Mosana - Part VII
EPISODE 7
A day before they left, I was taken to the Pickle’s. Mr. Pickle was an old retiree of the Royal Army, and lived in the country with his wife and two daughters. I had heard he had a son who was not currently in the country. I was gloomy throughout the drive to the Pickles’ house and refused to speak. Sarah tried to engage me in conversations about the nice countryside, but I didn’t budge. So she stopped trying.
I didn’t utter a word as Ed introduced me to his old friend and thanked him for having me. We had tea and scones but I ate nothing. I held my tongue as Ed and Sarah waved goodbye to me from the carriage and drove away. After that, I turned and went to hide in the room I had been apportioned. I didn’t come out for the rest of the day.
The Pickles were civil towards me. The old man was indifferent, his wife was wary, and his two daughters looked at me like I was an aberration. The days were filled with the same routine. I did my chores without being asked and minded my own business. I ate in the kitchen and not with the family like I had done with the Suttons. I stayed in my room when there was nothing to be done or I waited on Mrs. Pickle when she needed me. I read and reread my books again and again. They were the ones I had brought with me from the Sutton’s house. I wasn’t allowed in Mr. Pickle’s study, I couldn’t stay and chat with anyone in their rooms. I cleaned and got out. I wasn’t allowed to look around, although I had a sharp eye for observation.
There were more people in this house, but I was so lonely. I spoke only when spoken to. They didn’t look like they wanted to talk to me either, other than giving me commands. Other than the loneliness and boredom, life was easy in the Pickle household.
Until Daren came back from the seas.
I stayed in the Pickle household for two years before Daren, their eldest son, came back from wherever he was before. I had even forgotten that Ed had told me that Mr. Pickle had a son who was overseas, and who they didn’t see at home much. That was all I knew.
But the moment Daren stepped into the house, I noticed a few things. One, he was not on good terms with his father. It was as obvious as daylight. If Mr. Pickle was indifferent towards me, he was icy cold to his son. Two, he was a mama’s boy. Mrs. Pickle all but kissed him on the mouth as soon as she saw him alight from the buggy that brought him. She was all over him at once, oohing and aahing as they walked into the house. I was immediately commanded to fetch his bags. Three, his sisters were jealous of him. I think they envied his freedom and the fact that he was the cynosure of his mother’s eyes. You see, as young women in 19th century England, they didn’t have much prospects except to snatch young men to marry and to be homekeepers and command maids. They couldn’t do much else. I vowed I wouldn’t have that life. It was visionless and lacked lustre. I would live a full life and make my own decisions. As soon as I found a way to come out of slavery, that is.
Trouble began to brew for me when Daren decided he wanted to get close to me. He would come into the kitchen while I worked to just stare at me. I was uncomfortable but couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t order my master’s son (who was also my master) to leave his own kitchen. Many times I would ask him if he needed anything, but he would simply stare. Other times when he wasn’t staring, he would come to wherever I was doing chores and have one-sided conversations with me. He talked about his adventures at sea and asked me questions like he expected me to respond. I liked listening to his stories, but didn’t show that I was interested. I didn’t answer any of his questions though. In fact, I said nothing, going about my duties and acting like he wasn’t there. Sometimes he would stay and eat with me in the kitchen, watching as I put food in my mouth. He would try and help me with my chores, but I wouldn’t allow it. One time, his mother caught him trying to help me clean his room and ordered him out. Before she left, she gave me a look I couldn’t interpret. She ought to have known I didn’t make him do it, right?
And so it was weird with Daren around. I couldn’t tell what his intentions were, but it seemed like he liked me. It was flattering but uncomfortable. Maybe he was bored, maybe it was because there weren’t girls around that could pique his fancy. And maybe I was bored too. Maybe I wanted the excitement. Maybe it was because I was growing and my hormones were raging. So I began to laugh at his jokes. I started responding to his questions. I looked him in the eyes. I smiled when he said something nice about my dress, my hair. I was 18 already, and I had curves in all the right places. I started to crave his company. He would follow me to the market while I ran my errands and we would talk all through the short journey there on the buggy. When he found out that I loved books, he began to bring me some from time to time, depending on when I finished the previous one. It warmed my heart.
We talked about his father and why they were always at odds. I found out that it was because he (Daren) didn’t join the Army like his father did, instead he joined the ships and had adventures on his own. Mr. Pickle had been an important person while in the army, a General they called him, and he along with his mates expected his son to continue in the same lane. The sons of his comrades did it and it would have been a thing of pride for him to coach his own son in the army. But Daren had other ideas. He loved the sea. And it hurt his father.
