Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Write in the HISTORICAL genre (05/03/07)
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TITLE: Emma on a Mission | Previous Challenge Entry
By Diana Richardson
05/07/07 -
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The last room Emma Hendren inspected was the Ball room. She counted the number of chairs for the orchestra. Isaiah had set two chairs for violins, but there were three violinists. She sent Cleo to tell Isaiah that more chairs should be brought.
“Your aunt said you’d best get to dressin’. Will yo’ need help, Miss Emma?”
“Yes, follow me upstairs. I’ve got to look my best tonight.” Emma motioned to Cleo as she raised her long day dress to manage the stairs.
When they were safely in Emma’s room Cleo asked. “Why’s tonight so special, Emma?
“Let’s just say I’m on a mission tonight.”
Emma was the hostess and the bell of the ball that night. The guests were all prominent people. The Governor of Virginia, the Commander of the garrison stationed in Staunton, and some of the richest plantation owners in the state. She made a point of getting each gentleman’s name on her dance card. Especially the military men, these were troublesome times and she wanted to know all that was going on. Uncle George made it clear that women shouldn’t worry about war or politics. Emma didn’t want to be just a pretty ornament, nor would she be idle while major things happened in her state.
The next name on her card was a handsome Lt. Mason. He was young and just out of officer training. She doubted he was worth her time, but a lady fulfilled her obligations.
“Well, Lt. Mason, tell me, are you finding your new station to be exciting?” Emma made conversation as he twirled her around the room.
“Quite, Miss Hendren,” He replied. “This little skirmish we’re about to have is most exciting.”
“Skirmish? Are you about to have a skirmish? With whom are you going to fight? Some terrible criminals?” Emma was all ears, now.
“Yes ma’am, we’re headed to meet the secessionist.”
“Oh, those criminals, they’re just a bunch of farm boys. They surely won’t be much challenge for you.”
“That’s why I called it only a skirmish.”
When the guests began to leave Emma pretended to be very tired and have a headache. Aunt Elizabeth gave her permission to go on to bed. She hurried up to put on her gown. Before getting into bed she prepared her hair comb with pink ribbon, folding it just right. Once folded she would usually put in a bank note for an emergency, but this time it was a piece of paper with information written in perfect penmanship. When Elizabeth checked on her a few minutes later she seemed to be soundly sleeping.
Once the house was quiet, she got up, put on a skirt and jacket over her gown and carried her shoes so she could tip toe out. With the stealth of a mountain lion she was soon at the stable hitching her horse to the buggy.
She rode fast after getting a short distance from the house. She had to get to Staunton as fast as possible. She wore her pink satin comb snugly in her blond hair, checking it often to make certain it was still there.
Once into Staunton, she found the streets empty except for the saloon where there were men on the porch outside. She knew that was a dangerous place for a lady, but she also knew the friend she hunted was probably there. When she pulled up in front there were howls from the men. One man in particular came up to her buggy and offered to help her down. It was Clint, son of Uncle George’s business partner. He was just the person she’d hoped to see. She gave him her hand and got down from the buggy.
They had a short flirty conversation. Then she told him good-bye. As she got into the buggy she pretended to adjust her hair, slipping the comb into her palm. She put out her hand to Clint to shake his hand. He took her hand and she left the comb in his hand.
“Good luck, Clint on tomorrow’s march.” She signaled the horse to move out to go home.
Clint looked down at the pretty thing in his hand. Even in the dark he could see a hint of white inside the satin fold. He immediately hurried back to his camp outside town.
The next morning the fuffians were no where to be found. The Calvary rode and searched, but found no one for their skirmish.
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Early on you refer to "bell", which should be "belle." And your second to the last paragraph has a lot of "hands" -- maybe find another way to express this exchange without the repetitive use of one word.
This could be an interesting longer story. Good job.