Bittersweet Endeavors (8 page)

Once completely out of si
ght
,
an odd notion occurred
to her
.  She didn’t particularly dislike him, either.

“I hate him!”

Lucia lowered her broom after
she swiped
the
cobwebs from the ceiling.  “Calm down,
Myra
,” she soothed. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“He accused me of stealing his sister’s silk petticoat!”  

Myra
paced their modest wigwam that humbled in comparison
to
the
Preston’s
temporary dwelling
.  The dry, dirt-covered floor fogged the room when
Lucia’s
made
her
sweeps across the ground
and
raised the dust. 
Six
bedrolls and two chairs occupied most the
ir
space. 
A considerable contrast
from
the
lux
ury
Myra
was
once
accustomed.

“What use
would I find in a silk petticoat?”  She ran her hands down the expanse of her dirty, drab
gray
garment.  “Does this frock appear to be in need of a silk petticoat
?”
  She thought
about
her words.  “Admittedly,
‘twould
serve well against the
prickly
wool, but I’d not steal
one
!” 

“I heard Miss Margaret only misplaced it,” Lucia added.  “I’m sure young Mister Preston will apologize before the day is over.”

“Well
, he can take
his
regret
and
thrust
it
right up his
—
”

“
Myra
!”

Myra
grinned.

Lucia laughed aloud and hugged
her
.  “I’m so
pleased
in having
your company,
Myra
.” 

Lucia held the broom tightly
at
her chest and beamed with a full smile before she returned
sweeping the floor
.  “This past month has been so enjoyable sin
ce you arrived,
”
she said, and she brushed a dark lock of hair from her forehead that had fallen into her eyes.
 

Myra
slowly stirred the pot of broth that sat over the fire.  She smiled at Lucia
as she
swe
pt
grains of dirt and dust from the
ground
floor
and
swayed
gracefully
bet
ween
the broom’s
s
wipes
. She
hummed prettily
in tune to the brush strokes of the broom.

“What of you, Lucia?  Did you come by way of England
? 
Were you
forced into
servitude by the court or traders?”

“Oh,
nay
,” she exclaimed.  “I was born in London, all right, but I'm here o
f
my own free will.  Well, in sorts, I am,” she smiled. 

“Explain,”
Myra
pressed.  For th
e first time in th
at
month,
there
was free time
after
chores.  The Preston family
had
made arrangements
for the evening and their kitchen duties
weren’t
necessary for the night
.  Finally
she had
an
opportunity
to get
better acquainted with her new found friend
.  Their friendship increasingly gr
ew
, and
Myra
couldn’t have made it through the past month without her.
  Myra
realized how spoiled
she was
before
arriving in the New World
when presented with her daily duties
.  Sh
e found the simplest of task
s
difficult
, but Lucia taught her well
.

“My mother worked for the Preston’s
whilst
in England but they sent her away.”  Lucia smiled, but the sadness in her
blue
eyes overshadowed
her
false display of
good
cheer
.  “
I aim to earn enough
c
oin
to
find her one day.  That’s why I stay on here.”

“Why
was
your mother sent away?  Did she do something wrong?” 

By the wide-eyed expression on Lucia's face,
Myra
sense
d
an interesting story
w
as about to unfold
.
  She
placed
the ladle on
to
the
stones
of their makeshift fireplace and
sat
on her bedroll
, Lucia at her side
.  L
ittle excitement
was
found at the Preston home, and
idle
chatter
helped
pass
the
time.  Actually, i
t
was
the favorite pastime of most the servants
.
Some more loose-lipped than others,
Myra
thought
.
             

Lucia
stepped out the doorway and darted
her eyes back and forth.  She returned and whispered, “I feel I can trust you,
Myra
.  Can I?”

“Why, of course.” 
Myra
took Lucia by both hands and smiled. “I have my own secrets, too,” she confessed. “I think we shall be very good friends and share many confidences.”

“I knew we’d be good friends t
he moment you stuck your ton
gue out at young Mister Preston,
”
she said with a mischievous grin.  Lucia laughed
but quickly covered her mouth so no
one would overhear.

