Vicar Andrews is avoiding his brother's funeral by hiding upstairs in the family house, rifling through the boxes that will inevitably go to an estate sale, when he discovers a journal far too old to be his brother's. Possessed by curiosity and eagr...
It should not be so surprising to find that I love it here. The night lasts for ages, the seasons are all melodramatic and moody, and the scenery - by God! What beautiful scenery! My parents would have been proud, to see their only child situated at last in a place that inspired and fulfilled her.
I suppose, as it is the first entry in this little notebook Anais has given me as a parting gift, I should introduce myself. I know who I am, of course - It is not my intention to imply that I am in need of reminding, but a book of this sorts, should it fall into other hands for whatever fantastical reason, needs a few facts laid bare. My name is Winnifred Yulia Peterson, but everyone has called me simply Winn for as long as I can recall. I am of average height and weight, and possibly intelligence, my hesitation here owing to the tendency of my thoughts to become scattered when under the slightest pressure. Do not, I should heed anyone, rely on me for battle tactics, nor quick advice! My father mulled things over as passionately as anyone I've ever known, and my mother was always fond of the trait. "Rash decisions do not become us," she liked to say, and I should think I have adopted that most heartedly. I do not proclaim to be any more intelligent when given this luxury of time to think things over, but my heart will at least be sure of what I have eventually decided on.
At any rate! There aren't very many other physical attributes I would say set me apart, but I feel it important I should mention my familial background in some small extent. My father was the son of a freed Black man, and took to Philadelphia some fifteen years before my birth, where he worked in various shipyards and ports until he met my mother, the granddaughter of Russian immigrants. Not the most likely matching one would see, even now, but I am grateful for it indeed! I cannot say what attracted my parents to one another, as my mother maintains an almost girlish privacy over the whole affair, and she bound my father in a similar state of silence when I was very young. From what I do know, gleaned from sparse conversations with my father, he stepped off a boat after a storm, and my mother happened to pass by. So enamoured was she by the breakthrough of sun in the clouds, and my father's no doubt noble demeanour, that she was immediately determined to possess his hand in marriage.
That is really all I know of the ordeal, and I'm half-certain it's mostly flawed with time and a flair of romance, but it matters not as much as one might think. I am a result of such a pairing, and despite all of the hardships and struggles they've both faced as a result of it, I think they're still happy.
I have referred to them quite often in the past tense, and I realise now that this gives off the impression that they are dead. How reckless of me! I am quite well and alive and they are possibly healthier than even that. What I mean in referring to them like so is to say only that they are no longer with me, or rather, I am no longer with them. It was decided that I was in need of fresher air than the pollution of Philadelphia (there again, my poor health), and thus, I am here in the unknown world of England, of all places.
Dorset isn't so bad a town, as it is close to the sea and rather quiet here. Farming seems to be the main source of movement for the people here, and though I've heard more than a few grumbles of complaints as I moved through on my first day, I live far out enough from it all that only the birds complain where I can hear. It rains quite often, but the house my father was able to secure for me is close enough to the town that I needn't worry about being swept out to sea in my sleep. I've received a look or two of concern from the citizens for the colour of my skin and my eyes (while I inherited most of my complexion and physical makeup from my mother, I am still in possession of a tanned skin tone impossible for anyone from around here, and in ownership of peculiarly hazel eyes), but have been mostly left alone. England is a great deal more forgiving for people of colour than even in as accepting a place as Philadelphia - perhaps this was one reason for my father wanted my relocation? Along with me for the boat ride was Anais, the family friend of sorts, not quite a maid, but not quite a relative, until we reached the town's limits. It is necessary for a person to travel for some reason or another in their life, and it was decided that once I was safe in the small house purchased for me, Anais would depart before making her eventual way back home.
I was tender at her loss, but looked very much forward to the host of freedoms at my disposal. My father would send my allowances on the first of the month and what I did with it was entirely at my discretion.
Can you imagine, my lovely little journal, the joy I felt after being situated at last? The very first thing I purchased was a set of pens and as much paper as I could carry. What impeccable scenery to write in! I was determined not to let it go to waste, and how glad I am, to be able to write in here and in my various books.
I feel that should be enough for now. The sun sets quickly, and I have supper to make!
Later
Stumbling around in the dark in the kitchen, I chanced upon a box of candles, and how very glad I am! I have seen precious few examples of electricity in the world, but Dorset is far enough behind modern times that I was quite certain I would be doomed to early nights forevermore. The candles aren't very plentiful, so I must remember to make my way to town tomorrow to replenish. I wish it had occurred to me to bring any along, but there again - I do not think things through terribly when possessed by anything else on my mind!
Supper today consisted of a generic stew. I am no wonderful cook, but I can boil things in a pot as good as anyone else. One of my many ideas for the future is to secure some seeds from the locals and learn how to plant a fruit or vegetable of some sort. Living by the sea never afforded one with the opportunity to eat much fresh food, and the idea always appealed to me. What should I start with? Would tomatoes find the water too much? Could I plant berries?
I must ask someone locally, but for now, I will eat my stew and explore the house. It is rather lofty, and much too big for one person, but my father claims the price for it was far beyond reasonable due to its poor state. The smaller main house is perfectly acceptable to live in, and thus, I care not for the crumbling walls by the south side, or the roof that has ceased existing on the third floor. Is a ruined home not even more giving to the imagination for a hopeful writer such as myself? I shall try very hard not to spill the contents of my meal on my book, or anything that could be of worth!
It appears as though the main home is perfect in every way (except, of course, for it being surrounded by a mess of a house), and the room I have made up for myself overlooks the water very pleasantly. I shall have to admire the view during the day, and see if the clouds or the rain make the view any nicer. There is a smallish reading room not too far from my meager chambers, and a miniature library I almost spilled my stew to see. It would seem that everything in working order is small! As much as I wished to see the rest of the house, I feared daylight would be a wiser decision. A writer I wanted to be, and a horror one at that, but I myself was of no disposition to be terrified. Spiders and bugs and dust and webs I wanted nothing to do with! I am ashamed to admit my reaction to anything obscured by the monstrous veil of shadows would be extremely unflattering and unheroic.
The candle runs low! I will likely lay down the pen for the night and attempt to make what use of my candle that I can for bed. Adieu, my newfound friend, and may we explore more of our new home in the morning!
Excitedly,
Winn
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