Master of the Region

                Coming from a poor family, I knew how important it was to work hard in school. My parents had done everything they could to pay to get me to school hoping that my success would pull all of us out of poverty. It was a concept that I had been reminded of the entirety of formative years. Our poor status was not something unique, our regions was now poor and wealth was limited to the chosen few who held favor with the master of the land… we were not so lucky. Our region was not always like this though. Once, before my birth, our region was wealthy and happy. The master was benevolent and put the wellbeing of his people over everything. My father and mother were both educated and my father worked in the household of the previous master as a financial advisor. It was there that he met my mother as she worked in the kitchen as a very sought-after baker. She would make gorgeous and elaborate cakes and pastries. People from all over the nation would come to balls held by the master to taste her confectionary masterpieces. They met, fell in love, married and conceived a child. This joy was short lived, however.                 The master died suddenly without an heir and his cousin, the current master, took over. Unlike the master my parents had known, this master was mean and selfish. He banished everyone who worked in the palace in order to limit allegiance to the previous master, my parents included. All those who worked in the palace were sent to the poorest area in the region. The other subjects of the region were told not to assist those banished. Should they show kindness to my parents and the others, they would be punished. This did not matter for long as the new master was more selfish than anyone knew. He slowly began to sell everything our region had to others in exchange for wealth. Growing up my father would tell me how the master’s short sidedness was his own demise, as by selling everything and bringing destitution to the region, the amount of money he could earn was finite. Now, he has sold everything, the region is poor and he clings to his gold as tightly as he can, but it is as water through fingers… You can only hold it for so long before you begin to lose it.                 My parents were forced to work in other regions in secret, as the master refused to allow anyone to leave. My parents even hid my birth in order to allow me the opportunity to go elsewhere. My mother’s sister, an aunt I had never known, lied and registered my birth in her region under her last name so that some day I would be able to go to school in the other region. As a child, during raids, I would have to hide in a secret compartment under the floor and not make a sound. When my parents would return and the master’s guards would ask them where they were, they would always say they were out trying to scavenge for food. Eventually, the others in our part of the region died of illness or hunger, but my parents refused to be included in that. They fought every day to provide for me. When I reached school age, my mother and I snuck out of the region in the dead of night, to make our way to my aunt’s place. Her region was a week’s journey away and guards at ever stop were expecting money to let us continue on our way. Every day my mother was gone was a day my father was in jeopardy, and every leg of the trip meant less money for the journey back.                 When we arrived at my aunt’s house my mother gave me a hug and kiss. There was no joyous interaction between her and my aunt as there was no time. My aunt grabbed her younger sister and pulled her into a quick hug before stuffing a bag of gold into her hand. “I swear to you Katrina, that I will raise her as my own” And with that, my mother was gone. My aunt took me in and I would await a letter from my mother, written in code, letting me know she and my father were well. My aunt knew that my clothing was a dead giveaway of my region, as our cloth was thin, dingy, and grey. Nothing like the brightly colored clothing that she wore. And my hair, down with wild stringy curls, was another hint that I did not belong. She quickly took me into her home, bathed me, dressed me, and put my hair up in an acceptable style. This was my new life now… This is where my family’s future lies. I was now a Lady.                 Calling my aunt Mother was possibly the hardest change for the younger me, as my heart ached to be with my own mother. Our lives were hard, and I spent most of my time alone, but I was happy. My aunt’s house was the most beautiful place I have ever seen, and the abundance of food was overwhelming, but none of that replaced my desire to be with my parents. My aunt, who I called mother, as I could not get myself to call her mama, was caring and loving. She made sure that I had all the best and prepared me to attend school as quickly as she could. She was somewhat of a recluse since her husband died shortly before when I was supposed to have been born to her, so no one thought twice about my sudden appearance. We looked enough alike and I, like she, was very quiet and kept to myself. When the day arrived for me to go to school, my heart was heavy with nerves and the gravity of the situation I was in. This was it… this was our chance at a better life. Every move I made from now on could mean the success or downfall of my family. I had to do well and hide the truth of who I was. I was no longer Abigail Bantustan, she did not exist...                 “This must be Lady Abigail Barclay-Gillingham.” The man at the gate of the school building addresses my aunt. She smiles at him. “Why yes, this is she.” He smiles back at her, “Duchess, we are so very honored that you have entrusted us with the education and care of your only daughter. Now,” he turns to me, “Lady Abigail, may I escort you into the woman’s school?” I nod once, as my aunt has taught me and do not lower my eyes as was my nature. I am a lady and with that comes expectations of behavior. The man bows to my aunt, then offers his hand to me. I curtsy before my aunt and then take his hand, allowing him to show me into the school. He walks me all the way to the back and takes me into a room with other female children my own age. He clears his throat, interrupting the woman at the front speaking. She stops and smiles at us. “Mister Cosworth, how may we assist you?” she says with a small curtsy.                 “Miss Betancourt, I would like to introduce Lady Abigail Barclay-Gillingham, her mother, Duchess Barclay-Gillingham, has registered her for your class.” The woman approaches me and curtseys completely down before addressing me. “Lady Abigail, we are so very honored to have you in our class. Please, take any seat you would like.” I nod once and make my way to an empty seat by the window. Looking outside has always brought me comfort when I am filling overwhelmed. Miss Betancourt brings me paper and a writing implement, placing it on my desk and giving me a small curtsey before retuning to the front of the room. Thankfully, my aunt has spent the last few weeks teaching me how to write and read. We have done nothing else really, as she needed me prepared for school. My parents tried to teach me, but you can only learn so much without books and paper. Miss Betancourt begins speaking, “Now class, we were just discussing…” My heart begins to pound in my ears. Here we go…                 The first day ends and I am thankful that I have survived with nary an error. Though Miss Betancourt did admonish me for my poor penmanship. I wanted to apologize and tell her I had only just learned to make my letters a few weeks prior, but that is not what a Lady would do. Instead I told her, “Thank you for your input, Miss Betancourt, I shall take your comments under advisement.” and continued to write the best I could. The book she asked us to read was well beyond the level I had been able to achieve since arriving to my aunts, and when I was asked if I would like to read, I nervously answered, “I would prefer to listen as this is my first day.” I knew, from my aunt, that the teacher could not force me to do anything as I was above her level of status, but it did not make it any less terrifying. Other than my parents, I had never been around other adults. I spent my days hiding in a floor. Now I was in a large and bustling region with children and adults all around me.                 I do not think this will be something I shall be able to do. At the end of the class I feel as though I may cry. I am in a world I do not belong surrounded by people who could mean my demise. Should I be found out to be perpetrating a ruse the punishment shall be death for everyone involved. I stand and collect the belongings that Miss Betancourt has provided me and place them in a small bag my aunt sent with me and I get in line. Most of the girls move behind me, as I am a lady and that means that there is an order in which the line should go. Another girl comes and shoves in front of me and I am shocked by her brazen attitude. “It is very improper to shove a lady,” I admonish her as I have been taught I should. She turns and looks at me, her fiery red hair reflective in the anger in her eyes. “It is very improper to speak out of turn. I will have you know that I am Lady Agnes Beatrice Montgomery, and I was here first!” She then sticks her tongue out at me. I am appalled by her behavior. We begin to walk towards the exit and I hook my foot in front of hers, causing her to fall.                 “Oh dear, Lady Agnes, are you alright?” I feign concern as I help her up. Miss Betancourt comes to inspect the situation. “What happen here?” she inquires. I speak before she can say anything else, “I am not sure, I was following behind Lady Agnes when she fell. Are you quite already Lady Agnes?” I say as I smile sweetly at her. She stands and narrows her eyes at me. We get outside and a young man comes up to us. “Let’s go Aggie! I want to get a treat on the way home.” I cannot help but snicker at her nickname. She turns on me, rage in her eyes. “Do tell what you find so humorous Lady Abigail.” I shake my head and lift my hands, “Why nothing at all… Aggie.” She growls with rage, “Archie, look what you did! You know I hate being called Aggie and now she will call me it all the time! She is vile!” The young man looks at me and raises his eyebrow, “Why is she vile Aggie?” he asks. She opens her mouth to speak but I cut her off, “In all honesty, she shoved me in line and was very rude, so I tripped her.”                 He bursts out with laughter, tears streaming down his face as Lady Agnes turns the same shade of red as her hair. “I think you finally met your match Aggie!” He howls between his bellowing laughter.