Christie by Veronica Sattler Read Free Book Online Page A

woman.
    Her thoughts drifted back to the time when she was fifteen or so, when she had surreptitiously studied her scantily clad, leggy shape in the long, oval mirror in her mother's old bedroom, sneaking in there after her morning bath; then too, she had been wearing only a chemise, hastily donned when Almeira had been called downstairs after helping her from the brass tub. Almeira would never have countenanced a young lady of that age studying herself half-naked in a mirror; such unseemly and wanton vanity would be felt by her strong Celtic mores to have been highly improper, if not indecent. So Christie had stolen the brief respite from Almeira's ever watchful eyes to run to Jennifer's old room to survey herself in the magnificent gilt-framed glass there. The act had been half-impulse, half-planned, for only the days before, she had overheard Aunt Celia mention to her father at breakfast, her concern over his daughter's mushrooming height.
    Only fifteen and already a head taller than all the other young ladies we know. I tell you, Charles, it worries me. How's she ever to catch a husband if she towers over all the young men who might come to call? And those legs! I mean, it's going to be a miracle if she turns out looking like anything at all."
    At this, her father replied, "My dear Celia, we could have guessed she'd be a lanky one ... I, myself, am six feet, two inches without my boots and Jennifer was not a short woman and she had the longest, loveliest legs in the county ...."
    He had broken off here as Christie had burst into the room, exclaiming , "Good morning, Father, Aunt Celia.. I'm starving."
    This remark had resulted in yet another worried sigh from her aunt, who also felt her niece had an appetite one could hardly call ladylike! Christie had then commenced to demonstrate this in no small way, methodically heaping several delicious looking morsels on her plate, all the while pretending an absorbing interest in the food to avoid giving either of her table companions any indication she'd heard what had been said about her appearance. but she had heard it, and it had suddenly caused a concerned frown to mar her normally smooth brow.
    "Too tall to catch a husband! What if Aunt Celia had been right?" she had wondered. Not that Christie had been about to worry herself over the marriage game frenzy she had noticed was a mainstay of activity among her cousins, Melissa and Belinda, and all the other young ladies she knew who were about her age. She had already regarded the artful male-attracting behavior of those females and their mothers as something in which she would never take part. There were some small advantages to being raised without a mother; and lacking the live-in presence of an older female to worry and cluck over her marriageable qualities, she had been unprepared for Aunt Celia's remarks and their sudden effect on her. Not being able to "catch a husband" was one thing, that state of affairs called marriage being, in her view at the time, years away, but the idea of being inherently unattractive! This was a newly disturbing notion, and she had wondered why it should suddenly concern her when she had never troubled herself about her looks before.
    So it had been with such thoughts in mind, then that she had taken the opportunity the following morning, to appraise herself in the long mirror. What she had found there, was indeed unsettling. Her eyes, which had always seemed a trifle too large for the rest of her face, dominated her features. Her mouth, perhaps wider than classical perfection would have it, lent her an aura of sensuality, which was in no way in keeping with her nature at that age, but which held the promise of one day spelling trouble in the message it could communicate to any man who looked at her. Her small, well-defined chin completed the facial image reflected back at her that day. A heavy, tumbling mass of sun-streaked hair, inherited by the way of her mother's Saxon ancestors, framed her