"Victoria Elizabeth!"

I looked down from my perch to see my young governess, Alice. "Yes?" I called out to her, acting as though I didn't know I wasn't supposed to be up in a magnolia tree.

"Young lady, you must get down now!" I was only eight and could not have detected the panicked tone in her voice, something much different than I had ever heard from her before.

"But I'm reading! Mother told me to go climb a tree. Father told me to read a book. So I did both!"

She looked up at me with a fierce look of sorrow. "Dear, you really must come down. It's your mother." She held her hand out, offering to help me down.

It was then that her very serious tone registered with me as odd. Obediently, I climbed down from the magnolia tree silently and without her help, all the while clutching my large book of fairy tales close to my body.

"Come, Beth," she said softly. "Your father needs you."

I followed her silently and solemnly through the gardens and into my father's grand home. We wound through hallways and up staircases until we reached my parents' chambers. My father sat outside the doors, his head in his hands. My first reaction was that I had never seen my father slouch- not ever.

As we approached, he sat up, looking at us with red, puffy eyes. He didn't seem to register who we were until we had almost gotten within five feet of him.

I stood next to Alice like a statue, clinging to her skirts and still clutching my giant book of stories that my mother had given me. Alice's hand pressed lightly against my back, urging me to go to my father. I resisted for a moment, unsure of what was going on, then stepped forward.

"My dear, dear Beth," he whispered, opening his arms. I walked into them gratefully, seeing the father I knew shine through this slouching, crying man. He embraced me tightly. "Beth, honey… Your mother has died. I'm so sorry. The doctors tried everything they could. I tried everything I could."

I didn't understand death. It took me several days after that to completely understand that mother wasn't going to be around to join us at meals or to tell me to go climb a tree. My father, despite his love for me, was enveloped in his own grief and very seldom came out of his shell to acknowledge his daughter was suffering too. When he did, he gave me silent hugs and held me tight. Sometimes he cried, but mostly he just held me for long, silent moments that made me uncomfortable. I began to avoid my father. I didn't want to see him upset or crying. I wanted him to come back to me.

Alice tried her best to keep me busy and occupied. She was young, just barely seventeen, so she didn't know how to treat grief. She did an amazing job of it, though. She somehow knew to surround me with every gift my mother had given me. It helped keep the wound from becoming too raw and painful for my eight year-old heart. She tried her best to help me adjust gradually to a different routine. In that difficult time she was an amazing replacement mother for a girl who had just lost one.

Six months after my mother's death, however, she resigned. She had stayed on with us for as long as she could before she had to leave us. She told me that she was to be married and would soon have her own household to take care of. I begged her not to leave me. She said that her future husband couldn't wait any longer. She swore that she didn't want to go. She was the only thing keeping my heart alive, and I tried to express that to her in the best way that my eight year-old mind could. She cried when she left and apologized for leaving me.

My father was still so stricken with grief that he barely was able to comprehend that life was going on outside the house. He didn't hire another governess for me until another year and a half had passed. After he hired Wendy, he began to return to his normal self. Our routine went back to how it once was. I no longer avoided him. I saw his features slowly brighten again as the weeks went on.

Eventually my father would apologize for his mental absence during that time. I would also eventually apologize for avoiding him.

We supported each other as the years grew on, growing closer together than ever before. Our lives finally grew into a nice, steady routine for my father, but to me we were just sitting pretty and playing it safe.

After mother died, we hardly ever traveled or ventured outside of my father's estate grounds. It made me restless to be cooped up like we were, but I decided that it was better than traveling to attend dull dinner invitations or dance at a crowded, awkward ball. The mere thought of being in a crowd of people talking only of dresses and gossip made me shiver. I only wished to read a book in the gardens or go riding on any of the old ponies my father kept. The rides weren't exciting or exhilarating, but it allowed me the fresh air I yearned for.

Because of my extreme aversion to society's strange ways and shallow opinions, I was thankful that my father didn't accept many invitations to balls and grand dinners. He didn't invite many people to our home either and only once held a ball, which was for my fifteenth birthday.

That day was my first official ball. I had been learning all about etiquette and dancing from the several instructors my father had hired just for this occasion. I fidgeted in my dress all night, which was too tight and too fluffy. My hair had been pulled back and wound so tightly against my head that I had a headache before people began to arrive. The night was terrible.

Dancing with so many boring old men and clumsy young men who were just as unaccustomed to the social interaction of dancing as I was turned my dislike for the activity to a feeling very close to hate. I couldn't stand all of the fake smiles and the gossip. I thought the gowns were unnecessary and frivolous. I despised every minute of it. People watched me with eyes like hawks, judging my social interactions and how I carried myself. They judged my dress and how I danced. It drove me insane.

I would occasionally look to my father and began to realize he disliked balls as well. They were much more my mother's forte, he had explained to me later that night. She lived for the dances, the beautiful people, and the whole feel of the events.

"Your mother would have known better who to invite and how to make it enjoyable. She certainly made them enjoyable for me," he said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as the last guests left in their carriages. He looked down at me. "You take after her in beauty, but my lack of enjoyment at these events definitely got passed on to you."

I smiled, leaning into his half embrace. "I take after both of you perfectly. I got the perfect blend of you and Mother."

He smiled, holding me tight. It was the first time I had ever told him that, and for years to come I would still mention how their traits balanced out perfectly in me. He lit up like a light anytime I said it, and it thrilled me to know that I could make my father so happy.

"Yes, you most certainly did, Victoria. You certainly did."

As you can see, this is just an introductory into Beth's life. The next chapter finally starts really getting into the story!