*/ i'm not the only one asking. [ANGELA | OPEN]
Dec 9, 2011 4:50:55 GMT -5
Post by isabelle on Dec 9, 2011 4:50:55 GMT -5
The clock stroke eight o'clock after the meal of gruel, stale bread, and watered down gin, that which the workhouse considered dinner, was over. With all the other elderly spinsters, some twice and thrice her age, a tired and aching Isabelle Nuttingham filed out of the dinner hall and back towards the dormitories which she practically called “home.” She was alone at the establishment, with no friends or family there to be her support and comfort.
Life hadn't always been cruel to the poor woman. She'd been the daughter of a poor businessman and his wife, her father himself the youngest son of a high born English peer. The laws of inheritance had been likewise cruel to her father, and when his own died, everything had gone to his elder brother. In turn, the man was left penniless, and had to pave his own way in life. Despite the meager income the steadily dropping business brought in, the Nuttinghams were a pious, loving family who believed that as long as they had the love of Christ in their hearts and their love for each other, money didn't matter. Isabelle was completely content with the life God had placed her in.
At the age of nineteen, the woman's life had changed forever when she met and fell in love with one Ebenezer Scrooge, a simple workhouse apprentice. They'd met at a grand Christmas party held by Scrooge's master, a kind and jolly man by the name of Fezziwig. The happy couple had fallen blissfully in love while waltzing to the classic tune of Sir Roger de Coverley. It wasn't long after Scrooge began courting Isabelle that he'd asked for her hand in marriage. She'd immediately consented, as did, strangely, though not surprisingly, her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Nuttingham found him to be a pleasant and charming young man, quite the perfect match for their equally pleasant and charming daughter.
Things had all seemed well until a series of misfortunes in Scrooge's life, including the premature death of his sister in childbirth and starting a money-lending business with one Jacob Marley, changed him for the worse. He'd become greedy and eventually began a quest to obtain as much wealth as he could. It drove Scrooge to lose sight of everyone and everything, including his fiancee. She'd realized this and it led to her ultimately breaking off their engagement and leaving him a decade later. Unfortunately, the social stigma of her actions had been to great for Isabelle to overcome, and the once young woman was never able to find love again. Her parents' deaths within that decade had left her penniless and without a dowry, forcing her to sell all her worldy possessions in order to pay off all the debts her father owed. She then had to enter the workhouse to avoid living and dying pitifully on the streets.
Life in the workhouse was hard, filled with long hours, cramped spaces, poor diet, abuse of all kinds, and hypocrisy. Isabelle had been issued a standard uniform and it was these meager garments she wore every day for over the next thirty years. She endured hard labor and became pitifully thin and haggard. Her once long, golden hair became wild and graying. Her once smooth skin became wrinkled and callused. Her frame lost much of its curves and became quite bony. Despite these things, the woman's beauty and grace never truly faded. She still held onto the hope that she'd be able to leave the establishment someday, and fate would smile warmly upon her. Perhaps Isabelle could become a nurse in a charity hospital, or simply retire to a small village and live out the rest of her life there. Whatever was to happen, she knew that God had his reasons, and though she might have not understood what exactly his reasoning was, she still needed to simply keep up the faith.
Isabelle's pitiful form walked slowly across the stone courtyard, the chilly air freezing her to the bone. The uniform she wore barely did anything to keep the cold from her. She and the other women eventually filed into the dormitory and made their way to their rooms. Isabelle herself shared a cramped space with five other women, so cramped that there wasn't even room for a table! Rather than stay up and converse with her roommates, the weary woman got down on her knees by the bedside and clasped her hands in prayer. When she'd finished her nightly prayers, she slowly climbed into bed and pulled the thin blankets over her. It didn't take long for Isabelle to drift off into a deep sleep. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be a long one because she had to get up at five o'clock in the morning every day.
How long the woman slept this time, she didn't know, but when her eyes opened the next morning, she found she was no longer in the dark cell she lived in; rather, she was staring at a completely blue sky. Isabelle became alarmed by this and brought herself up to a seated position. Perhaps she was just dreaming? As she looked around at her strange surroundings, she noticed there was something else different about her. Isabelle noticed out of the corner of her eye that her hands appeared much differently than she remembered them to be. They weren't callused any longer, and were as smooth as satin, as they'd been in her youth. The woman couldn't help but blink.
