An Unlikely Alliance by Rachel van Dyken Page B

days ago, she accepted her lot
in life was to be a spinster; to spend the rest of her days longing
for something she'd never had to begin with…love.
    "Sara!" Her mother's impossibly loud voice never ceased to carry
for miles on end.
    "Coming!" she called, although not at the same decibel. It
was nearly impossible to reach the same frequency as her mother on
any given occasion. A gift is what her mother called it, but her father called it a
curse behind her mother's back.
    Sara
reluctantly pushed herself off the ground and walked slowly into
the lion's den. Her fate to be decided by the two most unlikeable
people in her existence: her mother and her aunt.
    Both
eyed her speculatively when she approached them in the garden. Heat
encompassed her body while observing her aunt's disapproving gaze
trace her from head to toe. She was used to being criticized.
Holding her head high when subjected to rejection had once been a
trying chore. Now she did it with ease, her only recourse, as if to
say she didn't care what everyone else thought. Though in her heart
of hearts, she always did. Didn't every girl?
    She resolved
to always maintain eye contact—to communicate to everyone within
distance she accepted the way God created her. The local vicar once
told her there were worse things in the world, and sometimes you
only see what others want you to see.
    Sara had her
doubts about the local vicar after that day, yet her faith in God
was the only solid thing in her life. She had to trust that
possibly, when she went to Heaven, she would turn into a beautiful
butterfly, whilst her family rotted in….
    "Oh,
dear," her aunt sighed, lifting the teacup to her thin rouged lips.
"I just don't see what you expect me to do. I can't perform
miracles." Her eyes skimmed quickly over Sara; although, she
noticed Aunt Tilda seemed to harbor some tender emotion in them,
for she ventured a gentle smile her way before facing Sara's
dreadful mother again. Either that or Sara was losing her mind,
which was probably more likely, given the circumstances of her
upbringing. One could only tolerate so much verbal abuse before she
went to the madhouse, or so she thought.
    "Only
the good Lord can," Mother responded, making a quick cross over her
chest. Sara rolled her eyes but was quick about it, so she would
not be caught. "After her sisters ran off and eloped, I thought to
myself we would be ruined. Absolutely ruined. Then I realized I
still had one daughter left. One daughter left who can at least try
to marry above her station. And why not? Why shouldn't we have more
wealth than what we have? I don't see why the good Lord would bless
others and completely turn his nose up to us."
    "Nor do
I," her aunt agreed, clicking her tongue and then heaved a sigh of
resignation. "I shall do as you ask… out of the goodness of my
heart." She rose from her chair and approached Sara, making Sara's
mouth go suddenly dry. "My husband is a Viscount. Unlike your
mother, I married within my station, and it suits me well. I shall
sponsor your first and only season in London. I shall expect
nothing but good manners and graciousness from you. Do you
understand, young lady?"
    What was she
supposed to do? Sit there and nod like a puppet? Sara cleared her
throat to protest, but her aunt put a gloved finger in front of her
lips.
    " Tsk, tsk . You will not be speaking at all until we arrive in
London. I have a head ailment which prevents me from listening to
whiny, ugly girls for extended periods of time."
    Sara was tired
of being insulted. She should be accustomed to it though; it was a
daily occurrence, but now it rattled her nerves.
    Aunt
Tilda shook her head once more. "I don't know, I just don't know. I
mean, look at her skin. It's so, so—" Her hand waved in the air as
if she would somehow pull the perfect word out of the
sky.
    "It's
brown, dear," came Mother's annoyed voice. "She has straight white
teeth though."
    "Ah! Let
me see!" Aunt Tilda grabbed Saras chin and forced open