TheBanyanTree: Sins of the Mother

[R J Fernalld]

 I dress at dawn. The customary stays and bustle, lace and petticoat under
the serge day dress and calf hide boots. Barbaric trappings on a day already
steamy at 6AM. No energy left to detest it. No need to rage today. What will
be will be. It is the punishment due the female gender for the sin of not
being male.

The day, like so many others, drones on in proper gentility. No escape. No
far pavilion. No unstarched air left to breathe. God...Help me.

Cabbage roses, candles, tea at four. 'The staff are needful of routine is
the caption that undergirds society', Grandmama conjectures over the scones.
Fascinating repartee, dancing conversation over the tea cozy. So right. So
righteous.

'I am pregnant, Mama' I want to scream. 'I carry within my body, your
grandchild! I have sinned against your class, I have become a woman like
Papa's mistress and given myself to a man for my own pleasure' shouts my
heart. 'I have committed the unforgivable trespass, the last bastion of
decency have I breached, my proper mama in beige lace.'

But I do not scream. I sip tea. I do not confess. I nibble at cake. I do not
expose my desires. I chat quietly.

Behold the wanton coward.

Papa rings for the parlor maid to remove the tea tray. Mama retires to rest
and consult her lady's maid about what to wear for dinner. Grandmama also
retires, but to the library for a book, and I....I? I remove the sinful
creature they would surely shrink from if they knew me.

Come, little one. Come with your sin stained mama to the attic. I will
introduce you to family heirlooms that are littered like leaves upon a dying
lawn in autumn. Here! This painting....see? The handsome man here in riding
breeches? He was the uncle that no one speaks of. His sin? He needed to
write passionate poetry to satisfy his ache. The verse embarrassed my
grandfather, and Uncle disappeared in India...murdered by a jealous lover,
is the rumor.

And this proper looking lady? She was Papa's sister. He loved her. Too much
they say...so she was sent to marry an Earl, a titled man who beat her. As
long as she could no more tempt Papa, it did not matter that she was unhappy
 She died, and I am sure was happier then.

So, little one. I am sure you will understand my reasons. Society will
punish you. I wanted his passion, I wanted you. But you will not know
happiness. They will not allow......ahhhhhhhhhh!

'Come, little one. They will soon find the overturned chair and the sinful
one on the rope. The stones they would surely throw cannot touch us now...
come with mama.'


copyright R J Fernalld 2004
reprint by permission only
 
 
A friend is someone who will bail you out of jail. 
A best friend is the one sitting beside you saying, 
'Damn that was fun.'