Lucy Wickshire

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2018 by Mfonemana Uduak

Art by Mfonemana Uduak

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission from the author.

The contents of this work including, but not limited to, the accuracy of events, people, and places depicted; opinions expressed are fiction. If there is any resemblance to any of the listed above, it is pure coincidence.

Soft wind over evening sun

Rest on fingers typing away on a brick laptop

Sitting straight on a low fence

Over-looking farmland waiting for a hoe

“Mama, come let’s start” a tired voice calls

Fingers pause

A head raises

Eyes still at Adiagha Akpan

Wrapper tied around her waist,

Hoe in hand

CHAPTER ONE

Small and tender fingers gripped onto the slim length of a quill as it attempted to make steady and clear words from shaky letters on a piece of parchment. The fingers and the coach quarrelled long; both stubborn to fulfil their tasks. Light streamed unto the parchment, on the small suitcase, on small laps, from the slightly cracked window blind, letting in a small contrast to the rather dark coach.

"What so serious about, darling?" a deep voice asked from the other side of the coach.

The dark figure who had just spoken flinched; as he could feel and almost definitely see, the made-out grey of the little eyes in the dark; as it threw him a glare. The dark figure knew his little lady remained angry; as he had numerously in one day, annoyed her and the sun was yet to set on his sins.

"Darling, I thought I had explained myself and apologized too. Why do you continue to punish me with your silence?" the man in the dark asked, but yet again met with silence. Though this time spared the anguish of her glare, he could feel words screamed at him in a familiar little and soft voice, where there was none a sound, save the coach that rocked on.

He had always felt that way about her or better yet, she had always been that way. The air around her never quite seemed playful even as she played. One would always worry not to offend her. The coach stopped, signalling his time to face death; as they had arrived at their destination.

He hurried out of the coach to open her side of the coach door, but the coachman had beaten him to it.

He, like everyone in his household, showed more loyalty to her than they ever did him.

The coach doors opened and little silver rested shoes came first as they graced the stone-paved grounds. Hair, white enough to make snow hide in shame, demanded attention, as it flowed down a small back adorned by a cream lace-on-satin dress. Dark brows framed angry grey eyes on a silky almost pale face.

"Lucy, you must swallow your anger. Every noble lady your age must attend some sort of education by royal decree. This is every growing lady's fate," the man scolded.

"No papa, there is no fate. There is only me and what I allow happen to me," Lucy answered, straightening her dress.

"The world does not work that way, my darling," her father sighed.

"Let's talk no more of this, papa. I am already here," Lucy said, looking around the courtyard. The path was stoned to the doorway. A fountain stood at the centre of the walkway. Well-trimmed grass and shrubs adorned the courtyard.

"Promise me you will stay in school and make the most of it," her father said. Lucy finally turned after taking in the courtyard and looked up at him with blank eyes.