Chapter One: Simply Told, My History

I have always lived in my sister's shadow. What more is there to say than that? My sister, Rosalia Amelia Walters is kind, beautiful, polite, intelligent, and talented. I am Leslina Ellen Walters. Leslie is what I am called, though. I am selfish, plain, rude, stupid, the most talented thing I can do is bake bread.

I'm sure Rosalie's (as we call her) life was even more wonderful before I came along. She was the second child, our brother, Stuart, being born first. When he, so well loved by our father, was two years old, Rosalie was born and was our mother's greatest joy. Our father decided that she was a perfect flower, and loved his dearest daughter as much as the perfect brown haired, blue eyed son he was so proud of.

In two years time, Martin was born. He was blind and sickly, and spent more time away from home at a hospital in Chicago than any other place. It was three years later that I was born. My mother decided that Leslina was a lovely name and so I was christened. But my father decided I should be called Leslie. He said a name like Leslina did not fit me.

Mother, wanting to spend time with Martin in the city and busy raising her two other children, hired a nursemaid to care for me. Her name was Tilly and though she was very young, in her late teens, she cared for me as if I was her own baby.

I was hardly noticed (I am told) by my parents when I was young. My father, a prominent lawyer, was too busy with work and his three older children to spend much time with another, and my mother was still too busy caring for Marvin, doing charity work, and being with Stuart and Rosalie to also care for another child. But soon I was not her youngest.

When I was four, William was born. He obviously looked just like our father, even in infancy, with his dark brown hair and grey eyes. I also had dark brown hair and grey eyes, though hardly looked like my parents. My father was handsome, and my mother beautiful. I, even at an early age, was plain. My hair was straight as anything, my skin was pale and lifeless, and I was too thin. Even my face was thin and had no shape. But not Rosalie. Rosalie had ringlet strawberry blond curls and bright blue eyes, just like our mother. Her cheeks were full and rosy and her skin a lovely shade of light tan and very soft.

My brothers were all handsome. Stuart and Martin had dark brown hair and blue eyes, and were not at all plain. It was just me. I was the plain one.

And that is another one of my bad qualities. I complain too much. Tilly always scolded me for it. My mother never did, for I always tried to be on my best behaivor for her. I always thought when I was younger that if I acted very polite around her, she would want to spend time with me, as she did with the ever polite Stuart and Rosalie.

Stuart and Rosalie had a governess, Helene, but she only looked after them when mother was busy and taught them their lessons. Mother, not so busy with caring for Marvin (who had moved to a very prominent school for the blind in Chicago), had been able to care for William a great deal. And by then, Stuart and Rosalie were eleven and nine years old, and needed little caring for. But still, Stuart and Rosalie stayed by her side. I suppose I could have stayed by her side constantly, but having not been with my mother much during my first years, I felt much closer to Tilly than to her. Tilly, so happy and full of life with her rosy cheeks, light brown curls, and green eyes, was twenty-one years old by the time William was born and by then decided she would not go husband hunting until I was old enough to look out for myself. Knowing how distant the relationship between my mother and I was, she felt that she was my only hope for the time.

And so I grew under Tilly's watchful eye. She devoted herself to me, as plain as I was. When I was eight years old, Freddy came along. Freddy was tall, kind, and funny with red hair, green eyes, freckles, and glasses. He had just moved to our small town of Tilamir, Illinois to work as a plumber. And so when the kitchen pipes were leaky, we called on him and he and Tilly met, him in his old denim overalls and her in her kitchen dress and apron.

I remember looking into the clean kitchen through the doorway, looking at them gaze into each other's eyes. Soon Gerty, the large old cook, came along, breaking the locking of their eyes. But still as Tilly wiped up the wooden kitchen table with a wet cloth (she sometimes helped out around the house, even though we had two maids, Rebecca and Susan) and Freddy used his metal tools to fix the steel pipes, they'd occasionally turn their heads towards each other and smile.

The months passed by and they would often meet in town for a dish of ice cream or a bottle of soda. Sometimes in the Summertime he would stop by for a glass of cold lemonade and he, Tilly, and I would sit at the kitchen table, taking sips of the tangy liquid from our icey cold glasses. Those were happy times.
By the time I was nine, they were engaged, and the Summer I was ten, they married in our garden. Mother had offered it's use for Tilly and she, very gratefully, accepted. The wedding was beautiful, with Tilly in a lacey white gown with a high neck and long skirt.

Tilly promised that she would not leave me and she kept her word. She and Freddy rented an apartment in town, right up the road, and every morning she would walk down the lane to our large, red brick house. And then she would look out for me. She told mother that she no longer needed pay, for I was no trouble at all, but mother, knowing how fond I was of her, appointed her my governess and paid her a good salary.

Often we would take walks down the road, which had cement sidewalks on each side and large oak trees hanging over the street. We would walk hand in hand, discussing everything from the color of the sky to baking cookies. We also discussed our futures. She wanted to be a mother, and I was unsure. I enjoyed baking, reading and spending time with her, but little else. Not because I found other things boring, but because I was not good at them. I was not a good writer, singer, pianist, or dancer, as Rosa was. Though I liked to read, but too much reading gave me headaches. Tilly said I was smart, but I did not think so.

When I was twelve, Tilly became pregnant. She was thrilled, which caused me to also be thrilled. I knew how much she wanted a baby and I knew she would be such a good mother. But I also knew that she would have to leave me, though she did not say so.

Tilly's stomach seemed to grow with each passing day, and with it grew her joy. Her face glowed radiantly and her cheeks were rosey. A smile was always upon her face and together we would knit tiny nightgowns, slippers, and bonnets for the baby. It was Summertime and very hot, the air thick with humidity. We would sit on rocking chairs on the front porch of our house, rocking, knitting, and talking happily.