Controlling

Jane,
I was so right. I’m just stuck in this house all day and of course that leaves me thinking constantly and, well, I miss you and Europe and everything about my old life so, so much. It’s so unfair. I’ll write more once I’ve got something to write about. Until then…pray for me.
Much love,
Claire Clemett

Biting her lip, Claire set her pen down on the desk and picked up the parchment in front of her, scanning the short, succinct sentences with her green eyes. She sighed. “So perfect,” she muttered.

“Claire?” Two raps on her closed bedroom door.

Looking vaguely annoyed but mostly placid, she turned her head to the door. It was opening. “Yes?” she asked.

Her mother stepped forward in a tight-bodice lace gown. Her black heels tapped lightly on the wood. “Locking yourself up in here will give you a cold, I’m sure. You’ll come out now. Your father is going to town to visit the factory in town and some visitors will be along this evening.” Mrs. Clemett stepped back with an expression of distaste. “And if you’re in here anyways, please do something about the walls. They’re very bare.”

“I haven’t unpacked everything yet,” said Claire.

Her mother frowned disapprovingly. “Laura said she had, I’ll go and speak to her about it now.”

“Alright then. I think I’ll go to town with Father.” Claire rose from her seat, folding the letter neatly as she did so.

Mrs. Clemett had turned on her heel to leave. Now she stopped and spoke, shifting smoothly to her previous, stern position, looking at her daughter. “You will do no such thing.”

“I’ll see what Father says, thank you,” retorted Claire, matching her mother’s face.

“Of all the improper things, I will not have my daughter roaming about town, especially near the factories.”

“We’re not in England, Mother.”

“Wherever we are, you have a duty to honor me, Claire, and I will not put up with this unacceptable behavior,” said Mrs. Clemett sharply.

“This isn’t about honor, it’s about controlling me. And I can’t stand it anymore.” Taking the letter, Claire moved swiftly through the doorway, edging between the wall and her astonished mother.

“Claire, you will listen to me!” cried the lady.

The girl ignored her, hurrying through the wide hallway past the round mirror to the top of the long, circular flight of stairs and down into the large parlor. Her father’s voice floated in from just ahead, through a door and another hallway.<

“Father, wait!” she called, securing her flying hair in her hand — half of it was twisted up in a bun with a silver clip and the other half of her curls down and long, reaching just below her shoulders, but her fast pace threatened to knock it all down.

“Yes, Claire?” His head turned and she saw his top hat beside another man’s. He stood just outside the house, walking stick in hand.

“I’m coming with you.” She paused in the small front room and retrieved her white flowered shawl, flung it over her shoulders, and caught her breath before walking with more grace through the door into the open, dusty air. A cool breeze picked up and the sun shone through light, cotton cloud cover.

“Fine, then,” said her father, turning back to the man beside him. “If you’re ready, shall we?” He gestured to the Ford in the driveway. His guest nodded.

Claire cleared her throat lightly and stepped in front of the men, walking in as ladylike a fashion as she could muster up to the back door, which was held open by a driver she didn’t recognize. She wondered vaguely where the other boy was.

Before climbing into the car, she turned her head to the house doorway, where her mother stood with pursed lips. Claire’s lips twisted into a smile and she stepped confidently into the seat.