Grace in Time
an excerpt
It’s nearly midnight, and sleep eludes me. My night dress clings to my dampened skin, and I crave nothing more than to tear it off. The house is silent, but for the vexing beat of the grandfather clock, taunting with every tick, every tock. Father won’t return from the city for a fortnight yet, and Anna-Mae will be fast asleep in the servants’ quarters by now, surely.
Carefully, I part the delicate curtains of the balcony door and push it out into the stifling, midnight haze, heavy with the sweet scent of wild primrose. The song of the night surrounds me, a serenade of cicadas, crickets, and a singular loon beckoning me to the water.
Above, menacing clouds shift, waltzing with a round, white moon. Wind rises as a low rumble sounds in the distance; before sunrise, the heavens will open. Yet another futile attempt at washing away the heat.
If the Gods showed any mercy, they’d abolish this torridity, allow us some respite. But nobody has ever accused the Gods of being merciful, at least, not in these parts. Warily, I step out onto the veranda, closing the door quietly behind me. The peeling paint of the handrail scrapes against my palm as I make my way down the long staircase, each step creaking obnoxiously under my weight. A candle flickers in Anna-Mae’s window, but even if she’s still awake, she won’t think to look out this time of night. Still, as I hasten through the overgrown garden, I am mindful not to step on anything that might snap and alert Father’s old hound, Brutus.
I see my father’s face flash through my mind, his grave scowl, permanently etched upon his once-handsome features. And Anna-Mae, who has never spoken a single word to me in the ten years she’s worked for us. A small thrill of excitement fills me at my sudden defiance, this temporary rebellion against their exacting laws.
I could walk this path with closed eyes, and in the moments when the clouds cloak the moon, it’s almost as though I am. The scuttle of wild things doesn’t frighten me now as it did as a child, still, the rustling sounds keep me alert as I rush over the grass, dew clinging to my bare feet, soaking the hem of my night dress.
