The Ever-Changing World of Lynnette Bloom

 

 

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The Ever-Changing World                             of   Lynnette Bloom   10/20/2010   Teralyn R. Evans

 

 

Prologue

“Lynnette! Darling, you will be behind schedule!” My mother called from downstairs. I sighed and fastened my necklace. “Get down here young lady! This carriage is to be off without you, by God almighty, you are…”

I walked out of my bedroom, grabbing my satchel on the way. I fixed it over my shoulder, brushing the wrinkles in my dress. My sister was waiting at the bottom of the stairs with my mother, who looked like a strawberry in the face.

My name is Lynnette Danielle Ambrosia Bloom. I am nearly sixteen, just nearly. I live on a rather large estate in a little place called Bloodridge, which is of course in England. That being said, my family is not overly rich, just rich bordering on middle-class. It’s been this way since the beginning; the Bloom family has been slightly above average. But not so far above average that they were, well we were, considered “high-class”.

“You shan’t get off with causing mother such worry and stress much longer. Father will-” My sister began, before I interrupted her. Saying what I knew she was to say.

“Father will send me off to our gracious aunt Marlene, yes. I am quite aware of that.” I was aware of it, very much so. But nobody ever considered the fact that I might actually fancy my aunt Marlene. She was not very gracious, as I said that to be sarcastic with Margot. Yes, Margot was always the timid one. I’ve always been quite the opposite. Most people would say this is because of my age, being the youngest in my family.

I tend to gravitate towards the more adventurous side of life, the curious side that is filled with wonders and unknown facts. I live on the side that defies the usual standards. The side that does not believe only men should wear pants, or that all ladies must wait for their male counterparts to ask them to a ball. If everyone believed the same thing, we would live in a dull and uneventful world. I refuse to live in that world.

And so I tell you my tale, the tale of when my life became understatedly perplexing, and most utterly curious.

We arrived at our newly founded institution, the Academy for Young People of Bloodridge, at half past seven. This was quite early, as classes did not begin until eight or so. I hopped out of the carriage, my black boots sinking into the wet dirt and grass beneath them. I trudged along the pathways, in front of my ever so sunny sister Margot. It was only about ten meters from the drop-off lane to the academies courtyard. It didn’t seem so long, mostly due to the fact that there were all sorts of shrubbery surrounding the narrow lane. Walking down that lane was almost like walking into Wonderland. The greenery on either side of the beige stone path, opening up into a beautiful courtyard, with a large fountain in the center of it, and stone pillars supporting the open hallways made this academy far more bearable.

T

he open hallways I mentioned before are the four corridors that surrounded the courtyard. They were open on one side, the side closest to the courtyard, and the short stone pillars held them up.  These pillars, the lovely simplistic pillars, stood roughly two meters high. They were marbled stone, a light beige with speckles of chocolate brown. They were smooth, besides the minor scratches students managed to place on them. If a person was ever caught defacing these pillars, they were made to buff out the markings on that pillar, and the two on either side. Margot has volunteered to do this several times, saying that the mischievous boys carving nasty things into it were horrid monsters. And if anybody wants to make up for others’ mistakes, it is Margot.

You see, my family is naturally well-to-do, by my father’s inheritance and also by my mothers’ past marriages. She seems like a very elegant, no-nonsense lady in this day and age but in truth she used to be quite different. And she hasn’t changed completely, as she still has her youthful moments.

I realized by now that in all my readiness to tell you my tale, I had reached the door to my first class, French. My hand was idly sitting on the brass knob of the door, and I was brought out of my earlier daze by my sisters’ voice, along with the bustling of the other schoolgirls and their haughty male counterparts- I never did like the way the schoolboys talked of my sister. She was painfully polite, even when they called her a harlot. It was almost as if she were immune to the sting their words induced, that depressing prickly sensation of rejection, aimed directly at the heart.

 

 

 

I shook my head, turning the knob and letting myself in. I moved quickly from in front of the doorway, letting all the other students pass me by. I clutched my book in my arms, holding it against my chest. They all filed in, a ruckus of laughter and happiness spilling over from them, left on the floor to dry. I sighed and walked up the far left aisle, sitting in the very back row.

This was my usual seat for French, as it was a good place to see the goings-on in the schoolroom. And secondly, the teacher hardly ever called on me from back here. So I was left to my own, daydreaming and pondering. I was well off in French, my parents instilled that trait in us from birth; Speaking to us in French for most of our early years, using English as a secondary language. So I grew up with it.

I heard the girls beginning to whisper, their giggles barely stifled. Darren Colvere had just entered the room, I was thinking to myself. I had not even looked up; my assumptions were proven correct when Madame Larene cut through the girls’ giggles with her sharp French accent, “Monsieur Colvere, I am sure you have a wonderful explanation as to why you are late, yet again.” Her piercing brown eyes shot at him, as if they were arrows causing him to be paralyzed there in the middle of the aisles.

“I am sorry, Madame. I was intrigued by a bird I saw in the tree, I couldn’t ignore its beauty. I stopped to draw-” He stated, his voice politely loud, unshaken, and solid. We all had to do this when speaking to Madame Larene, as anything less was unseemly. Yet and still, she interrupted his explanation.

“Well, Monsieur Colvere, I sincerely hope the picture was magnificent, as it has earned you another special assignment. I am sure you would enjoy writing a two page essay on the importance of priorities, completely in French.” Her eyes glistened at him, before turning to the rest of the class. “Let this prove a lesson for you all.” She stated simply, moving behind her desk to sit down.

Darren smiled brightly at her, his gracious and gleaming smile. He bowed slightly towards her, even though she was no longer focused on him. “Yes Madame, I shall have no qualms with such a task.” He went on to his seat, two rows ahead and one seat over from me.

Margot looked to her right glancing at Darren who was seated directly beside her. She smiled her own friendly smile, her blue-gray eyes dancing in the light. She said nothing, but looked back at her own book; even from here I could see the girlish blush that graced her slim facial features.

I went on for the first few minutes of class, pondering my sisters’ response to Darren. She’s never shown any sort of embarrassment like that before, nor had she ever given any indication that she liked him, or anyone for that matter. It was very unusual of her to do this, it was. I stared at my schoolbook, a black leather cover with elegant gold wording on the front of it. It was the standard French book, but this one had a persistent look of antiquity that the others lacked. Yes, it is odd isn’t it? That I would receive such a special form of something so usual and-

“Well, Lynnette?” Madame Larene asked me, her eyebrow was raised in a stern questioning manner. I had only just looked up at her when I saw this expression on her face. I raised my own eyebrow slightly, but more in confusion than in anything else. I looked at the blackboard, translations. I scurried through my thoughts, trying to find the right words.

“Err, Je…hm…Je ne comprends pas que… vous dites,” I tried my best to focus on the board and not the snickering students that surrounded me. “Vous le répéteriez s'il vous plaît?” I looked at Madame Larene, hoping to have pleased her expectations. And I believe I did, as she said nothing further to me. She turned back to the board and began writing new sentences, calling on other students to translate them.

“You are such an idiot sometimes, Lynnette!” My sister called after me, I could hear her flat shoes smacking onto the ground as she caught up with me.

“How so?” I asked her, a cool air in my voice. I was still wondering what she had meant by her actions that morning. She sighed, holding her books to her chest much like I had been earlier in the day.

“You know, we all know, that Madame Larene despises not be listened to! She saw the daydreaming look on your face, and by God, she pounced on you like a wild beast! She’d called you at least three times before you responded, why can’t you listen to the school marm for once?” She asked me, her eyes looked like they’d been dipped in clouds.

“I do listen to her, I was simply thinking. Is it not proper for a young lady to think?” I smirked inwardly, knowing that I was taunting her. Her whole point of starting this conversation was to tell me to think more, and here I say that my reason for wandering off into daydreams was because I was in fact thinking. How confusing it must’ve been for her now.

“You were thinking, you say, about what?” She asked, her voice rose quickly into a very annoyed tone when she said this, almost as if my logic was bothering her.

“Well, about you, and how you looked at Monsieur Colvere,” I snickered, as I’d used my best impersonation of Madame Larene. “You seemed to have been embarrassed about something. I was just wondering what it was about was all.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I may look at people however I very well choose to.” She huffed at me, her tongue moving faster than her brain. “It’s not like I’ve taken a liking to him or anything!”

“Darren Colvere! Oh, of all people, Margot. I never would have guessed it!” I wasn’t taunting her now; I was honestly surprised she’d liked anyone, especially Darren. He was one of the popular boys who had his oddities like much of the rest of us. But then, he was a sharp boy and he hadn’t any siblings. Most of all he was of ‘noble’ blood. His lineage is rumoured to have been in service to the kings of ages ago. “You should have told me sooner, Margot!”