We talked about the stories I’d read. He would laugh at my imitations and add his own. Then he would tell me stories he had heard from his fellow shipmates, everything from childhood tales to sea legends.
His mother and two sisters began to notice the amount of time we spent together and things began to get awkward for me. Mrs. Pickle began to snap at me for no cause, Mary, the elder of his sisters, would call me into her room and ask me to standby. I would stand for hours sometimes, with her giving me nothing to do. Paula, the last sister, would send me on useless errands or give me ridiculous tasks to complete. One time, she asked me to loose and refix the fancy beads on her dress. I spent over three hours refixing over a hundred perfectly fixed beads. In all, I never complained. I understood all too well why they wanted to overload me with work and why they were unnecessarily mean to me. His sisters were just jealous that their brother was happy and he wasn’t saddled with idleness as they were. As for his mother, she just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t first place in her son’s life anymore. In the evenings, after I was done with a hell lot of chores, Daren would come to make me laugh. We would go to the back of the garden or into the tool shed, away from the eyes of his mother and sisters.
One day, Daren tried to kiss me. We were in the shed, having a conversation about horses. I backed away quickly when I realised what he was about to do. I had never been kissed in my life, not even by Dajnu. He asked me to relax and tried to kiss me again. I jumped up and put a distance between us, trembling. Daren stood up and came towards me with his palms up.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said. ‘I thought we were friends,’ he added and smiled.
I didn’t think friends kissed each other, but I knew what he meant. We had been having good times together, but I wasn’t ready for what he wanted. Maybe it was because I hadn’t had a good experience with physical touch. I didn’t want anybody that close so soon.
‘It’s okay,’ I replied him. ‘But I’m not ready.’
‘Okay,’ he nodded and came to hug me, rubbing his hands gently on my back.
That was the first time. The next time was in his room, when I went in to clean. It took me less than ten seconds for me to realise that Daren was going to have his way with me, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
A day before they left, I was taken to the Pickle’s. Mr. Pickle was an old retiree of the Royal Army, and lived in the country with his wife and two daughters. I had heard he had a son who was not currently in the country. I was gloomy throughout the drive to the Pickles’ house and refused to speak. Sarah tried to engage me in conversations about the nice countryside, but I didn’t budge. So she stopped trying.
I didn’t utter a word as Ed introduced me to his old friend and thanked him for having me. We had tea and scones but I ate nothing. I held my tongue as Ed and Sarah waved goodbye to me from the carriage and drove away. After that, I turned and went to hide in the room I had been apportioned. I didn’t come out for the rest of the day.
The Pickles were civil towards me. The old man was indifferent, his wife was wary, and his two daughters looked at me like I was an aberration. The days were filled with the same routine. I did my chores without being asked and minded my own business. I ate in the kitchen and not with the family like I had done with the Suttons. I stayed in my room when there was nothing to be done or I waited on Mrs. Pickle when she needed me. I read and reread my books again and again. They were the ones I had brought with me from the Sutton’s house. I wasn’t allowed in Mr. Pickle’s study, I couldn’t stay and chat with anyone in their rooms. I cleaned and got out. I wasn’t allowed to look around, although I had a sharp eye for observation.
There were more people in this house, but I was so lonely. I spoke only when spoken to. They didn’t look like they wanted to talk to me either, other than giving me commands. Other than the loneliness and boredom, life was easy in the Pickle household.
Until Daren came back from the seas.
I stayed in the Pickle household for two years before Daren, their eldest son, came back from wherever he was before. I had even forgotten that Ed had told me that Mr. Pickle had a son who was overseas, and who they didn’t see at home much. That was all I knew.
But the moment Daren stepped into the house, I noticed a few things. One, he was not on good terms with his father. It was as obvious as daylight. If Mr. Pickle was indifferent towards me, he was icy cold to his son. Two, he was a mama’s boy. Mrs. Pickle all but kissed him on the mouth as soon as she saw him alight from the buggy that brought him. She was all over him at once, oohing and aahing as they walked into the house. I was immediately commanded to fetch his bags. Three, his sisters were jealous of him. I think they envied his freedom and the fact that he was the cynosure of his mother’s eyes. You see, as young women in 19th century England, they didn’t have much prospects except to snatch young men to marry and to be homekeepers and command maids. They couldn’t do much else. I vowed I wouldn’t have that life. It was visionless and lacked lustre. I would live a full life and make my own decisions. As soon as I found a way to come out of slavery, that is.
