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Description
Perfect.
Rowena smiled into her pillow.
Papa was at work, leading the night shifts at the factory. Papa was a good man, Rowena decided as she pulled herself up onto her forearms. He cared for his workers and for his trade and listened to them. He had told her about how some bosses mistreated their workers, forcing long hours and short pay and how he hated it. He actually worked with the rough men to learn the hardships and to learn how it felt. He would come back with calloused fingers and singed eyebrows, which Rowena couldnt stop giggling at, and would still read to her, after all that work.
Yes, she nodded. Her arms twinged as she lifted herself into a sitting position and she nodded again to herself, he was a good man.
Yet, she thought as she pulled on the dark bannister of her bed, using it as an anchor to pull herself to the edge, he had his faults. Her fingers tightened at the thought and pulled again. Her muscles burned as she finally reached it. She stopped for a moment, rubbing at her thin arms, like Miri told her to.
"It 'elps the blood get round. Even if you dont use the 'em , we gotta keep youre arms an' legs working. No use lettin' em go to waste." She would say as she rubbed Rowena's legs, smiling and chattering to her as she worked.
There, her arms were better...Ish. She began to move again; reaching for her legs and heaving them over the side. She watched them dangle for a moment, limp, lifeless. She smiled when her toes wiggled, finally obeying her muscles. They may be slower than everyone elses but her legs still worked...just about. Papa and Miri didnt know this, they thought she was crippled as she had once done but she would not tell them. Miri would get flustered and would start fussing and Papa, he would never allow her out of bed again, in case she had a relapse.
Rowena sighed and slowly slipped off her bed, carefully arrangeing her feet. She silently revelled at the feeling of the cold polished wood biting at her toes. Beautiful, to be able to feel it, to be able to sense anything thorugh the supposedly useless twigs. She grasped the bannister again, thin fingers desperatly clutching, she was determined to stay up, maybe even...
No, she musnt bring her hopes up, the last few times she had fallen over. She had made such a clatter, Miri had rushed upstairs to her and she had to explain that she had fallen out of bed simple as that. She had even pulled her bedclothes along with her for further evidence. No, she must not hope.
Her grip lessened on the wood as her other paw reached for the bread spread, trying to edge along the bed to sit on the settle, where she and papa would read stories. She loved reading with him. They had been reading Mr. Poe last night and it was still sat on the green velvet, dogeared from use.
She slowly sidestepped towards it, one hand gripping the white lace and the other reaching for the book.
So close, so very close.
She let go of the quilt, perhaps if she had a little more leverage she could reach it. She was, was...
Standing.
Her hands were free and she was standing.
Standing.
By herself and even though her head was spinning and her legs were burning and eyes watering from some odd emotions.
She knew one thing.
Papa could never know.

Description
Perfect.
Rowena smiled into her pillow.
Papa was at work, leading the night shifts at the factory. Papa was a good man, Rowena decided as she pulled herself up onto her forearms. He cared for his workers and for his trade and listened to them. He had told her about how some bosses mistreated their workers, forcing long hours and short pay and how he hated it. He actually worked with the rough men to learn the hardships and to learn how it felt. He would come back with calloused fingers and singed eyebrows, which Rowena couldnt stop giggling at, and would still read to her, after all that work.
Yes, she nodded. Her arms twinged as she lifted herself into a sitting position and she nodded again to herself, he was a good man.
Yet, she thought as she pulled on the dark bannister of her bed, using it as an anchor to pull herself to the edge, he had his faults. Her fingers tightened at the thought and pulled again. Her muscles burned as she finally reached it. She stopped for a moment, rubbing at her thin arms, like Miri told her to.
"It 'elps the blood get round. Even if you dont use the 'em , we gotta keep youre arms an' legs working. No use lettin' em go to waste." She would say as she rubbed Rowena's legs, smiling and chattering to her as she worked.
There, her arms were better...Ish. She began to move again; reaching for her legs and heaving them over the side. She watched them dangle for a moment, limp, lifeless. She smiled when her toes wiggled, finally obeying her muscles. They may be slower than everyone elses but her legs still worked...just about. Papa and Miri didnt know this, they thought she was crippled as she had once done but she would not tell them. Miri would get flustered and would start fussing and Papa, he would never allow her out of bed again, in case she had a relapse.
Rowena sighed and slowly slipped off her bed, carefully arrangeing her feet. She silently revelled at the feeling of the cold polished wood biting at her toes. Beautiful, to be able to feel it, to be able to sense anything thorugh the supposedly useless twigs. She grasped the bannister again, thin fingers desperatly clutching, she was determined to stay up, maybe even...
No, she musnt bring her hopes up, the last few times she had fallen over. She had made such a clatter, Miri had rushed upstairs to her and she had to explain that she had fallen out of bed simple as that. She had even pulled her bedclothes along with her for further evidence. No, she must not hope.
Her grip lessened on the wood as her other paw reached for the bread spread, trying to edge along the bed to sit on the settle, where she and papa would read stories. She loved reading with him. They had been reading Mr. Poe last night and it was still sat on the green velvet, dogeared from use.
She slowly sidestepped towards it, one hand gripping the white lace and the other reaching for the book.
So close, so very close.
She let go of the quilt, perhaps if she had a little more leverage she could reach it. She was, was...
Standing.
Her hands were free and she was standing.
Standing.
By herself and even though her head was spinning and her legs were burning and eyes watering from some odd emotions.
She knew one thing.
Papa could never know.