Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins by Margeaux Laurent Page A

window that overlooked the front
yard and seemingly endless forest that led back to town.
    I stared out the window longingly, as I sat
on Abigail’s canopy bed. The room was as uncomfortable as the rest
of the home, but this room in particular had a forced air about it.
The bed was covered in pink silk, which hung from her canopy, and
draped the sides. The bed’s curtains matched the window curtains,
as did her bed sheets, and the upholstery on the chairs. Mrs.
Marthaler had imported all of the furniture from Europe, because
she said that ‘Nothing in the Colonies was good enough for
Abigail.’
    Abigail spent the rest of the afternoon
showing me the contents of her hope chest and explaining how she
envisioned her married life would be, living as the mistress of a
plantation. I listened for a good while but kept envisioning her as
she was in my premonition—old, worn and covered in bruises.
    “What about love?” I finally
interrupted.
    “Pardon?”
    My words confused her.
    “Do you not care about love? Will you be
alright giving yourself over to a man you hardly know… do you not
fear that he may be cruel or hard hearted toward you?”
    Abigail looked as though these thoughts had
never crossed her mind. She trusted her father so much that she
would have married the devil himself if her father thought it to be
a good idea.
    “Why would he be cruel towards me? I will be
a wonderful wife and I will give him no reason to discipline me,”
she said in a matter of fact tone.
    “What if he does not find you pleasing? What
if he only wants your dowry?” I prodded her, hoping to get her to
understand that life was more complex than she cared to
imagine.
    Her face grew red and her voice rose, “That
is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You are just
jealous because my husband will be wealthier than Zachariah!”
    “I am not!” I yelled back, “I am worried
about you. Can you not see that?” I pleaded.
    “Worry about someone else, I am fine, “she
hissed.
    I reached out and grabbed her arm as I gave
her one last try, “It is not the possessions you accumulate that
make life worthwhile. It is the people you share your life with
which make each day worth living. If you do not have love… you have
nothing,” I warned.
    Abigail would hear no more. I had threatened
to crush her dreams of wealth and happiness, and she would not
listen to reason. She yanked her arm from me and turned her
back.
     
    ********************
     
     
    We were called to dinner and the
conversation ended, but she refused to acknowledge me. Now, my time
at the Marthaler’s had become even more unbearable. I had no more
allies to depend upon.
    When we walked into the dinning room Mr.
Marthaler, Mathew and Zachariah all stood. The room was narrow and
long, with an ornate crystal chandelier that hung over the center
of the long, walnut dinning table. I was asked to sit between
Zachariah and Abigail and if my placement between Zachariah and his
hostile sister was not uncomfortable enough, as I looked up at the
wall, I was greeted by a portrait of their parents. Both were
dressed in the finest clothing available. While Mr. Marthaler’s
expression was ridged, Mrs. Marthaler’s portrait had a simpering
smile, an expression that I had never seen her use in real life.
The portrait made me even more uncomfortable because their leering
eyes seemed to be transfixed upon me.
    The table was bedecked with crystal, brass,
and lace. Candelabras sat at either end of the table, and large
sconces on the walls, all helped illuminate the room .
    Mr. Marthaler immediately said the dinner
prayers, and kept our heads bowed for what seem like an eternity as
he listed off their many blessings. I peeked over to the corner to
see the servants giving each other looks, as they knew that all the
Marthaler eyes were closed. I thought that this would probably be
the prime time to murder the whole family, if someone wanted to.
Then I realized that thinking such thoughts