I have made a decision: I have decided not to continue with my writing blog, Wonderland Creek. I haven't really posted much of anything there anyway, so it's not as if it was a difficult decision or anything.
: P Instead, I am planning on turning it into a book review blog because (drumroll, please,)....I have just recently signed up for the Bethany House Publishers blogger review program!!!!! Haha, I make it sound as if I signed a Hollywood contract. I'm very excited to begin! : )
Anyway, to get back to the point: instead of having a blog solely dedicated to writing, I will occasionally post writing-related things here. And so, without further ado, I present you with September Snippets.
Sadie loved high teas and Edith hated them. I didn't mind them so much, provided the company was pleasant, but most days I only went along because Aunt Rosalind and Aunt Cecily expected me to, and because Sadie was so persuasive I couldn't have refused even if I'd wanted to. This particular day, however, I was most certainly not in the mood to emerge into society, especially since today Aunt Rosalind was taking us to a tea at the Pitt's home and I was in no mood to be social, much less attempt cordial conversation with Louisa Pitt.
"I'm here", Lucy chirped. She thrust a wicker basket covered in a blue handkerchief into Lyddie's arms before slipping out of her shoes and hanging her plaid coat on the coat rack. "We'd better get started right away, to give the curls time enough to set."
"Curls?" Lyddie asked warily, sorting through the items in the basket and finding a jar of borax, several metal rollers and a foreign-looking object similar to the tongs Charlie the blacksmith used.
"Those are curling tongs", Lucy explained, noticing the bewildered look on Lyddie's face. "Beth bought them in Boston when she went to visit our cousin Ada. All the fashionable girls in Boston wear their hair in curls. Beth taught me how to use the curling tongs. All you have to do is heat them with--"
"Heat?" Charlotte interrupted, her expression conveying her doubt as to Lucy's competence. "Are you sure you know how to do it?"
"Of course I do", Lucy said confidently with a casual wave of her hand. "I've done it lots of times on Clemmie's hair."
Lyddie and Charlotte looked at each other skeptically. On a good day, Clemmie Martin's hair looked as though it had been struck by lightning and then put through the wringer-washer.
~Lyddie of the Island (working title)
"Isn't he lovely?" Lucy said proudly, beaming at the squealing little pig.
"Lovely" was not exactly the term Lyddie would use to describe the fat little animal. He was very stout and very low to the ground, with tiny little legs and a tail like a piece of licorice that you had twisted around your finger. He wasn't pink like other pigs Lyddie had seen, but he wasn't white either: his color was somewhere between the two, like the color of a mole's skin. He hadn't stopped squealing since the three girls had arrived, and he smelled like unwashed stockings. No, he was most certainly not lovely.
"He's very fine", Lyddie said politely, watching the piglet as he ran aimless circles around his pen. What did Lucy want a pig for, anyway? "What have you named him?"
"I've decided to call him Bacon", Lucy announced. "He responds to the name so well!" She clapped her hands, as if conducting some sort of experiment. "Here, Bacon!"
The little pig suddenly stopped running, looked up, made a noise that sounded like something between a grunt and a squeal, and promptly resumed his vigil.
Lucy was delighted. "See? Isn't he a smart little thing?"
Addy was shocked. "I can't believe you named him Bacon", she said disapprovingly. "What a perfectly horrid thing to name a pig! Why, it's sacrilegious!"
Lyddie was fairly certain that Addy hadn't the slightest idea what the word sacrilegious meant, but since she had heard Mrs. Hansen say it so many times whenever something disgusted or appalled her, she probably thought it applied to the current situation.
"He doesn't know what the word means," Lucy said in defense.
"Of course he doesn't", Charlotte said. "You could call him hedgehog and he'd never know the difference."
"That's not true!" Lucy declared indignantly. "Bacon is a very intelligent animal, aren't you, Bacon?"
~Lyddie of the Island
As Lyddie talked, Charlotte found a spider crawling up the wall behind the bed. She picked it up by its leg, dropped it into the candle flame, and watched as it burned into nothingness.
Emmy watched her movements in horror. "Charlotte! What did you do that for?"
"Oh, please. It's just a spider", Charlotte said.
"Charlotte, Emmy, pay attention", Lyddie said firmly. It was clear that her sisters were easily distracted. "If we don't all cooperate, this won't work."
~Lyddie of the Island
Lord Grenville grunted, looking obviously displeased, but Cecily stood up and followed the footman out into the hallway.
Her hands trembled as she lifted the receiver, raising it to her ear. Her heart beat rapidly. Who could it be? The footman had said it was urgent.
She swallowed. "Yes?"
She could hear breathing at the other end, but it was only after a long pause that an unfamiliar voice said, "Miss Cecily Sinclaire?"
"This is Miss Sinclaire." Another pause.
"Are you alone?"
What an unnerving question! Cecily hardly knew how to answer. She tried to steady her voice and prayed she sounded more confidant than she felt as she formulated a firm reply.
"I don't see how that is any of your business. And unless you tell your name and what this is all about, I have no obligation to answer any of your questions." But Cecily would not hand up, not now. She was intrigued, and she would not end the call until she knew who the mysterious caller was and what it was he had to tell her.
"My name has no bearing in the situation, not yet. Simply tell me if anyone is close by and will overhear our conversation."
Cecily looked around hesitantly. The footman had left the hall, and everyone else was still in the dining room. What did she have to lose by telling him?
"No one is around", she said.
"There is nothing wrong with Adelaide Aberdeen," Aunt Cecily announced one morening at breakfast, as Aunt Edna was reading aloud Mrs. Aberdeen's latest letter, all the while lamenting between paragraphs the "pitiful state of that poor dear girl." Edith, Sadie, and I had remained quiet for the majority of the meal, mostly because none of use had anything to say on the subject of Adelaide Aberdeen's deteriorating health, unlike Aunt Cecily, who voiced her opinions quite adamantly. Edith had begun the day in a decidedly bad mood, first scolding Sadie for using her ivory haircombs and then complaining that she hadn't seen her best blue daydress in over a week. I had reminded her that I had worn it several days ago and afterwards taken it down to the washing room to be laundered, which ruffled her even more and caused her to expel one of her very characteristic snorts, saying that if everyone just wore their own clothes around here, everything would be a lot less complicated.
Sadie was evidently perfecting her table manners in preperation for the tea she was to attend today at the Winslow's, handling her fork as if it were made of glass and daintily probing her egg with much more care than was absolutely neccessary.
I was much too tired and my thoughts were far too jumbled for me to say anything that made any sense, so I welcomed Aunt Edna's monoluge as an excuse to remain quiet. I pretended to be slightly interested as I ate my breakfast, but my thoughts were miles away.