“Told you what, Lynnette? Are your ears full of wax or do you just refuse to listen to the words coming out of my mouth?” She remarked defensively, she resumed walking towards the drop off. She clutched her books much tighter now, I could tell by the way her fingers flattened against the edges of them. “Maybe, I have. A little.”

“I knew it before you told me! We should invite him over for dinner. Oh, Margot. I could cook for you both! And then you could have a nice dinner on the balcony, or perhaps mother would rather eat with you both. You know how she likes to observe. But maybe you could do it out in the garden? I really think it would-”

“Lynnette, please! The others will hear you!” I stared at her as she motioned to the people around us. None were close enough to hear me, or was I really that loud? “I’ve not told him anything and I’d rather he not know until I tell him myself. If I ever do that, I expect you to let him alone. I don’t want him thinking the Bloom Sisters are loony bins!”

“Oh, Margot! Why must you wreck the fun of everything? It would be just wonderful to see my sister with a boy like Darren. Mother would be so pleased that you happened upon a boy of such nobility. Although I can’t see what’s so noble about them, but it is just the way it is, I suppose. I’ll figure it out one way or another.” I trailed off into thought, Margot walked beside me until we were at the drop off. She stopped and looked at me. She meant for me not to say a word of this to anyone, I’m sure. But I couldn’t help it much.

“Oh please Margot, I’ll only tell Caroline. I swear we won’t tell a soul else!” Caroline is my dearest friend on the entire planet.

She has worked for the Bloom family since I can remember, and I’ve always loved her as a mother. She used to be my nanny, and still she watched after me even after my tenth birthday. She said she enjoyed it too much to stop.

“Only tell Caroline, Lynnette. If you tell anyone but her, I will hang you myself. I swear by it!” I had half a mind to hug her, but instead I grabbed hold of the carriage, which had arrived moments before. I climbed in first and Margot after me.

“Oh Bernard, isn’t it a lovely day? It looks like it may rain, doesn’t it?” I asked our driver, he was the oldest man I knew. At least, I think he is. He’s been around since my great grandfather, and I believe that was at least ninety years ago. He must be ancient by now, right?

He nodded and started off in the direction of the Bloom household. “Yes indeed, Miss Lynnette. I would suppose it does look like rain, maybe we should watch out for it tonight, hm?” I nodded eagerly and looked at Margot, who was staring wistfully out the window. I decided to keep quiet about everything; I knew she was too shy to talk about anything of the like just yet. But I would get it out of her eventually.

Now, my sister Margot is nearly eighteen. She has always been shy, timid, and soft spoken. But when she is around me she tends to come out of her shell, I think it’s because of how close we are. Other times she won’t talk to me for days, usually when we’re upset with each other. But we make up quite easily, and won’t fight again for at least a week.

My father is a quiet, serious, and thoughtful man. And my mother is a beautifully elegant woman. They fit together quite nicely. They almost never argue, but they do give each other looks every now and then that would give away their thoughts. I find it quite cute, the way you can know someone so well that you needn’t have to speak to them to get your point across.

My father is nearly fifty now, he is tall and broad. He has black hair, with the nicest stripes of gray in it. He keeps it combed back most of the time, although it is most unruly in the mornings. He wears suits, with the handkerchief in the pocket, and the stripes lining it. All of his clothes have supremely sharp creases, and he likes it that way. Even after sitting down for about an hour they remain as neat as ever.

Mother is usually found wearing simply beautiful day dresses. She looks best in her dark red ones because they make her look ages younger. I think she’s about forty-four, but she never will tell me for sure. She’s usually quiet, unless she’s hosting a gathering. Only then is she bubbly, and talkative. And still, she remains completely elegant in her movements, her words like warm honey. She’d never have trouble swallowing even her most harsh words! That is how sweet she is, or seems to be.

“Beautiful? Mother this is anything but beautiful! How could you say such a thing? I look putrid, like a haggard in pink!”

My mother and I were in a little shop in town, standing in a room full of mirrors. I was on a platform in the center of this room, and she standing behind me and to the left a ways. She’d had me try on the most adorable dress, yes. It fit the mannequin quite nicely, and perhaps, it would have looked alright on Margot. But it looked absolutely horrid on me.

“Lynnette, you must be going blind. Look at yourself, you look quite nice. Any girl would die for a figure like yours!”

