Dreams

by Christine Bevilacqua

They had been married for three months, but to her it seemed like three years. It was 7:00 a.m. and, like clockwork, her servant appeared with her apparel and full schedule for the day. She didn’t even like having servants. Her friends envied her, but she often thought she would change places with them for a simpler life. She sighed, looking out at the cherry blossoms and listening to the sound of the baby sparrows, wishing her schedule allowed her time to just walk and savor spring’s verdant performance. She wasn’t even allowed to work in the garden. “That’s why we have gardeners, my dear,” she could hear her mother-in-law’s commanding voice even when she was not around. How she missed feeling the earth with her own hands. Still, she got to look out at the beautiful handiwork created by nature and the gardeners.

Her wedding day was magical, set in a majestic candlelit castle with a full philharmonic as her orchestra. Her husband, a decorated military man with a stellar education and impeccable manners, came from a royal family. He loved her like no other, which was a low bar considering that, in her family home, she might as well have been a servant. So, when she met the man who was to become her husband, it felt like a straight path out of hell was placed before her. Their whirlwind romance was one for the books. An answer to her dreams.

Yet her lifestyle now, although drastically improved, sometimes felt like another form of imprisonment. Her husband’s family headed several charity foundations. There was always something for her to do. Appearances to make and appearances to keep up. Her life now was devoted to endless fundraising, local and foreign family duties and planning one party after another. Her mother-in-law had to constantly remind her of how important it was to keep up their station in the community. And of course, her obligations to her husband as a dutiful wife. Dutiful wife! How she hated those words. Didn’t the monarchy ever hear of feminism? Her days were now filled for her with little time for herself.

Her husband would give her anything she wanted, and she knew that in his own way, he did love her. But she had a longing for something more. Something that belonged to her alone. When she lived at home, she loved to sew. Whenever she could get hold of scraps of material, she would transform them into beautiful pieces of clothing. She would make modern outfits for the scruffy neighborhood kids to their delight. The rumor was that the town seamstress was retiring, and they were looking for a replacement. She imagined how happy she would be sitting at a sewing machine, hours on end, creating her own magic.

Her mind often wandered as she thought to herself what direction her life would have taken if only she had not dropped that damn slipper at the Prince’s Ball as the clock turned twelve!