Chapter 1. The Fire Weeper, Intro, 3/2/1998
Chapter One
Mirabelle rested her elbows and forearms on the cashier counter and stared out of the store's glass door. She watched the people walking along the town's main thoroughfare and became lost in contemplation. Looking at each person in turn, she wondered about their lives. What was this man's destiny? What was this woman going to do within her lifetime? She tried to imagine each person at varying ages in their life. What experiences were in store for them?
A figure appeared just outside of the door. Mirabelle, with her view now blocked, was yanked her back from her musing to the present. The glass door opened and it's hanging chimes tinkled their welcoming. In walked Mrs. Herbert, Mirabelle's landlady.
"Good morning, Mrs. Herbert," said Mirabelle.
"Good morning, Mirabelle," Mrs. Herbert replied.
"Out shopping?" queried Mirabelle.
"Oh yes, just doing my grocery shopping," responded Mrs. Herbert.
Mrs. Herbert was a short, plump, eldery woman. She had been Mirabelle's landlady ever since Mirabelle had left the family home when she was twenty-two, four years ago. Mrs. Herbert tottered around the store placing various items in her basket then made her way to stand before Mirabelle at the counter. Mirabelle tallied up the items on the cashier register, after which Mrs. Herbert paid her.
"So, Mirabelle, I hear you and Edward are soon to be engaged," Mrs. Herbert said with a wide grin. Her pearly white teeth offset her curly steel-grey hair.
"That's true Mrs. Herbert. He proposed to me last week," replied Mirabelle. "God," she thought, "If Mrs. Herbert knows, surely the whole town knows by now." That's what Mirabelle always hated about small-town life. It was nice knowing everybody but she could never stand the nearly complete lack of privacy. "Life under a microscope," she noted to herself. In a small town, gossiping was a way of life.
"Such a lucky girl you are Mirabelle. Edward is so fine a man," said Mrs. Herbert clasping Mirabelle's hands in hers.
"Yes, he is Mrs. Herbert," said Mirabelle, smiling. Her thoughts turned to Edward. She imagined his handsome face, deep voice, and charming manner.
"And he is so ambitious. That is a man who is going to make a name for himself in the world!" declared Mrs. Herbert, holding her basket with one hand, her other hand by her head, index finger upraised. Mrs. Herbert's green eyes looked directly at Mirabelle before she turned to leave.
"Yes. I'm sure he will Mrs. Herbert," said Mirabelle as she waved goodbye to Mrs. Herbert who waved back before walking out the door.
Mirabelle was lucky and she knew it. Edward was the perfect man for her.
She had met him three years ago at a church social. She had seen him in the choir before and had been instantly attracted to him. During the potluck, Mirabelle wandered up to him, introduced herself, and then tried not to appear nervous as she proceeded with some innocuous small talk. She was positively quivering in his presence. Not only was he so utterly handsome, he was also completely charming to her. As they conversed, she swallowed her lemonade, nervously. Mirabelle, like any other girl in her right mind, was irresistably attracted to Edward. She longingly searched his face and demeanor to see if he was attracted to her as well, and not just being polite and charming. To her delight, he seemed genuinely interested in her. It was a dream come true when, after lavishly spending the whole evening with her, he asked Mirabelle out on a date. She did her best to appear as unflustered as possible and she accepted his invitation. After they had bidded each other goodnight, Mirabelle floated home on a cloud.
Mirabelle stood behind the counter in an estactic reverie as she recalled that first meeting and she positively gleamed as she recalled how the times they shared together were like heaven. Soon she would be Mrs. Mirabelle Davis. Everything seemed perfect in her life--almost.
It seemed she had everything--good health, a nice job, the perfect man--but deep inside Mirabelle felt something was missing. She tried to ignore her feelings, but the feeling of there being something lacking in her life was so overpowering that all of her rationalizations couldn't subdue it. She had been admonished long ago by her parents to not trust her feelings--to be rational, to be logical--and although she did her best to do these things, she could never stop believing that on a deeper level her feelings were correct. The morass of conflicting feelings, desires, and rationalizations disturbed her constantly. She sighed, "I have everything I could possibly want, so why should I feel this way?"
Displeased because she could not find an answer, Mirabelle redirected her attention to happier thoughts and started imagining what it would be like to be Mrs. Mirabelle Davis: Edward's wife... Edward.
He had started his own business when he was twenty-three. Now he was twenty-seven and his business was thriving. Mirabelle admired Edward's determination and enthusiasm. To call him extremely ambitious would be an understatement. He had set up his tiny clothing manufacturing company when he had the insight that all the military installations setting up in Colorado would need supplies. Military clothing was the niche he decided on filling and even though his company was small, it had all the orders it could handle. Now that his business was growing by leaps and bounds, Edward was starting to direct his energies to climbing the social ladder.
Edward's dreams were coming true: becoming a successful business man, marrying a beautiful woman, and becoming an accepted member of Ponderosa's elite strata. He would buy them a big house and Mirabelle would be the perfect wife for him--raising children, maintaining the household, and entertaining at parties.
"To be the perfect wife, isn't that what I should strive for?" Mirabelle questioned out loud. The empty store gave her no reply. "That is the highest place a woman could achieve in society, isn't it?" she asked herself. Still, there was something about that life that seemed so banal, so mundane to her. "Isn't there something more to life?" she wondered. Noticing her train of thought, she frowned. That distasteful feeling of something missing in her life was overwhelming her again. "Just forget about it," she told herself. "Everything's perfect. Don't rock the boat. Don't be an immature, emotional little girl," she repeated as she was supposed to, "Everything is perfect and that's that."