“It’s not my figure I’m talking about! This dress is absolutely putrid on me, look at it; it makes me look like a pink ball of bones!”

The little dress was a picturesque sight to see, in all of its frilly wonder. It was a bright, blindingly so, shade of pink. It had a petticoat, very white indeed, that moved out over the knees in an umbrella sort of way. The front of it had the white ruffles at the neck, which plunged into a V shape which was full of those ruffles and intricate designs, and yet the square neckline still had room to boast a girl’s bosom. The back of it had a rather large pink bow around the waistline, and the white laces to the corset gave it a girlish contrast, something like Bo Peep.

“I think you look darling in it, Lynnette. But perhaps we shall try another dress or two. I’ve never seen you so adamant about a dress; it must be the frills that are putting you off. You never liked frills.”

I gave a grateful sigh of relief, quickly stepping off of the platform and dashing behind the privacy curtain. “I like the darker ones; you know the ones that look to be like blood? Or even wine, those colors suit me nicely.”

“I think those are a bit too grown up for you, dear. You’re only fifteen…” Her voice somewhat dropped at this statement. The sudden realization that I was in fact turning sixteen and this was the usual age that girls became women. And in such, my gifts would probably be more woman-like clothing. I wonder, was my mother is having trouble with that? I was her youngest after all, and maybe she didn’t want me to grow up.

I didn’t say another word about the matter and we ended up leaving the store empty handed. I was not upset; I knew why she felt this way. And it would’ve been cruel to make her face the facts earlier than she needed to.

My mother and I continued our day in silence; the only piece of conversation being my mother telling me ‘Don’t touch that’ when we were in a very expensive trinket store. Although it was silent, there was an unusually warm feeling about us. She wasn’t upset, I think more or less she appreciated the fact that I go of the whole dress ordeal. Although my reasoning may be somewhat faulty, letting her savor something that is soon to be taken away. Maybe it would’ve done better to just submerge her in reality? I don’t know, she seems content at the moment and that’s what really matters.

We walked into our home, my mother carried her new green dress and I carried a few hat boxes.  I didn’t mind carrying the boxes, but I was particularly put off by the sloth-like movement of Gretchen, the woman who tends to the house, in opening the door. I shan’t call her a housekeeper because she really just opens the door, and occasionally cooks a meal. I took special care to smile at her when I walked by, just to prove my point. She gave me the same scowl I’ve gotten from her since she came here. She said I was too ‘wild’ and ‘carefree’ for her liking, and mother refused to send me off to that boarding school in whatever faraway place she suggested they send me to.

Our house isn’t huge, but it is quite roomy. From the entrance you enter the foyer, and from there you can see three main features of the house- The Great Room, the Grand Staircase, and the Sitting Room. The Great Room is where we hold our large gatherings, especially balls. There is wood flooring throughout different areas of the house, but this room has the slickest of them all. I believe it’s to keep peoples’ feet alight while they are moving about the dance floor.

The Grand Staircase is actually two staircases that lead up to the top floor, where there is a balcony of sorts looking out over the foyer. There is a burgundy and cream rug flowing down each of the staircases, I quite like them.

The Sitting Room is a den, with three sofa-chairs, one large sofa, and a table with matching chairs- The plain straight back kind that are often used at dining tables. There is also a piano, which is often moved into the Great Room for entertaining large quantities of guests. The Sitting Room has plenty of room to dance, if it’s a party of a dozen or so people, but anything more than that and it has to take place in the Great Room.

I took the left stairwell to get to my mother’s room. I walked past four doors, one on the left of the hall and two on the right. The one on the left was a small closet that we used for spare toiletries. And the two on the opposite side were to a spare room, and my fathers’ office. He has two places of refuge, one being the small office up here, and the other being a larger den downstairs.

 

I walked into their room and quickly set the boxes down on the stand by the door, I promptly turned around and shut the door behind me. I’d never really liked my parents room, the idea of them actually having an intimate aspect of their lives together, besides the odd looks and such, was quite unsettling. I’d never really cared for thoughts about their doings together, going out to dinner and what not.  A bedroom tends to show so many private things. Favorite colors, fashion sense, likes and dislikes- I don’t need to know that about my parents. I never have, and I shouldn’t start now. They tell me what they feel like telling me, and that’s enough for all of us.

          My boots squeaked as I turned on my heel, walking at a heightened pace, down the hall to my own room.