*1718*
The sun shone through the stained glass windows, casting a warm and colorful glow on the wooden floors of the old chapel house.
In the center of the room, a young woman with long curly red hair stood in front of a group of children, her gentle voice carrying through the space as she taught them their lessons. The children listened intently, their eyes fixed on their governess, who was adorned in a simple, sleek, worn-out green dress. Which despite its state, she looked nimble in it.
Nineteen-year-old Bianca Wright walked between the children's desks to ensure they were correctly copying right the words written on the blackboard, which was hung on the rocky wall of the chapel. She examined each slate of the ten children.
"Good job, Thomas. Nice work, Anna. Oh, Daniel, let me help you correct that," she said. Bianca dusted off the incorrect letter he had written on his slate and then took his hand so they could write it together.
"See? That's better! We will try it again next time."
Her words faded as her eyes darted to the windows, seeing that the afternoon sun had begun to set, and soon it would be time to set the children off before any of the parents began to complain about them coming back late again.
She went on to check the rest of the children's books and then marked and pointed out their mistakes.
"You all did well to the best of your abilities today, so on Monday I shall see you all again."
"Thank you, Miss Bia!" they chanted as they rose from their seats with their slates and chalk, bowed to her, and then dispersed through the church entrance, chatting amongst themselves. A smile made its way to Bia's face as she looked at their retreating backs.
"I'm going to show Mother I wrote the letter well today!" one of the girls chanted as she skipped away in glee.
"Shall we help you with the books, Miss Bia?"
Bianca was jolted out of her thoughts when she looked down to find young Anna Penn and her friend Mercy Grim. Two brunette friends with large freckles on their faces, except one was honey-eyed and the other green-eyed.
"Of course you can, my little friends."
The two girls quickly picked up her tattered old brown bag containing her heavy books and went outside to wait for her as she locked the chapel door. It had somehow become the routine with her two most enthusiastic pupils. She smiled halfheartedly at their backs as they walked through the path into the village.
The village priest had been kind enough to offer her a place to use for her little teaching, which was her only source of making more coins apart from their daily farming.
"Bye, Miss Bia!" one of the children shouted as he entered one of the stone cottages with thatch roofs, waving at her and the others. She waved back at him and continued into the village as it was her routine, to make sure all the children got to their homes safely to avoid trouble.
As it was no new story how many of the villagers were against her educating of the children. The village of Ponlette, one of the oldest and poorest towns in the state, held mostly peasants. No one was interested in having their children learn anything except handwork to help them strive in the village and make more money. So you could see why it was just a few children who had their parents ready to get them educated.
Bianca herself was a prodigy in the village.
Given that female education was seen as pointless in their society, her parents made sure to send her to school to learn. Many times, they were mocked, but it still didn't stop them, especially her late father.
She went from local dame schools to getting a half scholarship in a Female Academy in the nearby village. She suffered going to and fro her village to the other village in the hope of getting her certificate, but alas, it never happened that way.
Her father, who was the breadwinner of the family, died three years ago from a heavy flood that attacked their village. Thus, she had to stop abruptly when the school building itself collapsed, so she couldn't end up getting her certificate even though she was in her last year at the school.
It had been her only hope of making something out of her life and an escape from the poor village.
A governess job in the city would surely earn her more than farming and trade could in this place. And for what it's worth, it would give her much more experience than the little old village she grew up in ever could. But it never happened that way. Without connections and no certificate to qualify her, it was impossible. She sighed heavily, passing through the narrow path that led to the house of the two friends.
They handed her bag and both kissed her cheeks with smiles before running off into their home excitedly.
Her old boots puddled in the dirty black soil of the market, and she found her way to their cottage amidst the chatter of the traders and buyers.
Getting to the door after passing their overgrown lawn, she knocked repeatedly on the wooden door.
The door was opened a few seconds later, and she entered to find her mother, Mrs. Wright, sitting on one of the wooden chairs in the main room. The cottage was small. The sitting room was the same as the dining room. It was at this table that her mother sat dejectedly with a constant frown perched on her face.
"Afternoon, mama." She greeted warily.
Her mother tore her eyes away from the open window to look at her. A nod was all she offered while scrutinizing her from head to toe.
One could see that Bianca was a replica of her mother, with the vibrant red hair and the vibrant green eyes. This, added to her tall frame made her a beauty to behold but it was sad that since her father's death, the life had been sunk out of her.
"How was the farm work today?" Bianca asked.
Avoiding her gaze, she went ahead to hang her bag on the nail on the wall that led to her little room. She then went ahead to fetch water from the local pot at the corner of the room. Her mother's gaze today made her wary, and even this time, her back was a little stiffened while gulping the water, conscious of her stare at her back.
She dropped the cup at the nook of the cupboard and turned back to find her still staring at her.
She had to lean on the table to ask, "Is there a problem, mama? Did Mr. Godwin bother you today?"
Mr. Godwin was the tax collector of the village who didn't let poor souls like them rest. It was always one of the things that irritated her mother. The man's constant loud threats and insults were always a deal breaker for her mother. If he wasn't threatening to take away their properties, he would insult her and her late husband for having put themselves in this condition by using all their money to send their female child to school.
