he was in his duty there...he was ready when the crisis arose. Being where he was supposed to be...doing what the was supposed to do...responding as was his custom...to circumstances as they developed...devoted to duty--he did the heroic!"

~Richard C. Halverson

The Lamplighter

His weather beaten face bent down to his chest, avoiding the biting wind that blew through the air.
The flickering orange flame encased in the iron cylinder dangling in his hand provided hardly any warmth as he trudged down the streets he traveled for as long as he could remember.
A few villagers not yet in their homes bustled down the street, their dark cloaks billowing out behind them.
He lit the end of the long iron pole he held in his right hand and lifted it to the lamp secured on a black pole above his head. He waited patiently till the wick caught the flame and burned brightly. He lowered the pole and leaned his face close to it, catching a flicker of warmth before blowing it out again.
That face had seen it all: life and death, riches and poverty, war and peace, love and hatred. Each care and sorrow drew another line across the man's face.
Each night as darkness sealed the town he came out and walked down the streets, job in hand.
That lantern and pole lit the way for many men and boys hurrying home, closing shops, finishing another day's work as an apprentice.
The aged man was a known sight, most people hardly gave him a glance, but without him the streets would be dark and the way would be lost.
The pole was lifted to the sky again, brightening a portion of it before the insides of the lantern burst with light and the small flame was lowered and snuffed out.
He moved slowly down the cobblestone street, wet with a light drizzle that was falling from the sky, lessening the sting of the sharp November wind. He stopped under one of corner lanterns and raised the pole in time for the sting of the wind to blow it out. Patiently, he re-lit it and sent the corner flooding with light.
His frame bent from eighty years of life un-locked the door to his empty house. He tucked away the pole and set the lantern on the table where they would rest till the sun peeked over the roof tops and it was time to turn the lamps out.

Thoughts for Thursday

"Think how boring life would be if everything always went the way we planned it. Believe me, I've learned that sometimes the best answers to prayer are the ones God doesn't answer...Think about how often we change our minds. If God gave us everything we asked for, we'd be in chaos."

~Robin Jones Gunn, Surprise Endings