After a short peel of giggles from them both, Lucia continued.  “Mister Preston sent my mother awa
y many years ago.  I
was only a babe
, but he ordered that I remain
with the Preston family
.”

“But why send her away?”

Lucia picked up two wooden buckets
that sat
nearby on the floor.  “Let’s gather some water from the stream,” she suggested.  “I fear
we
may be overheard.”

Myra
followed, her interest piqued.  She wondered if Seth would play a part in Lucia’s story.  Not sure why, she secretly hoped he would.  She loved hearing stories the
older
servants told about him,
particularly
the times when he was a young lad
who
cared more about
finding trouble than doling it out.
 

“Anvil Preston is my
father,” Lucia quietly confessed once
they reached the stream.

“What?” 
Myra
touched Lucia's arm
and shook her
head in disbelief. 
Myra wondered if she heard Lucia wrong.
Certainly a
daughter of Anvil Preston
wouldn’t
be a servant
.
 
Myra wondered w
hat kind of father, especially one of wealth, would
treat his
own flesh and blood
so atrociously.
 
“
I don't understand
such way of thinking
,”
Myra
began.  “Did Mister Preston's wife find out?  Is that why your mother
was
sent away?”

“Oh, it ha
d
naught
to do with her. 
Mrs. Preston
is a fine lad
y, indeed!  She knows who I am—
they all do,” she exclaimed with a
showy
flow of her arm.  “But unlike the others, not once did
she
take ill will upon me due to her husband's
infidelity
.  If anything, she has been
exceedingly
kind and generous. 
Insomuch, sh
e insisted I learn to read and write, and secretly em
ployed a local scholar to teach
me
whilst
we lived
in England.”

Lucia dipped t
he bucket in
to
the water and
set it aside.  A bright
smile appeared as the sun shined on
her remarkably fine
skin. 
It was then that
Myra
saw
Lucia’s
resemblance to Anvil and Seth.  Although her hair
,
rich
as coal
,
was
in
contrast
to
the
wheat colored
hair the Preston men possessed
, it was
the unusual blue hue of her eyes
which
disclose
d
proof of
Anvil's indiscretion. 
Not the exact color sh
e
detected in either of their
s,
but
the shape and determination
were
what
most resemble
d
both the Preston men. 
The Preston daughters
possess
ed
features of their mother
,
dull red hair and list
less brown eyes—l
ovely
in their own way
, of course, but exceedingly ordinary.  The same
couldn’t
be said of Lucia, though.  She
presented
an uncommon beauty.

“Mayhap
I can help you once I leave here,”
Myra
offered.  “I
shall one day
return to England, and
when I do,
I
shall
do all I can
to find
her
for you
.  I’ll have the means
to carry
it out once there
.”

“You'd do that for me?”

“
Aye! O
f course!  That’
s what friends are for, are they not?  To
be there for one another and
help each other
when in need
?”

Lucia
flung
her arms around
Myra
and embraced her tightly.  “
Aye
, that’s what friends are for,
Myra
.  And we shall become the best there is,
won’t we
?”

“
Aye
, we
shall
, Lucia.  And one day, when we leave here, we’ll
live a
delightful
life,
I promise you that.” 
Once she recovered
the
funds
that her
treacherous uncle
ha
d
stolen
, she’
d
make good on her promise.
She planned
hiring
the best runners
in London
to find Lucia's mother
, and
once she
was
found, they could
all live at Brunnington Castle o
nce she discovered
a
way
of regaining
her estates without harm
ing
Mary
.  She wasn’t
yet sure h
ow she’
d
accom
plish th
e
task
, but Myra
hoped that
James, The Duke
of York
,
would aid
her cause by persuading
his brother,
The King
,
on her behalf.  Her uncle
was
last of the Brunnington line
and Myra hoped that once unseated, The King would
show
his
generosity
and
let her
remain living at her family home. 
She
prayed that
Mary
—
wherever her uncle has kept her
—
stayed
safe until that time.