As if human instinct, Isabelle slowly brought her hands up to her face and felt her cheeks. Her face was no longer bony, with the wrinkles of stress and age; rather, it felt smooth like her hands and healthily formed. Her hair, which lay in wisps in front of her shoulders, while still wild and unkempt, shone like spun gold in the bright afternoon sun. What exactly was going on? Was it all a dream? It had to have been, for the once pitiful looking woman of fifty-five was now, once again, a beautiful girl of nineteen, at least on the outside.
Life hadn't always been cruel to the poor woman. She'd been the daughter of a poor businessman and his wife, her father himself the youngest son of a high born English peer. The laws of inheritance had been likewise cruel to her father, and when his own died, everything had gone to his elder brother. In turn, the man was left penniless, and had to pave his own way in life. Despite the meager income the steadily dropping business brought in, the Nuttinghams were a pious, loving family who believed that as long as they had the love of Christ in their hearts and their love for each other, money didn't matter. Isabelle was completely content with the life God had placed her in.
At the age of nineteen, the woman's life had changed forever when she met and fell in love with one Ebenezer Scrooge, a simple workhouse apprentice. They'd met at a grand Christmas party held by Scrooge's master, a kind and jolly man by the name of Fezziwig. The happy couple had fallen blissfully in love while waltzing to the classic tune of Sir Roger de Coverley. It wasn't long after Scrooge began courting Isabelle that he'd asked for her hand in marriage. She'd immediately consented, as did, strangely, though not surprisingly, her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Nuttingham found him to be a pleasant and charming young man, quite the perfect match for their equally pleasant and charming daughter.
Things had all seemed well until a series of misfortunes in Scrooge's life, including the premature death of his sister in childbirth and starting a money-lending business with one Jacob Marley, changed him for the worse. He'd become greedy and eventually began a quest to obtain as much wealth as he could. It drove Scrooge to lose sight of everyone and everything, including his fiancee. She'd realized this and it led to her ultimately breaking off their engagement and leaving him a decade later. Unfortunately, the social stigma of her actions had been to great for Isabelle to overcome, and the once young woman was never able to find love again. Her parents' deaths within that decade had left her penniless and without a dowry, forcing her to sell all her worldy possessions in order to pay off all the debts her father owed. She then had to enter the workhouse to avoid living and dying pitifully on the streets.
Life in the workhouse was hard, filled with long hours, cramped spaces, poor diet, abuse of all kinds, and hypocrisy. Isabelle had been issued a standard uniform and it was these meager garments she wore every day for over the next thirty years. She endured hard labor and became pitifully thin and haggard. Her once long, golden hair became wild and graying. Her once smooth skin became wrinkled and callused. Her frame lost much of its curves and became quite bony. Despite these things, the woman's beauty and grace never truly faded. She still held onto the hope that she'd be able to leave the establishment someday, and fate would smile warmly upon her. Perhaps Isabelle could become a nurse in a charity hospital, or simply retire to a small village and live out the rest of her life there. Whatever was to happen, she knew that God had his reasons, and though she might have not understood what exactly his reasoning was, she still needed to simply keep up the faith.
Isabelle's pitiful form walked slowly across the stone courtyard, the chilly air freezing her to the bone. The uniform she wore barely did anything to keep the cold from her. She and the other women eventually filed into the dormitory and made their way to their rooms. Isabelle herself shared a cramped space with five other women, so cramped that there wasn't even room for a table! Rather than stay up and converse with her roommates, the weary woman got down on her knees by the bedside and clasped her hands in prayer. When she'd finished her nightly prayers, she slowly climbed into bed and pulled the thin blankets over her. It didn't take long for Isabelle to drift off into a deep sleep. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be a long one because she had to get up at five o'clock in the morning every day.
How long the woman slept this time, she didn't know, but when her eyes opened the next morning, she found she was no longer in the dark cell she lived in; rather, she was staring at a completely blue sky. Isabelle became alarmed by this and brought herself up to a seated position. Perhaps she was just dreaming? As she looked around at her strange surroundings, she noticed there was something else different about her. Isabelle noticed out of the corner of her eye that her hands appeared much differently than she remembered them to be. They weren't callused any longer, and were as smooth as satin, as they'd been in her youth. The woman couldn't help but blink.
As if human instinct, Isabelle slowly brought her hands up to her face and felt her cheeks. Her face was no longer bony, with the wrinkles of stress and age; rather, it felt smooth like her hands and healthily formed. Her hair, which lay in wisps in front of her shoulders, while still wild and unkempt, shone like spun gold in the bright afternoon sun. What exactly was going on? Was it all a dream? It had to have been, for the once pitiful looking woman of fifty-five was now, once again, a beautiful girl of nineteen, at least on the outside.