Struggling Not To Be Heard, But To Be Comprehended 
   A Few Short Excerpts From The Newly Discovered Memoirs of Isabella Ann Alden 

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"Losing My Choice, Choosing My Destiny"

    The threat of tyranny is always the main focus of a politician’s attention.  This I know from my father.  I would sit by the fire doing my needlework when his comrades were over.  Time and time again I would hear them debate possibility or challenge any leeway in a bill or any other legal document.  I can now smile, and barely stifle a laugh when a thought comes into my mind.  I knew something they didn’t all along, and they are still dense to this I am sure.  They don’t know that there is an internal enemy, a villain creeping through the shadows of our fair democracy.  This monster takes advantage of the rights given to us by our forefathers.  My inward chuckles fade, and I cannot help but feel a tinge of sadness when I remember, it was my father.  He was the monster.  It was him, my uncle, my cousins, my neighbors, and every man I had ever met.  They were the enemy.  I can still barely believe that the person I respected with all my heart could be as cruel as the male race.  I shut my eyes as hard as I can, trying to block out the memories, trying to forget what happened so long ago, but it is not possible to forget what has shaped you, what has molded you into who you are.  And as a single tear trickles down my cheek, I reflect on the men who made me what I am, and has given me the gift of hatred and isolation.
    I sighed in boredom as I stared at the blanket of white spread over the town like a rich sugary icing.  I relished the toasty warmth of the fire, and the protection of the window from the elements.  As I looked at my knees, I could not help but smile.  Although I was about to face the worst fate for someone as rebellious as me, I still savored the thought of being in trouble.  As quickly as the moment came on, it passed, as I felt the chill air entering my pores.  I straightened my ruby red dress and made my way out of the window seat and up the long flight of stairs.  I could hear my father exclaiming loudly through the door to his bedroom, and any glimmer of pride I had in myself for what I had done disappeared. 
    “But I was right,” I told myself, “it isn’t right for the men to cast me out of their conversations, I did have valid points.  If the determining factor of this all was my sex, I think that the country has fallen upon a sad state of affairs.  Why should a women with an education, knowledge of politics, and amazing ideas, be ignored simply because she is not the more powerful gender?” as I made my trek up the stairs, the screaming became easier and easier to hear, and my first instinct was to eavesdrop on the spot.  It was not difficult at all, his voice reverberated through the second floor, and I, passing by his door, needed only to clear my mind from distraction. My ear was open, and as I heard his words, my mouth gradually opened in shock. 
    “I have already arranged it.  Isabella is to be married in three weeks,” I dropped to my knees, not because of fear, but because they had lost the ability to hold me up.  I strained to hear who could possibly be my intended, but the name never arose.  I began to panic.  It was like that feeling you get as you are falling, the flash of light and the whiz of the air blowing past you.   I waited ten more minutes by the door, not able to listen any more to my fate.  I knew because of my disobedience I was to be married off, but something kept telling me that my father would not go through with his threats.  I could hear only the sternness and anger trembling in his voice.  As the door opened I laid my hands at his feet.  He was to go to a meeting that night, and he had on a gray suit, his pink and white shirt glared garishly at me over his belly.  His graying hair was flayed astray in a frightening manner.  But my curiosity got the better of my fear, and I began to plead with him.
    “Father, please, who is this man?  Who is he?” I cried, my voice was rickety and hoarse, and I could not imagine what would happen to me once I knew.  But before I could ponder this any longer he looked at me with a fire in his eyes, and I knew that he would tell me.  I gazed at him in awe, the chubby little face I loved so well was now hard with anger, and I knew this time I would not be forgiven. 
    “You are to marry Mr. Thomas R. Burke, of Burke Factories,” I knew he saw the tears and the distress in my eyes, but he continued on as cold as the winter air outside our door.
    “He is a good man, and a rich one.  As I am sure you know his father owns Burke Factories, and once he is gone his inheritance will go to Thomas, and he will be all the wealthier.  Meanwhile, your mother has agreed to allow you to borrow her wedding dress, due to the tremendous rush to prepare for this joyous occasion.  I suggest you thank her, ” And with that he stepped over my limp body and made his way down the stairs.  I stared at my mother, and saw that she had a red spot on her face.  He had hit her.  I made my way up, the frantic tears pouring down my face, and moved to her bed where she sat weeping.  She was even more troubled than me.  I tried to soothe her, and nurse her wound, but I was soon collapsed upon my mothers lap, blubbering hysterically and drenching her beautiful white home dress.  She sat and stroked my hair, allowing the dark brown to mingle with the pure white.  Occasionally, I would feel a plunk on my head, and the water would soak into my scalp.  Mother tried never to cry before her daughters.  I knew that my fate was sealed.
    “Go now dear.  Father wants you in your room by four,” she gently nudged me back into awareness.  I looked with sadness into my mothers deep brown eyes.  She was still a silent, subservient woman.   Even she could not see what I saw.  My mother was like a sister of my heart.  We always thought alike, and yet she continually subjected herself to the cruel temper of my father, whom up to that very minute I had been so very fond of.  I knew I had no choice but to obey her.  Although she was only an echo of my father, she didn’t deserve my wrath.  As I walked out the door I saw my two sisters standing before me.  Elizabeth, only ten at the time, cried only because Amy was crying.  The fear she felt was really an extension of Amy’s. She shivered, looking like a hunted bunny; the terror was undisguised.  Amy, fourteen at the time, clutched my hand and whispered an unhappy congratulation to me.  The way she said it I had no doubt they were sent by my father.  Their petite little noses where red, and concern filled their eyes like water filling a pond.  I was suddenly rushed at by my two grief stricken sisters, and the embraced me in a last attempt to keep me.  I was silent.  I could feel their tears on my dress, and I did not make a move.  I only whispered soft coos to them, and eased them enough to take them back to their rooms.  I hurried, knowing I was supposed to be confined to my own quarters by now.  As I kissed them both, I realized how very hard this would be on them, and on me.  Losing their sister, their mentor, at such a young age.  I thought about losing my freedom at seventeen, and I seemed to stare into their eyes forever.
    “Don’t worry,” I murmured once they had dropped off to sleep, “I will escape.  I will always love you, and it is for you I will fight.  Good-bye my sisters.  I will save you, I promise.  You will never live the life of oppression that I am to face,” and as I turned and walked out of the room, I knew that I would never again possess the same outlook on life.  I was changed that day.  That was the day that the clouds dispersed, the path cleared, and I knew my destiny.
    “I am not afraid.”

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