The Window

• Lily Matheson, Grade 12, Marian College
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'The Write Track 2015' competition

As she sat in the small breakfast room Mrs Conlley examined the four walls, one of which contained large panels of glass. Beneath these windows was a small seat of red cushions that was nearly unidentifiable as folds of scarlet drapery hung almost completely shut, blocking the view to the outside world. Though Mrs Conlley cared very little for things beyond the walls at Christchurch Manner, the morning was a particularly pleasant one.
She arose from her current position at the round mahogany table and ventured the short distance to the drapes that covered the window to the front garden. There she opened the heavy curtains and sat on the edge of the window seat. Mrs Conlley admired the wonderful colours that emerged from vast jungle of foliage. She smiled to herself a hopeful smile praying she would get to go pick some of the flowers and bring some colour back into the otherwise dull house.
“Mrs Conlley? Why are you not sitting at the table awaiting my arrival? Come, we shall have our breakfast now.” Mr Conlley, her husband and her lifeline. He came into the room from the west wing entrance carrying the freshly printed newspaper under the arm of his recently pressed suit jacket. Mr Conlley had offered her parents the opportunity to be rid of her from their home. She was getting too old for the young men to wed; this caused shame to be bought down on to her parents. Mr Conlley was the last hope, the last possible hope for her mother and father to see their daughter married. Now, here she was trapped in this house, being held against her will to a man that has very little use for her, except when it involved him taking his anger or frustration out on her in multiples forms.
Begrudgingly, Mrs Conlley sat down opposite her husband, waiting patiently for the food to be served. She pondered what she might say to him. As she began to speak Mr Conlley abruptly interrupted, “Don’t talk. You have barely eaten since coming to Christchurch. I didn’t pay for a wedding just to see my bride die from malnutrition. Now eat! I shall be going into town to take care of some…business, I do not want you to leave this house, understood?” Mrs Conlley bowed her head in defeat before answering, “May I go out into the garden? I would like to pick some flowers -”
“You know the rules. You must not leave this house if I am not here. I will have one of the maids fetch some flowers instead.” Mrs Conlley knew all too well that this was a battle she could not win. Reluctantly, she obeyed and began to eat the food in front of her, not caring that she was spilling breadcrumbs on her blue lace trimmed skirt, the skirt that had been a gift from Mr Conlley. The white button down shirt she wore to accompany it reminded her of a time before all her misfortune occurred, a time before she was caged without escape that leaves her battered and bruised.