SHELF LIFE OF LIES
CHELSEA MARK
MESSY BUN PUBLISHING, LLC
Mary Wyndam sat rigid in a floral upholstered chair in her family’s formal parlor. The smell of fresh biscuits filled the air as the staff prepared her family’s afternoon tea. Her stomach churned as the scent surrounded her. Bile burned hot in her throat, and she swallowed hard as tears trickled down her face.
In one hand, she held a tear-stained letter. The book she was reading closed tightly in her other hand. Beth, her lady’s maid, had delivered the letter to her urgently in the middle of her daily reading time, a time she valued for its solitude and peace.
She thought of Eduard, her fiancé. Her love for him was now conflicted by the sting of his betrayal. The life they were to have had slipped through the lines of his letter. Each word was more devastating than the last. Up until this moment, all she had wanted was to marry Eduard and live a comfortable life.
“How could you do this to me Eduard?” she whispered at the letter, hoping it would change the words somehow, that it would change her future.
Mary’s mother and father, Catherine and Gregory, valued wealth and prestige above any other accomplishment. If a skill was desired to be learned by their children, it would only be allowed if there was a financial benefit. Mary despised their constant pursuit of attaining more money and power.
Eduard was different. He worked hard and gave back to those in need. At social events he talked to everyone regardless of if a formal introduction was made. He possessed enough money to allow Mary the freedom to pursue any activity she wished. Loving him was icing on the cake.
But her dreams had shattered with the swipe of a pen.
“Surely Mother and Father can change his mind,” she whispered and gripped the letter tighter. The paper threatened to crumple and tear under the weight of her fingers.
The air in the parlor felt stiffer as she focused on calming her ragged breathing. The window in front of her overlooked the busy street. Mary focused on the pedestrians as a distraction from the tightness in her chest that threatened to collapse and implode on itself.
People passed by, hidden beneath their umbrellas on the street beyond the curtained window. They were unaware of the storm brewing in the young woman’s heart. Her breathing slowed and the tightness eased as she continued to focus on the strangers on the street.
Foreboding footsteps in the hallway forced her to shove the letter hastily in the book she clutched. Mary dabbed her cheeks with her handkerchief and quickly tucked it back up her sleeve. Her posture resumed looking like that of a refined young lady, hiding any indication of the news the letter had brought her, news she wasn’t ready to face.
The appearance of her mother, Catherine, brought Mary to her feet. At only five feet tall, her mother commanded attention in every room she entered. Greying brown hair was tuckedneatly up in a tight bun, accentuating her small round face. Her face scrunched in concern, seeing her daughter’s overly rigid pose.
“Mary, tea is just about ready. Will Eduard be joining us today?” The hope in Catherine’s voice caused Mary to feel sick. She shook her head no, passing her short mother standing in the doorway, unable to look her directly in the eyes.
“Not today, Mother.” Mary forced a smile as best she could, though inside she felt like the air had been sucked clean out of her lungs.
What will Mother and Father think when they learn the contents of the letter? Surely they can’t blame me for his decisions.The thought alone brought fresh tears to her eyes. She blinked them quickly away before her mother could see them.
“Maybe tomorrow then.” Mary’s mother replied optimistically, choosing to ignore her daughter’s sour attitude. “We have an appointment tomorrow morning for your wedding dress fitting.” She continued talking about wedding plans, and Mary half-listened as her thoughts remained on the letter hidden in her book.
“Later, I will host a grand afternoon tea. We can invite all of Eduard’s family. We need to solidify your place with them.” Her mother’s tone was pointed and calculated.
“No, Mother. I can’t. I’m volunteering tomorrow, reading to the children at the orphanage.” Mary tried to not sound desperate, but the urgency was apparent.
“Don’t be ridiculous Mary. A girl of your status doesn’t need to waste her time on meaningless endeavors. You need to fill your calendar with high society events. It is what we raised you to do. If I knew you would spend your free time reading to children, I would not have put such an emphasis on your education.”
Her mother stopped walking to emphasize her point, while gripping Mary’s arm tightly and whispering. “You will get your act together, and you will not embarrass me or this family.”
She released Mary’s arm and huffed, regaining her composure. She muttered under her breath, “Orphans, honestly.” She gathered Mary’s long brown hair and brought it forward to rest altogether over her shoulder so that it hung off her back, framing her delicate face. “I wish you would wear your hair up. It is how all the fashionable young ladies wear it these days.”
Mary considered a retort, but decided her best course of action was to ignore her mother’s comments, so she held back her opinion. The two women joined arms, with Mary’s mother clasping her hand to show support. Mary had endured years of comments from her parents. Eduard was supposed to be her way out from under their control. She gripped the book tighter knowing it was all slipping away.
Mary’s mother released her hand, wiping it on her handkerchief, “Are you feeling well dear? Your hands are quite clammy.” Mary wiped her delicate hand against the pink taffeta, carefully, so that her mother wouldn’t see the careless act.
“Sorry, Mother. I think the weather is affecting me. That’s all.”
A lie.
Mary tucked a stray hair behind her ear, a tell when she withheld the truth. She felt pressure from her family to use her beauty to help advance the family in society. But she wanted to spend time reading and writing. She loved teaching children how to read and write. Her deepest, secret heart’s desire was to write a novel of her own one day.
“Your father has yet to hear news of a wedding date from Eduard. I hope you have not said anything to make him changehis mind.” Her mother continued. Mary felt her mother’s harsh gaze, her accusatory tone cut deeper than perhaps intended.
