Beauty

I never even really wanted the stupid flower. And it’s not worth the price I have to pay.

My father asked each of us what we would like from his trip to the city and my stepsisters’ eyes lit up, with the glow that they only get when gifts are mentioned. Stella wanted jewels, of course. She requested rubies and garnets to match her new red silk dress. And sapphires to match her eyes. Diana wanted dresses, yards of silk and velvet. She wanted lace petticoats and all fabrics in the brightest colors, the most expensive ones, naturally. And he turned to me, expecting me to demand something equally inane and ridiculous.

I asked him for the most beautiful flower he could find.

I wanted him to see that I was different, that I wasn’t like them. Maybe I just wanted to him to look at me and really see me for once. He hadn’t really met my eyes since mother died. I didn’t really want a flower. I wanted my father back.

It was October then. The flowers were starting to die. Maybe I just wanted to hold on to a little piece of springtime in the middle of the fall, to prove to myself that life really does go on. Maybe I had just wanted to see how he would react.

But once I had said it, I couldn’t take it back.

He wrote it down on his list with the other requests, one more item to check off. He didn’t look at me. He just muttered a gruff good-bye and shouldered his bag. I tried to keep the tears from my eyes as he walked out to the waiting carriage and left without a backward glance.

I knew Stella and Diana would mock me mercilessly if I cried.

Daddy’s little girl, they called me, knowing he hadn’t really spoken to me at once.

“Does the little baby miss her daddy?” Diana crooned in her saccharine voice.

I walked up the stairs to the garret, knowing they wouldn’t follow me. They hate mice.

******

He came back on the first of December, looking much older than his forty years. I barely recognized him and the sorrow in his face was painful to look at. We all rushed out to meet him.

Diana and Stella yelled at the servants to help with the trunks; they wanted to get a look at the gifts he’d brought, to see if the jewels were big enough, if the silks were soft enough. They’d find something to complain about.

The coachman gingerly helped Father down from his seat in the carriage. As soon as his feet were on the ground, he stumbled over to me. Tears were in his eyes and before I knew it, he’d wrapped me up in his arms. He held me tightly and for the first time since Mother died, I knew how much he really loved me.

He pulled back for a moment and looked into my eyes. I smiled at him and he could hold back no more.

“I’m sorry,” he told me, before he burst into tears.

To be continued ...