Alas, this was the reason her husband had nothing left for them after his death. It stung. It did sting. And Bianca could understand if that was why she was like this. But usually, she would have started to muse and talk about it or turn to her drinking, a habit she turned to after her father's death, one she couldn't do anything about. But she wasn't doing either.
You remember what today is," she spoke after a while, slowly looking out the window. "It's been three years, Bianca."
Oh, indeed it was, and she knew what today was. Three years since her father passed.
"I know," she said with closed eyes. "We will visit him today."
It had been their routine in the earlier years to visit his grave every year on the day it happened, and today wouldn't be any different. She missed him dearly.
Her mother nodded, sniffing back the tears, and then looking up at her. "I have an important thing to tell you when we return."
She could swear her mother had never been this serious and grim before. Even after their lunch, while they threw on their cloaks, bought some flowers from the flower merchant, and headed to the village graveyard that evening, with the sky darkening, she was mute and serious. There was no sobbing and any of that as she usually did.
The graveyard was at the outskirts of the village, where no one frequented. Without being directed, they went straight through the rows of stone carvings until they found the one of her father.
Emotions rushed through her head down to her body in chills as every other thing she was thinking flew with the wind. She soon found herself on her knees in front of the stone, placing the flowers as she was overcome with tears.
Her mother stood beside her for a while before she bent down as well and dropped her flowers. She patted her shoulder and stood aside. It was quite unusual.
The clouds soon came rumbling and they knew it was time to go. She stood quickly on her feet and said her final words before they rushed out of the graveyard to avoid the heavy downpour. But before they got back home, they were drenched in the rain.
Bianca didn't know whether to laugh; it always poured whenever they went to the grave to visit him. She went ahead to light the firewood in the hearth in the middle of their room after discarding her drenched clothes. Supper was the afternoon soup remaining. She was heating it up when her mother came out of the room already changed into dry clothes.
She went near the hearth to warm up her hands as the soup heated. All this while, Bia was oblivious to her mother's stares.
Mrs. Wright sat at her usual place wrapped in a blanket, but her sullen eyes never deterred from her daughter.
When the soup was warm enough, she emptied the pot into their two plates and brought it forward to the dining table. Placing her mother's in front of her, she sat down and dived into it. They began to eat in silence, but after a while, Bianca noticed her mother merely ate a spoonful of the soup. She was just messing with it and, after a while, discarded it at the corner of the table.
She had to swallow the lump in her throat to ask warily, "Is everything okay, Mama?"
"I told you I have something urgent to tell you." She stared into her eyes.
What could it be that would make her forfeit her meal?
"Okay, I'm all ears."
"Finish your meal first." She said, looking into her eyes.
"I'm full, don't worry about it." She pushed the almost-finished plate aside. She bit into her lower lip, waiting to hear her.
Her mother took in a deep breath;
"You remember I once told you I had a distant cousin, Aunt Anne." Her eyes shone from the candlelight in the middle of the table. Bianca couldn't help but notice she was trembling as she said this.
"Yes," she nodded. "I think I've heard you speak of her before." She didn't know what to make of this and found herself pulling back the plate of soup to scoop it into her mouth while avoiding her mother's gaze.
"I wrote a letter to her."
Her movements slowed. "Okay, about what?"
"You, my dear."
"Me?"
"Aunt Anne lives in the capital of Pelinburst City at Farshield, you know the place?"
Bianca was quick to stand up, packing both their plates into the kitchen. Her movements were wobbly and her mother sensed the dread when the plates were dropped harshly in the basin. The kitchen was near and open to the sitting room, the only thing that demarcated it was the long table, so she could see her stiffened back as she leaned on the basin.
"I won't leave you, mama." She said afterward.
"I know, I know darling." It was as if she had spoken what she feared would be an obstacle to her plan.
"Not now, I'm not leaving you in this condition!" She turned to her this time. Her mother could see the tears brewing in her eyes that she was blinking back.
"But you're wasting here, Bia, look at you, look at us, this wasn't what we bargained for. We merely make enough money or cultivate enough food to sustain us. There is nothing here anymore, darling, nothing." She stood up and went to her.
"Leaving this place would be the best decision, look, there would be opportunities for you outside of this place. In the town, you would meet people, find a nice job, Aunt Anne would help, and you are smart and hardworking. And you might as well end up meeting an eligible good man to marry you…"
She didn't finish when she cut her off by removing her hands from her shoulders.
"What about you?"
"I will be fine."
"No, you will not!" The tears were now evident in her eyes rushing down her cheeks. "Just look at how miserable you have become since Father died, I will not leave you to suffer alone, you're all I have." She was now crying as she left the kitchen to the dining.
"But you're young Bia." She followed her but stopped near her listening to her sobs.
"I thought it was your dream to leave this miserable village to the city."
"It was, it was, but not until everything shattered, I didn't even have any qualification that I might get a nicer job. I've lost the hope."
"No, dear, please."
She turned away from her fetching her cloak and umbrella and turned to leave the house.
"Bia!" She called but she was long gone leaving their old wooden door squeaking and moving about by the breeze.
"Bia." She whispered in pain and slumped on one of the wooden chairs.