"I'm getting married!" I shrieked loudly, jumping up and down on the straw mattress in excitement. "I'm getting married!"
"Oh, do shut up Anneka," Isabella snapped, glaring at me. "You're only going to an appointment with the matchmaker. You're not getting married yet."
"And stop jumping up and down like that," Florencia added, smoothing her silk skirts haughtily. "It's not proper."
"I don't want to be proper," I said daringly. "I want to be married!" I picked up the hem of my skirt with one hand and held it out like a princess' gown, twirling around in the dusty room and humming an old wedding song loudly.
Not even my unagreeable sisters could upset me at the moment. I'd finally, finally reached the golden age of 20 years yesterday, and I was so ready to throw away childhood and become a woman.
"I'm going to get married to the nicest, finest man in the village," I said dreamily, putting a hand at my heart and continuing to twirl, sending up billows of dust into the air.
"Stop it," Florencia ordered, plaiting her hair and then pinning it up on her head. She was already married, so she was allowed to wear her hair in that way. I envied her beyond belief.
"I'm going to tell mum that you've been bragging about it," Isabella threatened, pinning her hair up the same way as Florencia.
"And I'm going to tell mum that you've been putting your hair up when you're not married," I taunted back, finally settling down and pulling on my finest stockings. "Bad girl, you are, Isabella."
My older sister flushed and ignored me, staring into the cracked mirror in the room that we three sisters shared.
I smirked in victory and quickly pulled on two woolen petticoats and shivered slightly in the coldness. We couldn't afford to have a fireplace in every single room, and I longed to be in front of the hearth's warmth.
"You really shouldn't tease her about that, you know," Florencia said reproachfully when Isabella had stormed from the room. "It's not her fault."
"Oh yes it is, no one fancies her because she's an old hag," I shrugged. "You know it, and so do I."
"Anneka! I won't tolerate---"
"Don't even pretend that you can tell me what to do Florry," I scoffed, buttoning up my best dress. "I'm not your three year old daughter."
"You know, with an attitude like that," Florencia said nastily, dabbing on rouge to her thin face. "What makes you so sure that any man will fancy you?"
I stuffed my feet into my too-small shoes and made a face at my oldest sister. "Madame Hassan has never failed. Don't you fret your pretty little head," I smirked, tucking my ribbon bonnet in my dress. "I'll be out of your hair soon enough."
I heard a derisive sniff from my sisters and walked into the other room of our small house, where Mother already had the old iron stove heated up.
"Morning Mother," I said, curtsying in the way that I'd always done since being a little girl. "Isn't it a nice day?"
"Don't use contractions Anneka," Mother reprimanded me, setting a bowl of hot porridge in front of me. "It makes you sound like a peasant."
But we were. Well, a little higher on the society class than peasants, but with the way that my parents carried on, it seemed as if they thought that we were dukes or counts or something.
I nodded and held my tongue, knowing that answering back to Mother resulted in severe consequences, in spite of the fact that I was now a fully grown woman.
Gulping down my porridge as fast as I could while still seeming proper, I waited impatiently as Florencia, Isabella, and Mother all finished their breakfasts and wrapped enough shawls around themselves until they were undistinguishable lumps of cloth.
"Look at you," I snickered, having only one shawl around me and nearly dancing for joy as we bid goodbye to Father and headed out into the village street. "All lumpy and everything. . . "
"At least we won't catch a death of a cold," Isabella said indignantly from behind her layers of shawls. "Honestly, Mother, Anneka looks positively scandalous in her skimpy dress."
Skimpy? I was wearing four or so blasted layers on! What was she going on about?
Silver frost lined the edges of the cobblestone roads and buildings, and I jumped and ran, happy to be out in the fresh (but cold) air. I breathed smoky vapors into the air and laughed with delight.
"When will you ever grow up?" Florencia snapped, tugging me away from a row of icicles on a roof edge that practically begged to be snapped off. "And learn to behave?"
Mother paused to trade gossip at the market, with middle-aged women huddled around warm fires while waiting for customers to purchase their wares.
"I'm going to see Madam Hassan today," I said importantly to one of our family friends and all of the women murmured in admiration.
"Madam Hassan, she's' the best of the lot," one said approvingly. "Always knows what's best for girls."
"She matched me with my husband," another, older woman crowed. "And we're still happy to this day, twenty years after!"
"Do you think my marriage will last as long as yours?" I asked and Mother gave me a freezing look.
"My apologies Gina," Mother said to the older woman. "Anneka's always been so rash and bold."
Gina waved my rudeness away with one hand. "Of little importance. Anneka is simply curious, nothing to be ashamed of."
I nodded happily in agreement as Mother broke apart from her circle of gossipy friend and started towards Madam Hassan's home.
"That was really rude," Florencia reprimanded me before Mother could say anything. "The nerve of you, Anneka! Really, it's embarrassing!"
"I just wanted to know," I shrugged my shoulders and whipping my pale blonde hair off my face. "Is it a crime to ask questions?"
"Bite your tongue," Mother said sternly. "I do hope, Anneka, that marriage will silence that mouth of yours."
I rolled my eyes as she turned back around and breathed in the sharp winter air. My sisters and mother were always going about and being so proper and fancy that it made me so sick! Why couldn't they just loosen up or something?
Madam Hassan's home was lovely. She was obviously well to do, even without a husband. Her home was nice and cozy and had thick Oriental rugs piled on the floor. I wondered silently how she came by so much money.
"Wealthy and grateful customers," Isabella hissed in Florencia's ear, and they both dissolved into giggles. They'd never seen the village matchmaker before---Mother had believed that they were refined and ladylike enough when they were my age that they didn't need a matchmaker.