Trouble began to brew for me when Daren decided he wanted to get close to me. He would come into the kitchen while I worked to just stare at me. I was uncomfortable but couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t order my master’s son (who was also my master) to leave his own kitchen. Many times I would ask him if he needed anything, but he would simply stare. Other times when he wasn’t staring, he would come to wherever I was doing chores and have one-sided conversations with me. He talked about his adventures at sea and asked me questions like he expected me to respond. I liked listening to his stories, but didn’t show that I was interested. I didn’t answer any of his questions though. In fact, I said nothing, going about my duties and acting like he wasn’t there. Sometimes he would stay and eat with me in the kitchen, watching as I put food in my mouth. He would try and help me with my chores, but I wouldn’t allow it. One time, his mother caught him trying to help me clean his room and ordered him out. Before she left, she gave me a look I couldn’t interpret. She ought to have known I didn’t make him do it, right?
And so it was weird with Daren around. I couldn’t tell what his intentions were, but it seemed like he liked me. It was flattering but uncomfortable. Maybe he was bored, maybe it was because there weren’t girls around that could pique his fancy. And maybe I was bored too. Maybe I wanted the excitement. Maybe it was because I was growing and my hormones were raging. So I began to laugh at his jokes. I started responding to his questions. I looked him in the eyes. I smiled when he said something nice about my dress, my hair. I was 18 already, and I had curves in all the right places. I started to crave his company. He would follow me to the market while I ran my errands and we would talk all through the short journey there on the buggy. When he found out that I loved books, he began to bring me some from time to time, depending on when I finished the previous one. It warmed my heart.
We talked about his father and why they were always at odds. I found out that it was because he (Daren) didn’t join the Army like his father did, instead he joined the ships and had adventures on his own. Mr. Pickle had been an important person while in the army, a General they called him, and he along with his mates expected his son to continue in the same lane. The sons of his comrades did it and it would have been a thing of pride for him to coach his own son in the army. But Daren had other ideas. He loved the sea. And it hurt his father.
We talked about the stories I’d read. He would laugh at my imitations and add his own. Then he would tell me stories he had heard from his fellow shipmates, everything from childhood tales to sea legends.
His mother and two sisters began to notice the amount of time we spent together and things began to get awkward for me. Mrs. Pickle began to snap at me for no cause, Mary, the elder of his sisters, would call me into her room and ask me to standby. I would stand for hours sometimes, with her giving me nothing to do. Paula, the last sister, would send me on useless errands or give me ridiculous tasks to complete. One time, she asked me to loose and refix the fancy beads on her dress. I spent over three hours refixing over a hundred perfectly fixed beads. In all, I never complained. I understood all too well why they wanted to overload me with work and why they were unnecessarily mean to me. His sisters were just jealous that their brother was happy and he wasn’t saddled with idleness as they were. As for his mother, she just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t first place in her son’s life anymore. In the evenings, after I was done with a hell lot of chores, Daren would come to make me laugh. We would go to the back of the garden or into the tool shed, away from the eyes of his mother and sisters.
One day, Daren tried to kiss me. We were in the shed, having a conversation about horses. I backed away quickly when I realised what he was about to do. I had never been kissed in my life, not even by Dajnu. He asked me to relax and tried to kiss me again. I jumped up and put a distance between us, trembling. Daren stood up and came towards me with his palms up.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said. ‘I thought we were friends,’ he added and smiled.
I didn’t think friends kissed each other, but I knew what he meant. We had been having good times together, but I wasn’t ready for what he wanted. Maybe it was because I hadn’t had a good experience with physical touch. I didn’t want anybody that close so soon.
‘It’s okay,’ I replied him. ‘But I’m not ready.’
‘Okay,’ he nodded and came to hug me, rubbing his hands gently on my back.
That was the first time. The next time was in his room, when I went in to clean. It took me less than ten seconds for me to realise that Daren was going to have his way with me, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
_________________________________________
Hey you!
We're still going steady on the Mosana story. I'm not telling it, she is. All you have to do is keep listening. If you have questions, please ask in the comment section. If there's a part of her life you're not sure of or can't seem to reconcile, feel free to hit me.
In the meantime, don't forget to recommend to other story-loving friends of yours. Also like, share and comment!
xoxo,
Ava.
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