She was sick of father's protesting, of mother's silence, of Isaac's insolence. After years of defending herself, she had become worn. If she had stayed one day longer in the overblown home of her forefathers, her will would be ground into thin paper and blow away for good.
She knew she had everything, and shouldn't dare want for anything more. Perhaps it was naiveté, maybe it was a deep seated desire to prove something to the rest. Whatever it was, it wouldn't let her stay.
And so it was, Hattie slipped free from the silk sheets and smoothed the white linen dress over her torso. For reasons she could not quite grasp, this garment was just one of the many that Isaac could not stand. He showered her with costumes as lavish as the gala's his mother threw all year long, and cringed at the sight of her, "in simple rags." As beautiful as the gowns were, she resented them as a petty excuse for the passion he was not capable of providing.
Hattie reached under the lifted mattress to pull out two precisely packed bags. The necessities: pen and notebooks, her summer hat, maps she collected from her father's circle, and some sparkling pieces she thought might serve her well for a bargain.
It is true, she was naive, but she was also determined against a slow deterioration.
-LS
(i think i might start writing more here and there)
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