Mad Hatter

The sweet scent of roses fills my nose as I lay in the empty flower field that belongs to the farmer. Mr. Alterworth, the farmer, grows bouquets for the wealthy folk, but he allows me to daydream in the afternoons. A kind man, but also fairly grumpy and lonely. It makes a young girl like me feel bad for him, like his only friends are the horses and crops. A subtle buzz zooms past my ear, causing me to flinch and move my brunette hair over my ear. “Those darn bees,” I mumble. Sitting up, I brush the grass off my knees and stand up. The blood must’ve come up to my head too fast, because my vision turns black but it quickly fades away.  “Miss Carla! Please, come!” I hear off in the distance. It was Mrs. Burla, waving for me to come to her.  I slip on my flats and rush over to her. Her face was pale and her cheeks glistened under the sun, showing she must of been crying earlier. Her dress was absolutely gorgeous, after all, she was the town dressmaker. She had a fancy for flowers as well, so she makes roses and lilacs out of fabric and sews them onto her dresses. My mother and sister could never afford such a luxury, but I enjoy helping Mrs. Burla make the flowers, and she pays me .02 cents per flower.  “Oh, Carla. My shop has been robbed! The fabric, the tools, everything just vanished!” she exclaims. My blank expression formed into a sympathetic frown. The fabric must cost more than 2.54 pounds each roll. That’s more than my elder sister makes a month!  “Do you know who stole it?” I ask. “If I knew who stole it, I would have it by now, would I not?” she exclaims. Her reply made me step back a little. It was a little rude, but emotions must of taken over her brain.  “Thats fair. I must get along now, or Mother will scold me for being late again,” I say. I knew Mother wouldn’t be very mad, but I need an excuse to leave this conversation. The people in town are friendly, but they have large tempers. My black flats skip across the stone path towards the cottage. Orange and black butterflies drink nectar from the flower bushes, and the squirrels rustle in the trees. “Elaine! Is Miss Ebner here?” Mother calls out to my sister. Elaine is only 3 years older than me, but it seems as if she was my mother, controlling my every last move to make my life perfect. “Oh, Clara, wear this!” she would say, “become a tailor!” She tries to persuade me into becoming more like her, proper and elegant. She would never come home with her tights covered in grass stains or flower petals tangled in her hair. She wouldn’t dare skip school or need a personal tutor. But alas, I do. “Miss Ebner isn’t here, Mother, it’s just Clara,” Elaine replies from the backyard. I could see her blonde curls bounce as she carries a pail towards the well. I knock on the tall wooden door that makes a deep hollow sound when I bang on it. I look off to the side for a moment, waiting for Mother to open the door for me. The old door creaks open, “Miss Ebner will be here any moment, dear. Gather your books and pencil.” I let out a sigh of disappointment. Miss Ebner is my private tutor, whose job is to go more in depth with reading and writing. Drawing is my real passion, where I can express all of the things running through my mind. I usually draw in the margins of my books when Miss Ebner gets boring. Elaine would never draw in her books.  I walk up the dusty old stairs Mother couldn’t be bothered to clean. I sleep in the attic with the birds and the chimney. In a way, it’s peaceful being alone listening to the ravens sing in the morning. I grab my books and pencils and go back down the stairs only to see Miss Ebner standing at the door. Another thing, Miss Ebner is a widow of a very rich businessman. Sadly, he changed his will in the last minutes of his life giving all of his money to their son, Peter Ebner. I’ve never met him personally, but rumor has it that he is planning attacks on the town, but I highly doubt it. The towns quarrymen tell many tall tales and gossip, and most of them are mad in the brain.  “Hello, madam,” I greet. A giant smile forms on her faces, “Lovely manners! Today's lesson will be outside,” she exclaims. She's way too happy for an old woman with no husband and a mysterious son. The word ‘outside’ repeats in my head. Elaine will be outside, listening to every wrong answer and looking at every drawing. I’ve always tried to be better than her, but I have never succeeded. All of the boys gaze at her and Marie, her friend, as they walk in the school yard. I don’t even go to school, I hide in the attic and talk to birds and paint most of the day.   “Oh, sure,” I choke out. I can already imagine Elaine with a sickly grin ready to critique me. Mother leads us outside and we sit on the stone benches Mr. Alterworth made.