Star Crossed

Part 1

O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:

If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him.

That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune;

For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,

But send him back.

(Romeo and Juliet 3.5.60-64.1)

The town where Mary Adams lived, with her parents, two sisters, and her brother, was nestled in the undulating countryside of Hertfordshire. It was a very small town, with only a church, a butcher, a market and an apothecary. The residents were genteel farmers, who either had to walk, ride, or take their carriage to visit the neighbouring town of Huntingford to post a letter, or buy a dress, or visit the hotel for tea and cake. Mary did not mind having to travel to all these things. She often enjoyed walking – alone, or with her sisters – to Huntingford. As children they would go to look in windows or visit their Uncle Edward, but as they grew older they liked to post letters to acquaintances and family, admire new dresses in the shop, and sometimes they would eat at the hotel.

When Mary was fifteen, Huntingford opened a new library. For the first week, she walked every day to the library, and read more than eight books in six days – a story which delighted those who came to dinner at the house. By her sixteenth birthday, she had read every book that interested her, and so she started all over again.

The house where Mary lived was just beside the main road of her little town. Walls hid the road from the house, except where there was a gap for people and carriages to come in. Beside the house was Mr Adams' land, where he employed men to care for his cows, horses and pigs. Behind the house, enclosed in a vine-kissed wall, was the garden where they spent time in the warmer months of the year, reading, picking flowers, sitting in the sun, or receiving guests. Mary's favourite spot was the loveseat beneath the large willow. She claimed she liked to read there, but really she just sat with the book closed in her lap as she listened to the whispering wind and tweeting birds, daydreaming about one thing or the other.

One day, when Mary was seventeen, she went into the garden with Fordyce's Sermons and sat under the willow. The walls blocked out every sound from the farm and the village. She rested her head back and closed her eyes. It seemed her whole world, her entire life, would forever be this way – calm, beautiful, and absolutely lovely. She was a good person – obedient to her parents, kind to others, attentive to her education and passionate about religion – so many people would agree that a lovely life was exactly what she deserved, therefore what she would have.

She became so entranced in her serenity that she did not hear the dog approach – a lively young cavalier of breed – and was thoroughly alarmed when he pounced on her lap. She let out a scream, and endeavoured to calm herself before she had a heart failure. The dog shrank back, but she scratched his head and stroked the smooth fur on his back. As he gazed longingly up at her, Mary's youngest sister, Ruth, came running from the house.

"Mary!" She called, waving one arm.

Mary stood, grasping her book. "Come along," she told the dog. "What is it?" She asked Ruth.

"The kittens have opened their eyes," Ruth gushed.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, come see, they are so adorable."

They hurried into the house, through the parlour to the kitchen where the kittens lived. Their other sister, Ethel, who was younger than Mary but older than Ruth, was sitting in the corner covered in playful kittens.