BASICS

[Abigail Drake]

It was with a sense of trepidation that Abigail found herself walking to her friend's home. Normally. she would not mind making such a call, however, things had been different for the past months. Peeking out from under the brim of her stylish hat, she gripped her skirts in both fists as she struggled to bring about some sort of calm in her stomach, while her figure betrayed nothing of her feelings. She knew how to carry herself, the only sign that she gave of her discomfort was the said holding of her skirt.

It had not been since before the engagement had been broken between her sister and William Lawrence that Abigail had ventured to the home of her friend. Oh, of course the dear girl had called at the Drake home, but Abigail Drake herself had never ventured to the home of her sister's once betrothed. Even though she never called on the brother - La, to suggest such a thing! - there had nevertheless been the threat that they might run into each other once inside the walls of the home. Naturally, she knew the boy meant no harm, and that the argument was said to have taken place between the fathers, however, that did not give her a sense of ease. The Drakes and the Lawrences could never be called enemies, although she had found the social gatherings awkward when she spoke to any of the family except Joanna.

In the end, it all proved very silly, and her mother had demanded that she call on her friend. It was impolite to not return calls, Abigail knew that, and her mother would not allow her to skirt her duties as a proper lady any longer. So, the middle Drake girl had been practically thrust out of the home, the imminent need of her calling at the Lawrence's not being overtly spoken, but hinted at enough that there was no doubt. As a result, off Abigail had set, her walk perhaps a little more leisurely than usual, her meandering past any stores even more wistful than she normally took the occasion to be. However, as she was destined to do, she finally ended up in front of the Lawrence household. Sending a vague prayer upward that Mr. William Lawrence would not be at home, she reluctantly started up the walk, pausing here or there along the way to fortify herself, all under the guise of studying the garden that surrounded the path up to the front door.

Her knock was promptly answered, and she was led to the parlor, where she stood, she did not sit. Staring at one of the portraits on the wall, she mentally checked her posture as the servant ran to find Joanna. Her chin was up, her shoulders back, her composed facade perfectly in place. Even if the boy that had caused all this awkward embarrassment were to walk in the room, she determined she would show none of her emotion. She needed to focus only on keeping her calm, and to focus on Joanna.

[Joanna Lawrence]

The sun had quickly come over the horizion that morning. Too quickly, it seemed. With the current turmoil over the broken engagement, every day seemed to drag by for Joanna. At night, she would find a sort of refuge from the sorrow (well, her own personal sorrow; it seemed that no one else was upset about the ruined engagement). In her dreams, she was free to imagine what would have, could have been. The wonderful Annabelle Drake, her sister-in-law! How wondrous that would have been. And then, the sun would come up, and the wondrous dreams were over.

As she woke that morning, Joanna was reminded by her ever nagging conscience that Annabelle was not her sister-in-law. It almost brought tears to her eyes. But, the pain and sorrow was washed away as quickly as it had come. There was no use of crying. The only way Joanna could get her brother, Will, and Annabelle back together was if she did something about it. And she was planning to. Just as soon as she could think of something...

Joanna rolled out of bed and made her way to her mirror. As she began to brush out her hair, she could not help but to gaze into the beauty in the mirror. Every day since she had been born Joanna had done this, so nothing, not even tears from a broken dream, could stop her.
"Oh, Joanna. Look at you. Are you not the most beautiful thing around? Your eyes; how they sparkle. Your hair; how it gleams. And that face; the angels blessed you dearly.
Blessed me? Oh, don't be daft. I am an angel. And you act as though you're surprised."
She chuckled. How lovely it was to be beautiful. And not only was she beautiful, but she was also smart. And incredibly attractive. And well behaved. And gorgeous.

The self-compliments would have continued if there hadn't been a knock on her bedroom door. She told the knocker to come in, and set to work putting on her make-up. A servant walked in and told her of Abigail's arrival.
"Well don't be stupid. Go back down there and keep her busy! She is my dearest friend, but she doesn't seem to happy with our family at the moment. Go on. Tell her I'll be down in a moment."
Hopping up from her chair, Joanna pondered on what to wear. Deciding on something pink and frilly, as to match one of Abigail and her own tastes, Joanna checked herself in the mirror, and began downstairs.

She checked her hair one last time at the foot of the stairs, and then went into the parlor. Abigail was standing, and looking at a painting of some long dead relative of Joanna's. Straightening her back, she kindly said, "My dear Abigail! What a pleasure it is to see you!" And what a pleasure it was. While at the side of her truest friend, Joanna's pain was minimal. And, Joanna couldn't help but to notice, she looked much better than her friend today. How perfect.