Emmanuelle’s Choice

Emmanuelle skipped home. She had just gotten out of school. No homework for the weekend. That was typical for her class of people. Her future was all dependent upon her getting a good match so tomorrow night was crucial. Tomorrow night was the Matchmaker’s Ball. No, there was no actual matchmaker. Not in the last two hundred years at least. No, it was just named that since tradition began for unwed young maidens and men got together to make a possible match, and to not let looks affect the outcome, masks were worn. Unfortunately that did nothing for Emma, as her family and friend called her. A mask couldn’t hide the soft round belly or pudgy arms and legs. No the eligible bachelors of Greville, mainly her village of Stonewall, would definitely notice. Stopping at the mailbox, she opened it and pulled out the expected invitation. Walking slowly up to her front door, a dreamy smile plastered on her face, she imagined herself, for a moment, being invited to the platinum ball. The Platinum Ball was only for the elite. You had to be royalty, or considered one by association and money in order to be invited. Their poor little family would never get invited. Half the days she didn’t even eat. Which made no sense why she was so fat. She should be as thin as a piece of parchment. But life was seldom predictable and seldom made sense. “Emma, that bedroom of yours won’t clean itself,” said her tall statuesque mother, her long blonde hair up in a bun as she busy busily baked bread. “Yes mama. The invitation came today.” “Well, go on and open it. Lets see what it says.” Emmanuelle put down her school bag and picked up the envelope. Looking at the invitation, Emma remarked, “That’s odd, I thought only the invitations to The Platinum Ball were gold.” Deidre Coldbrook noticibly froze for a split second, then continued kneading the dough in front of her. “Oh? Yes quite unusual.” Emmashrugged and continued to open the invitation. She opened the envelope and pulled out the single piece of paper, and a small gasp slipped past her lips as she read the invitation. “Well, what does it say child?” Emma’s hands shook as she looked up at her mother from reading the words on the silver parchment. “I-it says I’m invited…to the Platinum Ball.” Emmanuelle Josefina Coldbrook, you stop kidding about something like that.” “I’m not mama. Look!” She thrust it at her mother, who took the towel tucked in her apron and wiped her dusty hands on it. As her mother perused the contents of the parchment. She shook her head and said, “for the sake of the gods, I didn’t think I’d ever see this.” Emma wasn’t quite sure she understood what her mother meant by that remark. “At last, the gods have answered my prayers, as well as the prayers of generations of Coldbrooks before us. Finally, an invite to the Platinum Ball.” “But mama, you don’t seriously expect me to go to this do you? I’ll be laughed right out the door.” Continuing her bread making, Deidre Coldbrook said, “it matters not what people think my beautiful angel. Tomorrow night, you are going to the Platinum Ball.” Emma hated to burst her mother’s bubble, the stars in her eyes glowed so bright.” “But mama! I can’t. I have no dress that is good enough, nor the skills to do my face like the elite does, nor the skills to do my hair. I will be laughed at and at school…” Deidre once again wiped her hands off on the towel and walked around the small wooden table she was kneading the dough on and took her daughter’s face in her hands. “Emmanuelle, you listen to me, my precious child. You are just as good as any of those girls. Money doesn’t make a person better, it just makes life easier. I’m proud of our family and how much we struggled to do to get here. Never be ashamed of your humble beginnings, for it doesn’t always predict how you will end up. Now, as for your hair and face, your aunt Henna is very good at the face thing, and I bet you might be surprised at your mother’s skills with hair.” “Ok mother, if you are certain.” “I am positive!” “Then I will go,” Emma said with a certainty she did not feel yet. “Great! Now, go get your chores done before dinner.” “Yes mama,” Emma replied taking her things into her bunk, and then heading outside to do her chores. Being the oldest of five children, her chores were the longest and most physical. Right now she had to feed the animals and clean the horses' stalls. Emma tucked her skirts between her legs, effectively making a sort of pants like the menfolk wore, and grabbing her tools, got busy. She started with feeding the animals. She grabbed a bucket and filled it with chicken feed, and tossed it to the chickens. “Hello Gertie.” She only named one, for she knew one day they’d be dinner, but papa had promised her they’d never kill Gertie. “Come on Gertie. Here you go.” Gertie walked up to Emma, her short little legs quite strong considering she was getting bigger and bigger. It was going to be difficult to convince her father not to kill Gertie if she didn’t stop eating so much. Emma couldn’t help but laugh at her feathered friend. Gertie was always hungry. “You better stop feeding that bird else she’s gonna end up on our dinner table some day.” Her brother, Azakar, said. “Don’t you dare go near her, Azakar.” Pointing over Emmanuelle’s shoulder, he said, “it’s not me you should worry about.” Following the direction he was pointing, she followed it until she saw her brother Ferat. “Ferat! No!” “She’s a chicken Em. Meant to be eaten. She’s not a pet!” “Stop! She’s my pet! We have over a dozen that are bigger than her. Please! Don’t!” Lethal looking blade in his hand, he froze, the blade touching the terrified bird’s neck. “Damn!” “Azakar! Language!” Hollered her mother. “Sorry mother.” After an embarrassing scolding from his mother in front of his older sister, Azakar hung his head and went into the barn to exercise the horses. Emma secretly wished she could ride the horses, or as her father put it, exercise them. The sun was still high in the sky, warming her goldrn honey colored skin, at least in the warmer months it was, but in the winter she could disappear in the snow she was so white. She had just finished her last chore when her father pulled up in the wagon. “Papa!” She cried, throwing her arms around his neck. “You’ll never believe what happened today. Looking a bit too confident he knew the answer, he replied. “Let me guess, you received an invitation to the Platinum Ball.” Her jaw dropped in disbelief. “But…how could you know? There’s no way you could know. I-I-I…who told you?” Gareth Coldbrook kisses his daughter on the head and smiled. “Nothing like that, Emmanuelle. I just happen to know that as a guest Ute of goodwill they send out invitations to one of the, ah, poorer villages and invite them to the platinum ball.” “Oh. So you already heard about it…somewhat.” “. “Just what I told you, that they choose someone from the poorer villagers.” “Oh, I see. I didn’t know that.” Gareth grabbed his tool kit and headed towards the barn. “Of course not. No one is supposed to but a fellow from North Waterford let it slip that his daughter was chosen last year.” “Oh. I see.” Gareth chuckled and Emma bristled. “Go on in and help your mother with dinner.” “Yes papa.” It was Emma’s job to fix the sides, while it was her sister’s job to set the table, including wipe it down. An hour later dinner was ready. Her father came in right when it was ready, as usual, right when it was ready. So crazy how he always did that. Walking over to his wife, he kissed her mother on the cheek, which she thought was adorable, but averted her gaze all the same. “Mmm venison stew. Smells amazing.” “That would be the onions I put in it this time.” “You found some wild onions?” “You don’t concern yourself with that right now, and go wash your hands.” “Yes dear.” Putting everything in serving bowls, Emma’s mother placed it all on the table. “Emma go and get your brothers.” “Yes mama.” Emma wiped her hands on her apron and crossed over to the door to holler out at her brothers. She stepped outside and hollered out for her brothers, leaving the door open behind her. Before she could holler for her brothers, however, her mother hollered at her. “Emmanuelle, the door! You’re letting out all the cool air from the air cooler.” Emma rolled her eyes, but closed the door behind her anyway. “Sorry mother…Azakar! Ferat! Dinner is ready!”