Chapitre 1: Chapter 1
It was the shocking news that presented itself to Abigail's attention that left her speechless and stunned. Speechless, because her brother was to be wedded to the most impressive woman he had fought laboriously to court. Stunned, because she agreed. They had only met two years ago when he attended an art convention because his beloved sister wanted to show him the woman who painted her flower garden.
Claire, was her name.
At first, he showed no interest in meeting her when she first came to the property to inspect the landscape. Words were that Penrose Manor was the largest private land in the nation bestowed to the Barrington Family from the Majesties hundreds of years ago. That drew the attention of aspiring painter Claire, who worked diligently with Abigail, to gain access to the property.
The artist had put together a marvelous painting collection as well as an album of flowery bushes, floral trees, shrubberies, and crystal streams after two weeks of studious effort.
"You've never met the lady. She did a great job reflecting the complexities of the landscape." Abigail remembered telling her brother, John, at the time.
He finally gave in and cleared his schedule.
The art convention was lovely and interactive with other kinds of innovative artists. John met Claire and it was an immediate one-sided spark of passion. Claire was escorted by her best friend that day.
Susan, a tall woman with sunkissed skin and long seductively dark hair, had unfortunately cut most of their conversations short. Maybe she felt the need to protect her companion from the unfamiliar pursuit, but she was definitely rude to John in the least subtle way.
He had treated them all to a nice dinner and failed to get Claire's number that night.
The following year was a continuous courting effort that was ultimately turned down graciously, but like the courageous man he was raised to be, John never gave up until Claire finally said yes to a date. They went out for another short year before he proposed to her the night she landed her first big project.
Abigail set her book down on the table and looked up to meet her brother's hazel eyes. When she had let the shock of the news settle, John was immediately bombarded with his sister's excitement as she reached over and squeezed his hand, shaking it with thrill.
"I can't believe you tied the knot. She must have been surprised, was she not?"
"I supposed she was, but I was too occupied by the fact that tears were streaming down her face. I was worried I was scaring her."
"Brother, how could you not read that woman's face after spending every waking moment of the last two years fantasizing about this day?" Abigail practically had to throw his hand back at him in disappointment.
John chuckled. She didn't get the joke.
"I would be the dumbest person in the world if I ever believed for a minute she was crying because she was afraid to marry you."
Oh, she did get it.
"I'm truly happy for the both of you. You deserve each other. But just to be sure, she did say yes?"
"With the proudest smile." John shrugged his shoulders as if it was obvious. "She said the first person I should tell must be you. Because… well, you know--"
"No, no. I humbly deny any credits. For the last time, I was not trying to match--"
"And I humbly accept your apologies, but you had, and you did, and this is happening. Credits should be paid where they're due, dear sister. So with all respects--" John got off his seat and waved a hand playfully in front of him that rolled into a deep bow.
Abigail threw the nearest napkin at his head.
The warm rays dazzled on Abigail's frail shoulders, making her pearl-white skin glow like diamonds. She got up from her chair and pointed to the middle of the garden. Wearing a long sundress with straps tied as bows resting on her shoulders, it gave her slender body a flourished finish.
"We can have the wedding right here and I can do the flower arrangements." She caught herself. "With Claire's permission, of course."
John put his hands on his back and looked at the side profile of his sister. He was the spitting image of their Father. Tall, with brown hair, hazel eyes, a square chin, and high cheekbones. Abigail, on the other hand, was said to take after their Mother who died when she was young. She had long, wavy, muddy yellow hair, the same hazel eyes, a naturally frail body, and soft creamy white skin.
John looked at his watch.
"I still have one more person to tell this good news to. Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."
He left his fresh tea still hot and steaming, trotting back inside the house in the direction he came out of.
She watched her brother disappear before plopping down to finish her tea.
In front of her was the renowned garden of Penrose Manor, famous for its landscaping. In the middle of the garden, a small shed stood covered in vines and blooms. The entire estate consisted of the main manor, a ten-car garage, a guest house, a gazebo, the garden, a golf course, a swimming pool, and half a dozen patios scattered about fully equipped with furniture. The property also included a private lake, a farmhouse, a horse range, and a landing field for the private jet. The list could continue for miles long if including assets and other properties of the Barringtons.
Abigail was sitting on one of the back patios. A small table situated in front of her served tea and biscuits. A few books are stacked crookedly on the edge. Her view overlooked the garden and a small section of the golf course. The guest house could be seen from here as its relatively large size could not be ignored.
She quickly gulped the last of her tea and made her way to the shed. The faint colors of blue paint peeled from the outside walls like dried bark. Ivy climbed the small structure like green veins as it covered the top part of the doorway.
This small shed was Abigail's favorite place in the entire massive land. She grabbed the rusty knob and turned. The door made a small creaking sound that was almost indetectable. Table counters ran along three walls with dusty cupboards parallel on top. Hand shovels, hoes, scissors, and other small gardening tools hung on any wall spaces available as well as being shoved into the drawers underneath the counters.
Abigail had picked a handful of mixed flowers when she was making her way to the shed and placed it on top of the counter. She opened a cupboard and grabbed a pair of scissors.
As she attempted to trim the stems and leaves, she was reminded that it was today, 12 years ago, that Mr. Barrington built this shed for her. It had been weather-beaten over the years and even sunk half a foot into the ground. Anyone who saw the shed from afar would've mistaken it for a small cottage.
Dancing rays of sun sprayed through the small windows. Abigail quickly worked through the bunch of flowers with expert hands. After she figured out how she wanted to arrange it, she stuck it into a testing vase and gave an agreeing nod.
With the vase in hand, she made her way across the garden and entered the main house.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone