Isla sat on a rock overlooking the lake. There was a low-lying mist hovering over the water, and the surrounding grass was damp and dismal. She could feel her mother’s eyes on her as she stood at the kitchen window. Her daughter was sad, and she didn’t know why. She longed to help, but Isla just answered “nothing” when she asked what the problem was. Maybe it was the spirits of the lake conjuring their evil ways as they had done for centuries. Isla poo-poo’d their existence, but sometimes, when she woke in the night to the sounds of low moaning, she wondered.
A sharp tap on the kitchen window signaled that dinner was almost ready. Reluctantly she broke her reverie and wearily made her way into the bright normalcy of the kitchen. It had never been the same since her father died. He had filled the kitchen with his muscular bulk, booming voice and general bonhomie. Her mother had been completely overshadowed by him. Quiet and introspective, she had sat listening to him, never saying a word unless asked a direct question.
Tonight was much the same as any other. The room was filled with companionable silence as they ate their shepherd’s pie. Once dinner was finished, her mother went into the sitting room to watch television, and Isla announced she was going for a walk.
She woke her little dog Toby and put on his leash. He grumbled a bit, as he was warm and sleepy. He would rather have stayed in his cozy basket dreaming of more shepherd’s pie. However, he adored his mistress and would do almost anything to please her. She put on her warm coat, woolen hat and gloves and they set off. They walked for about an hour until Toby started to grumble, pulling on his leash in the direction of home. When she followed him, his ears pricked up and he gave little yips of happiness as he pulled on his leash to make her walk faster, which she did, and soon they were in the cottage, and Toby was in his basket.
She made a hot drink for herself and her mother and got ready for bed. She settled down under the comforter to continue reading Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park. Gradually, sleepiness overcame her. Miss Austen slipped from her fingers as she drifted into sleep.
She woke about three in the morning, wide awake. Or so she thought. She slipped into her clothes and creeping past the snoring Toby she quietly left the house. As always, she was drawn to the lake. It was lit by the full moon and the stars shimmered brightly. She sat on her rock for a while, and contemplated her current life and what she wanted for her future. The cause of her current sadness. As much as she searched her mind, she was unable to focus on what she wanted for herself. Education, career and lifestyle eluded her. She hated her indecisiveness, and retreated into her solitude.
