The year is 1825. My father, Charles Larson is looking disapprovingly at me. I pull my shoulders back and stand a little taller. It’s funny how you notice such tiny little details when your mind is supposed to be elsewhere. I can see the rust building up on our wood burning stove in the corner. Cobwebs are hanging from the murky-green walls to the used-to-be-white-roof. Over the years the small kitchen has collected dust on the few kitchen cabinets father has made. I brush my long cherry red hair off the front of my shoulder and onto my back with my pale bony fingers. I pull my sleeves on my red dress down to my skinny little wrists. If mother hadn’t died three years ago, she would tell me how much this dress makes my hazel eyes sparkle.

“You are not even listening to me!” I jump back, just realizing that my father’s old, wrinkled face is nearly inches from my own round smooth face. He reels back, obviously disgusted. He spits some tobacco and continues his speech, “You would do well marrying Henry Oaken. His family is extremely wealthy and I am afraid that we are not. It only seems reasonable for…”

“For you to choose whether I marry a man that is fourteen years older than me? The man is 30 years old!” I cut my father off in the middle of his sentence, which is an extremely rude thing to do, especially to your father. I just can’t help it.

My father stops, and looks at me for half a second because I, like a good girl, never talk back. Then, he regains his composure and his face turns the same shade of purple as a plum. “You will go to your room and pack your things right now. After, you will take your miserable self to Mr. Oaken’s home and tell him that you accept his proposal.”

I turn on my heel and slowly walk to my bedroom, shedding silent tears. I quietly close the squeaky wood door and try to stop crying. I scold myself, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Mother was probably forced to marry that ugly thing.” I giggle in because of my disrespect, which makes me feel a little bit better.

I silently pack my things in the suitcase that has already been laid out on my bed. I take all of my dresses, my church dress, and my work dress. “I think I’ll wear my red dress that I am already wearing to Mr. Oaken’s home.”

I pack my extra pair of socks and last but not least, Sally. Sally is the doll Mother made for me a year before she died having her second child. I put Sally’s brush, along with my own in the suitcase.

I walk to the door without saying a word to Father.

I open the front door and gasp since there is a thin layer of snow on the grass! The sun is shining bright in the prairies, making the snow shine. It’s only the beginning of October and there’s already snow! I smile and take a step onto the soft snow. I love snow more than anything in the whole world! This must be a sign that things are going to get better from now on. I take a few more steps and reach the dirt road.

I look back at my old home. The log cabin wasn’t much, just a kitchen with two bedrooms, but it was home. The house looks rather displeasing next to the fluffy snow.

I can see my father watching me from the window, mostly hidden behind a faded purple curtain. But the curtain cannot hide his arms crossed disapprovingly and his infamous scowl. Once he notices I am looking at him, he turns away, back into the warm house.

I turn around, take a deep breath, and start walking towards my new life. Mr. Oaken’s home is about five miles from my father’s house. I start the long, arduous trek.

My body seems to be having a war with itself. My legs are warm from my thick stockings, but my arms are nearly numb from the cold. My forehead is sweating, while my teeth are inevitably chattering. I clench my jaw, wipe the sweat from my from my forehead and push forward.

I ought to be nearly to Mr. Oaken’s house when I reach a fork in the road. On the left side, there’s a big hill leading up to Mr. Oaken’s home! I am half relieved, have dreading being so close.

My new home is so tall; it must have two floors and five rooms on each floor! I’m starting to get a little more excited about being Mrs. Oaken.

I turn to see what is on the right path. I see nothing but the dirt path stretching on for miles. The only thing notable is a very large rock in the center of the road. The rock groans and rolls over. I squint my eyes trying to get a better view of “the rock”. I run towards the groaning… thing. The “rock turns out to be a boy passed out on the road, probably 18 or 19 years old. His sandy blonde hair is covering his closed eyes. The boy is wearing tattered clothes, which would explain his blue quivering lips.

Desperately, I look around for help. There are no wagons or houses for miles, other than Mr. Oaken’s. I grasp the boy under the armpits and haul him up the hill to my fiancé’s home. I cringe when I notice the boys feet are dragging on the dirt road. His feet are the same icy white as the snow! I move faster up the hill, frantic to save this man’s life.

I reach the door and knock frantically until an old woman wearing an apron opens the tall door. “This man,” I cry, “he needs help. He was passed out on the road! I don’t know how long he had been there for, but he needs help!” The woman just stares at me blankly. I gently grab her by the shoulders, “Where is Henry Oaken?”

A plump man wearing spectacles walks over. “You must be Fantiona Larsen. Come inside.” HE looks to the old woman, and utters some words in a different language. I think it’s Spanish. The woman nods and helps me carry the poor man into the house. We lay him down on a cushioned bench. The old woman left.


A younger woman entered the room. Her long chocolate hair is about halfway down her torso. Her immaculate, straight teeth perfect her beautiful, warm smile. I know I can trust this lady. “He has frostbite.” She examined his hand, “he’ll lose his left ring finger.” She turns and looks at me. “You must be Fantiona. I’m Claira McMontery. Call me Claira.” She extends her and, which I shake.

“So he’ll only lose a finger?”

Yes, other than that he will have to rest and stay warm for a few days. Then he’ll be fine.” She looks over at me, “Who is he to you?”

I shake my head left to right, “I don’t know him.” I brush his hair out of his eyes.

Henry walks in. I stand and curtsey. He grabs my hand and kisses it with cold lips. Then, he slowly walks around me. He stops in front of and says, very plainly, “You are quite beautiful.” His voice is deep, and dull. I hate it instantly. “I will show you around.”

He walks through each room on the first floor with careful, quiet steps. With each room I am more and more amazed at the elegance of it. The upstairs rooms are only bedrooms. My groom to be leads me to my own room. “You may sleep here until our wedding. Then you get to move in with me, “he says with a sly smile. “I offer you only the best. If you ever need anything, just ring this bell for a maid to come and they will serve you.”

I manage to squeak out a, “thank you” before he walks out and closes the door. I slowly walk over to the huge bed. I sit and fall nearly three inches because the bed is so soft! I laugh, and lay down.

Before I know it, I am asleep. I’m wearing a leotard that is yellow, orange, and red, blended together to look like fire. I look down and see that I am standing 10 meters off the ground on a platform that is too small for my liking. Two very distinct, bright lights are shining on me. For the first time I notice a very thin rope in front of me. I know what I have to do. I take a shaky step onto the slim rope. My foot slips, and I fall into the dark.

My eyes fly open and I sit up just in time to hear a quiet knock at the door. I try to slow down my rapid breathing. “Come in,” I call. A maid opens the door and tells me that dinner is ready. I thank her, and then lay back down. “This is all just too overwhelming,” I tell myself.

Once I have stabilized my breathing, I sit up, and walk to the door. I walk down the steps, I count 40 of them. I wander down the hall until I find the dining room which is at the end of the hall. I open the door, expecting to find an aura of smells. But, I smell nothing. A different maid gestures for me to sit down at the head of the table opposite to Henry. Henry and I are the only ones sitting at the table.

There is an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Breaking the silence Henry says, “The maids will be serving the food any minute now.” As if on cue, three maids come out of a room on the left wall that I hadn’t noticed before. Each maid is carrying two platters filled with food. The maids set the platters onto the table and I eagerly dig in.

“So,” Henry clears his throat, stopping me from shoving a spoonful of peas into my mouth. “I am assuming then, that you have accepted my marriage proposal?” I nod, not very thrilled at the thought. “Excellent! How many children then?”

I stop. Children? I try to reply casually, “Oh, I don’t know. This sort of thing takes time. You know, my parents didn’t have me until 3 years after they got married.” I hope he takes the hint.

Claira saves me as she walks into the room. “Fantiona? That man,” she pauses, “he has just woken up. He would like to meet you.”

I nod, relieved for an excuse to leave my future husband. “Well,” I try to say politely, “thank you for dinner.” I set the napkin from my lap onto the table and rush out of the room, eager to leave.

Claira explains to me while we walk up the stairs. “His name is Jake. He really wants to meet you.” She pauses with her hand on a door knob near the end of the hall and says, “You know, this man owes his life to you. He could have died if he was out in the cold for much longer.”

Claira opens the door. Jake is sitting propped up in his bed. The bedding’s sky blue blankets match the deep purple walls.

I walk over to the bed and sit beside Jake. “Hello,” I smile trying to be polite. Jake smiles a weak smile, and takes my hand. He is still freezing, yet I don’t let go. Jake just looks at me, continuing to smile.
I notice that his left hand is wrapped in bandages. His finger must have been amputated already. “Does it hurt?” I squeeze his hand, trying to comfort him. He nods his head no, his eyes never leaving my face.

“You saved my life.” His voice is barely audible, but it sounds gentle.

I blush, uncertain of what to say. I decide to start with the basics, “my name if Fantiona Larsen. Are you feeling up to telling me a bit about yourself?
Jake seems to light up at the thought. “Well, my first name is Jake, and I really don’t care for my last. I am 18 years old and I've run away from home and I am going to start a circus with lions and tigers and elephants and bears and acrobats and clowns and I am going to be the ring master and I’ll travel around the United States of America and then I’ll be rich and famous!” His words are all slurred together from his excitement.

I realize that my jaw is hanging wide I open. I quickly shut it, hoping that he didn't notice. “Where are you going to get lions and tigers and elephants and-and bears?!” The thought seems silly to me.

“Hmmm well I’ll find a way,” he smiles. “Now, tell me more about you.”

I have to stop and think. What is interesting about me? I certainly do not have any intentions of having lions, tigers, elephants, bears or a circus!” “Well, my mother passed away 3 years ago, and my father dislikes me so much that I have to marry a man that is 14 years older than me. I will not continue my education. I will never see my friends again, and I will have to be married to a man who is 14 years older than me!”

Jake contemplated my words for a moment. “You said that you are marrying a man that is 14 years older than you twice.” I roll my eyes. “So, now that I know all of the important things about you,” he continues, “tell me the basic things.”

“Um, well, uh.. What sort of basic things?” I ask after pausing far too long.

“Your favorite foods, color, pretty much anything!” He explains.

“My favorite color is red. My favorite food is potato soup with bread and butter, and I do NOT want to get married to a stinky 30-year-old man!” I giggle at the end.

Jake wiggles his ears and does a ridiculous smile and I just can’t help but laugh out loud. “Say!” Jake exclaims. “Maybe since you don’t want to marry that ‘old stinky man’ you could run away with me!”

I stare at him in disbelief. Run away? With a stranger?
“You could join my circus even! S’long as you've got the talent!”

My eyes grow even bigger. “Join the circus? Oh, I-I don’t know,” I stammer.

“Course, you could just stay here and marry an old stinky man if you’d like. You can grow old together; even lose your teeth together!” Jake shows me a big toothy smile.

“Oh I suppose I will think about it. Although growing old with an already old man sounds like a lot of fun!” This might be the most I've ever laughed in my life!

“We’ll leave as soon as you get better!” I giggle again, kiss Jake's pale cheek and walk to the door. I look back and see that Jake is feeling the cheek I just kissed. I smile and leave.

It’s been nearly three weeks since I've been living at the Oaken home. Jake has been fine for two weeks now. We are leaving this afternoon after we eat lunch. Then, I will become an acrobat, and walk the tightrope, just like in my dream. We’ll run down the hill, and take the road less traveled to a new life.