Notes

Piper Jassem Humanities 7
November 2016 A Day In the Life of a Colonist


My name is Catherine White, used to be Catherine Baker but when I married I was forced to change it. I’m a woman in the gentry class. Even though the middling class doesn’t get the great clothes and food that we do, I would much rather be in the middling class. I could have my own talents. My wishes on my birthday were always to become a milliner and make clothing for myself and others. It’s also a possibility that I wouldn’t have to marry. This high up on the hierarchy I would be so looked down upon if I had chosen not to marry. My least favorite thing about being in the gentry class is all the beauty standards.
“Get your wig ready! Put on your makeup! If you don’t step up your looks you will never be able to find a husband,” my mother would always yell at me.
I’m upstairs in my room tieing my stay when I hear the door slowly creak open. My servant, Penelope, peeks her head through the door.
“Do you need help with that,” she says gently.
“Yes please. Can you just tie the last strings?”
Tonight was the night of the most famous ball in America. This ball had brought people from just inside our little colony all the way to England. I wish I could just wear a petticoat and shift but that would just be unacceptable. Tonight myself and the rest of the women will walk into the Governor's Palace wearing smaller stays and bigger hoops than anyone would ever believe somebody could wear. I don’t want to go back to that ball every year but it’s a way to make a name for my current and future family members.
I walk down the frail staircase dragging my hand over every detail on the banister. I need a change of setting to help clear up my mind before this big event. The marble floors are cooling on my feet. I grab a brush and began layering the white, lead makeup on my face. Even though my mother died a few years ago I can still her voice saying,
“No one likes a suntan Catherine!” And, “dark skin will never be beautiful, that’s why the Africans are our slaves.” And, “If you don’t put on your paint people will mistake you for a slave and beat you.” I could never really tell if she was honest or joking but most of the time she took apperance really seriously. A layer of white starts to cover my face so I put the paint down and pick up my rouge. I put a little rouge on on my lips and cheeks but I don’t put on anything more than that.
I only have a little time before I have to go so I dart upstairs to grab my dress. I slip it over my head and the blue silk brushes my skin all the way until the bottom hits the ground. I go back down the stairs again. I’m practically just pacing around our. I find John in the living area reading a piece of paper. I’m always wondering what he’s reading but the women don’t get to do much around a gentry home.
“Honey, put your shoes on. The carriage will be here any minute now,” he says with his booming voice which is surprisingly calming. I slip my shoes over my stocking and walk outside. I finally get a breath of fresh air but the carriage arrives before the air can even make it to my stomach. John walks out right on cue and we hop in the car together.
I take my first step on those familiar cobblestone roads one again as I begin walking into the building. I link arms with John as we discuss our plan for the ball itself. He opens the door for me and I walking in, scanning the room. I can tell that even tomorrow my family will no longer be the top of the social status and I could not be more excited.