I, on the other hand. . . .
I didn't care. I unwrapped my shawl and gaily smiled at the old, wrinkled woman that sat in a rocking chair near the fire, writing something with a large feathered quill. On her left was a table that had a enormous mixing bowl and several vials of brilliantly colored powder.
"Madam Hassan, so lovely to see you again," Mother simpered, curtsying beautifully before the respected old woman. Wrinkly, wise, and mysterious, the matchmaker lifted her head.
"Hello Jennifer," Madam Hassan smiled, her brilliant blue eyes twinkling. She was quite small, probably even smaller and slighter than me, but she was dressed in a beautiful cotton dress and had an embroidered shawl thrown across her thin shoulders.
"Allow me to introduce my youngest daughter, Anneka here," Mother said, taking hold of my arm and making me curtsy as well.
"Pleasure to meet you, madam," I said, having rehearsed the line over and over. As I came up from my curtsy, I paused to examine this woman, who'd be deciding my fate.
Mother and Madam Hassan seated themselves away from us younger girls and began to talk rapidly, having met many times before to discuss my marriage.
I smiled and looked around the wonderful home, brushing my fingers against the smooth wooden walls and taking in the richness with my eyes.
I'd never been in such a fancy home before, not ever. It must be magnificent to be rich, I thought dreamily, picturing myself in the arms of a faceless young man and dressed in a beautiful silk dress.
"Anneka? Anneka!" Mother called to me, shaking me out of my daydream. "Come over here."
I obliged and remembered just in time to drop another curtsy before Madam Hassan. The old matchmaker smiled wisely and took my hand in hers, examining it.
"Anneka, your mother tells me that you are a lovely, free spirit," Madam Hassan, smiling warmly at me. Something about her just intrigued me and made me want to know all of her secrets.
"Such a fiery personality ought to be honed, am I correct?" Mother put in and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Dear old Mother, who wanted to seem as if she knew everything.
"Perhaps. Perhaps," Madam Hassan said wisely, turning my hand over and examining the palm. "You are of 20 years, are you not?"
"You mean, am I twenty?" I asked, clarifying. Mother seemed to scowl at me.
Madam Hassan nodded, her eyes twinkling again. She dropped my hand and pulled out a large, dusty book and flicked through it. I wanted to peek at the pages myself, but resisted the urge.
"Yes, I am," I nodded eagerly, wondering what was written in that book of hers. "Turned 20 just yesterday."
Madam Hassan appeared deep in thought and picked up her quill, writing something in the book. "I know this village inside and out, as well as the inhabitants," she said softly, looking up and meeting my age.
"And?" Mother nudged me again for being so eager.
Madam Hassan, however, did not look offended at all. Actually, she seemed amused. She turned to the large wooden mixing bowl and unstopper-ed several vials, pouring a little bit of each inside the bowl. She waved her hand over the bowl and seemed to consult the vapors that poured out of it.
I nearly gasped. Surely, this counted as magic, did it not? One of the strictest taboo in our small, superstitious village. But Madam Hassan couldn't just do magic and get away with it in front of everyone---maybe it was just practical, scientific sorts of stuff. Or she just did it to get a more impressive effect.
Mother seemed to squeeze my hand, probably fearing that I'd ask something stupid again. I bit my tongue and decided that Madam Hassan was just putting on a bit of a show before cutting to the chase.
Five long minutes passed as the old woman stared into the vapors that continued to rise out of the bowl, murmuring every so often and prodding the bowl's contents. I strained my eyes to see if I could see anything in the smoky substance, but my eyes only watered.
Mother squeezed my hand again and I knew she was impatient. Seeing the matchmaker cost gold by the hour, and nearly two had passed. Mother was one of those sorts of people that held onto every piece of gold that she could with an iron fist.
The air seemed to fill with a sickly-sweet scent, and I tried to refrain from closing my eyes. I felt curiously weak and sleepy, and I wanted nothing now at the moment than to curl up on my straw pallet back at home. But this was important. .. . this was deciding my future. I couldn't fall asleep during it. . . .
I blinked rapidly and tried to grasp the edge of my seat so I wouldn't faint from the sickening sweet smell. What was going on? Why was I feeling this way? One glance at Mother told me that I was the only one experiencing something like this.
At last, Mother Hassan seemed to understand what the smoking contents of her mixing bowl was telling her and looked up.
"I believe that I know of a young gentleman who'd be suitable for you," she said, her eyes twinkling mysteriously.
My heart rose in my chest and I positively beamed. "Who?"
Mother nudged me much harder this time and I turned to look at her, aware that I must have done something really wrong this time.
Again, in the same calm voice, Madam Hassan smiled vaguely. "I do not reveal names, young Anneka. Fear not, you will meet him on your wedding day."
"Wonderful," Mother said before I could open my mouth. She was probably afraid that I was going to say something foolish again. "Thank you so much for your time, Madam Hassan." Mother withdrew a small sack of gold coins from her purse and placed it in the matchmaker's hands.
We exchanged good byes and dragged two very surly sisters out of the home, but not before Madam Hassan called out my name again.
"Anneka?"
"yes?" I asked breathlessly, winding my shawl back around my shoulders.
"Your husband will be a fine man," she said, smiling in that wise way. "And I promise that happiness will be yours, if---"
"Anneka! We are leaving!" Mother called out, interrupting Madam Hassan. "Come on Anneka!"
I turned back to the matchmaker to hear what she was going to say, but the old, wise woman had turned away, humming. It was clear that she had been unaware that she'd been interrupted.
"Wait, Madam Hassan---" I started to say but Isabella had marched back up to me and dragged me out the door, which closed with a bang.
Thanks for reading!
Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!
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