Feud

?How dare you, Celeste? How dare you? You have no right to say that. What would Father say if he heard you talking in such manner? You do not belong here and you do not act like us.?

?No! Mary Anne, you are the one who has no right. I have given everything to this family, though I?m no blood relation, yet you continue to mock me. There is no justice in that! I have always been an outcast to you and your family and when I start getting some respect from your father and brother, you automatically take that away from me. That is what I mean and don?t look so innocent.?

?What have I done, Celeste??

?That is what Father will have to decide,? Celeste replied tartly.

?No! That will never happen!?

Celeste turned a bright crimson, blood suctioned to her face and no longer able to hold her anger in burst from the old farmhouse. She would not let Mary Anne take advantage of her. Not now and not ever; she was on her own. Kicked around long enough but not anymore. She needed to calm down, before she spoke to Father. He would not like his daughters to come in yelling at each other. To play Mary Anne?s game she would have to think logically.

Up in the bedroom they shared, Mary Anne heard the door slam as Celeste made her way out into the fields beyond the Hills? property. Then there was silence, so momentous that it seemed the birds took notice and stopped to listen. ?What have I done? I let my anger over take me again. Father said that if I could not control my anger I would be sent to Hampton?s Boarding School.?

That was something Mary Anne did not want, but she could never keep her temper. She loved Celeste, even though she was adopted and on the tomboyish side. She had taught her, Mary Anne, how to fish, swim, and even how to play the boy game, baseball. Sometimes Celeste just annoyed the hell out of her. Now it looked as if she would be spending time in the cold of Vermont at Hampton?s.

?Damn you, Mary Anne! I love you, but you still find ways to hate me. Maybe it?s time to find a new home. I thought that this would be the one to save me from my running, but I guess not.? She sat out in the field, Mrs. Hill?s field, just the right place for sitting when you were angry. She sat there and thought of all the times spent on the Clarke farm. She liked it here: the swimming, fishing, baseball?but staying here was no longer an option. The tears fought themselves open to her eyes, but she would not allow them to appear. All her life she had to fight back tears. ?I love, Father. I love you, and you, Mary?? the words hurt too much. More than the hurt words of her ?sister.? Celeste choked back more tears.

?Father? May I speak before you condemn me?? Mary Anne choked back tears.

?You may, but why do you speak of condemning, Child?? asked an older man with deep grey eyes.

?It?s about your proposal for me to attend Hampton?s Boarding School, if my anger does not tone down??

Celeste sat there until nightfall. She did not feel like going home. Ha! Home, it was no home, just a place to sleep and where bad memories lay. ?I won?t go back, not tonight or ever.? Suddenly there was a shadow over Celeste, blocking the moon?s rays. It sat down next to her; even in the dark she knew it was Mary Anne. ?What are you doing here??

?I am here to talk, nothing more.?

?So talk.?

?I spoke to Father this afternoon. I know you wanted to but I had to or, well, face the consequences. I requested that I attend Hampton?s, to relieve some of the tension between us.? Celeste just sat there. ?I do not want this to happen anymore, Celeste. I want you as my sister, not as an enemy. Please, I do not want to fight anymore.?

Celeste turned to look at Mary Anne, her eyes blazing. Cold stone blue looked at her, ?No.? Celeste turned away again; she let the tears come as the moon wept with her.

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A story that turn out to be more victorian then I originally thought, I mean, that the story's flow and the word usage is really victorian. I really like this one, for some reason, maybe because that setting I used was the old farm where I used to live. Not only that, but it just flowed when I wrote it, I barely stopped when I wrote this story.

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PAGE CREATED: January 30, 2000
LAST UPDATED: January 30, 2000

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