my novel

14
Prologue
[revamped 8.24.12]

I find that life twists and turns when you least expect it. Everything is going well and then you trip over a rock.

     But I usually pick myself up, retrace my footsteps and keep going. And then I trip again. Right now, I am falling over a cliff. Did I expect to? Not in the least.
     It's Friday, September 6, 1940. The second week of the new school year is done, and I sit in Aunt Cora's parlor with a napkin full of lemon squares in hand, listening to the radio shows. She's more quiet then usual, alternating her sips of tea with a bite of lemon square. She laughs occasionally at the cheesy jokes then clears her throat and puts her head down.
     I want to ask her what's wrong, but instead I stuff the last lemon square into my mouth. I down it quickly and counter with a gulp of tea. Not very ladylike, I'm just trying to make up for the tension between Aunt Cora and I. That's not working very well.
     She smooths her skirts and bites her lip, just like she always does when she's about to say something important. The last time she did such, she scolded me for not doing as well as I could've on my exams. I have no exams now, obviously because it's the beginning of the school year, so I don't have the slightest idea what she's going to say.
     “Sydney, dear, I need to talk to you,” she says in her something-is-not-right voice. She turns off the radio set and rotates herself so she's directly in front of me, and retrieves a yellow envelope from her pocket. Hands it to me without saying another word.
     It looks tattered, used. Like an antique at one of those street-corner shops that Aunt Cora sometimes goes to. I look over it, finding the flap open, and I see that Grayson, Virginia is on the return address. Grayson. Why does that sound familiar to me? 

“Miss Sydney Lockwood,

Your grandparents, the last living owners of the Lockwood estate, have drawn their last breath. You are the only immediate heir to plantation, because of your parent's death and your aunt's ineligibility by adoption. From this moment on, you are sole heiress and owner of the Lockwood estate in Grayson, Virginia. We request your presence to reside with us here, as mistress and overseer to your ancestor’s home.”

Sincerely,

Mr. Raymond Hatch.”

     "Who's Raymond Hatch?"

     "He's the family lawyer. Me and the others used to refer to him by saying 'Down the Hatch!'"

     I don't know who the others are, because I'm trying to figure out how we have a family lawyer. I didn't know we were that well off. After a few minutes, I'm finally able to speak again.

     “I don't really understand,” I say. “Why would they give this to me; why would I be an heiress?” I thought heiresses were the stuff of medieval times and Greek mythology. None of this made any sense. “Why wouldn't they just give this to you? Or is there some mistake?”

     Aunt Cora's eyes have no mistake in them. She leans forward, and rubs her right thumb on the opposite forefinger before taking a deep breath. Then, her voice: a soft American accent that flows from a mouth that doesn't look like it's moving.

     “The gist of it is, you have a lot more family than just you and I. And the reality of it is, you're going to have to go to Grayson.” There's a certain emphasis on the word go. It's a bit scary.

     She leans back again, and it's in the lamplight that I see the glassiness in her eyes. I can't say anything, because I'm still confused. Still in shock, and that part I don't understand either. She scratches her head, takes the letter from me (I guess I was too dazed to notice), and eyes it before clearing her throat. She was never one for straightforward talk. She gets nervous.

     “Okay. We're going to have to go into detail.”

     You know that cliff? I've just hit rock bottom. And I don't know if I'm going to survive.

(Copyright 2012, Jocelyn Carol, all rights reserved.)