The clock inside whispered that it was still before noon. I needed to kill time, then.
"What can I get you, miss?"
The acrid voice startled me. I'd still been staring at the clock, which had begun weaving tales about the town, telling me its indigo secrets.
"Miss?" the voice asked again, annoyed.
I flicked my eyes to the register. A pale woman, with long raveling white hair and angry dark eyes stood before me, a slight frown flirting on her thin, berry-stained lips.
"A black coffee," I stated, casting my eyes downward.
After paying with my last—and only— dollar, I settled myself nearest the roaring fireplace and began to take in the small shop.
Besides its towering bookshelves and impressive cherry wood floors, the place was as bereft, like the rest of Creedence.
The lonely feeling crept back in, and I found a label for it—
Isolation.
It wrapped around my like a heavy blanket, settling itself in my bones, draping across me.
"Your coffee."
I flicked my eyes upward but didn't respond as the storm-eyed woman set a mug on the table before me.
A ring on her finger caught the firelight, and a large, emboldened silver "W" seared my vision.
"W," I whispered, thoughtfully.
"What?" The woman recoiled, eyes growing darker by the second.
"W. Does that stand for something?" I asked politely, in an attempt to cover up my lapse in social etiquette.
The woman frowned.
"Winthrop."
Her voice held an ounce of pride, and about two ounces of annoyance, I noted. But the pride was there nonetheless.
The meaning did not go unnoticed, either.
"You're Winthrop, then— as in, Winthrop manor?"
Her lips curled. "Is there another?"
I shook my head. "No, my apologies— I am new to Creedence, see. I've come for the caretaker position at the manor, in fact."
At this, the woman barked with laughter, which was just as poison as her voice.
"The likes of you, in Winthrop manor? That's absurd. Charlie needs someone... of good breeding. An intellectual. Not a..."
I laughed, interrupting her rant.
Shock flickered over her features. I suppose she wasn't used to being stood up to.
"A commoner?" I questioned. "I can assure you. I am far from common."
Her black eyes flitted over me thoughtfully and she cleared her throat, perturbed.
The thinly veiled disgust that had been dancing in her dark eyes had morphed into something else. Something I couldn't describe.
Eventually, her lips curled in a wry smile.
"Firey! I like it. You've got the position," she announced, malicious grin widening.
YOU ARE READING
Winthrop Manor #Wattys2019
Teen FictionIn front of us stood a boy not much older than I. He was tall, his gangly body slightly folded in order to fit into the doorway. Glinting pale eyes peered at me curiously from below a mess of dark curly hair. Indigo half moons slept beneath his eye...
