Puritan Woman-Personal Narrative

She slowly inches her way out as a light breeze caresses her entire body. She closes her eyes taking in the pleasant aroma, feeling a blanket of tranquility.

During today’s trials, people are innocent until proven guilty. But long ago, during the Salem Witch Trials, people were guilty until proven innocent. This was not the best system, and its flaws are represented in the novel, A Break with Charity. Set in 17th century Massachusetts, A Break with Charity by Ann Rinaldi depicts a young girl at her worst. Susanna English (the main character) lives in Salem Town. The strict Puritan values in Salem leads a circle of girls to portray themselves as haunted by witches, causing chaos for themselves, Susanna, and Tituba. Using dialogue, the author flawlessly shows how poor choices lead to consequences.

Casey stood on the veranda overlooking the gardens enjoying the quietness of the evening. The fragrance coming from the roses climbing up the columns wafted through the night air, their subtle perfume pleasing and familiar. She had cut her work back to part-time wanting to enjoy this pregnancy. She spent time working in the garden, taking long walks, and relaxing on the veranda.

The feeling of a flowery breeze, yellow fields, and the creaky floorboard of the porch, yet someone stays inside watching the men work on the ranch. The ranch owner’s son is married to a young, pretty woman. Whenever she got bored of staying in the house, she would peek outside for a bit. She would walk into the bunkhouse of the men working in the field. Asking her husband Curley.

The sun is out shining down on the bright sparkling marigolds, it’s quiet, nothing's open and nothing to do, but lay around and think about the stage of the world right now. I walk outside and see nothing but dullness, the dust against my feet, and the small town around me, there may have been green grass, and roads at one point a while ago “but memory is an abstract painting” . Behind me is a small shack “leaning together like a house that a child might have constructed from cards”, with no porch, on a small lot with no grass around. I have one thing that is held close to me that makes me happy, they are bright against the dust, they are my marigolds. I notice Lizabeth has her eye on the marigolds, LIzabeth doesn’t want someone to have something

Hester’s heart fell as the realization of her situation washed down upon her. “I don't rightly know sir.” After traveling a short ways they finally reached the woman’s small cottage which was nearly as beautiful as her. Delicately growing ivy climbed it's way up the walls and wild flowers grew at the base of the cottage. The only thing that could draw away from the magnificent scene was the dark, grisly weeds surrounding the wild flowers.

“She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with new spring life.” Speaks of hopefulness and rebirth

One of my most vivid memories as a child was when I was six, a seemingly world away now. My mother had held me over her knee, letting me straddle it, as she braided my hair in a straight, straw rope down my back. Her fingers were gentle, yet quick, and always knew how to avoid tugging my knots in order to spare me more bedevilment. I remember that she had always removed it just as she finished, for fear of my father walking in on us. ‘It will be our little secret,’ she would say to me, before hiding my hair back under a cloth bonnet, and returned to her stitching. It wasn’t until many summers later that I learned why I was to keep the secret hair braiding quiet, and why she never did it while my father was home. In the eyes of the church, a promiscuous or extravagant hair style was a hint of being a witch (Stuart A. Kallen).

Her heart fluttered at the sight of cherry blossom trees, white and pink petals swayed gently, the most beautiful sight in Seireitei. How many decades had passed since she laid her eyes at the small garden, now turned into forest, a secret safe haven from the stuffy and demanding Kuchiki elders.

When one feels protects in life, one cannot experience the benefits within life. For instance, Olive and Sarah Ann’s father holds both of them back from the opportunities in life. This is illustrated when Olive’s future husband, Mr. Dixon asks her, “Why do you wear your hair like that? You ought to shake it loose around your shoulders”. He surprises why Olive all the time makes braids in her hair instead of letting it loose or free. Mr. Dixon attempts to figure out why Olive allows her father to hold her back, much like the braids in her hair. This statement is motive because Olive starts to question her father about  confinement at home due to a man. Mr. Dixon Uses her hair as a metaphor, by his questioning, that without her job at the post office, she should give a look more in her life. By making braids and keeping her hair open, author tries to illustrate that she is a bit confused whether or not to stay at home which is like a prison by conforming her father’s rules or just get away from here and make her

It took very long, but by sunset, she recognized her farm and her fields. But it had been destroyed. The fields looked as if they had erupted, and her animals were missing. But her house was the saddest . . . it was gone. All her belongings were scattered everywhere.

In this particular valley, there was one small, cozy cottage in the middle. Surrounded by abundant herb gardens and livestock, this cottage was miniscule in comparison to the humongous valley. This cottage, was home to an old woman. The old woman’s name was Maria Jenkins, but most people had called her Madam Jenkins. Madam Jenkins was a plump old woman, with a kind face, and dull green eyes. Madam Jenkins’s hair was grey by now, after many years of living(seventy three to be exact), and it was always kept in a messy bun atop her head. However, her hair bun was usually hidden by her large sunhat, which she used to block out the sun as she tend to the garden she owned.

In the village, James and Lily were hauling water from the town well. James brushed his honey blonde locks away from his face and turned to face her. Her caramel-colored hair was weaved into a french braid. The sun shined down upon them, enveloping them with warmth and forecasted a wonderful, lovely day.

A brisk wind ran its fingers through the tall hemlock down by the riverbank, causing it to sway perilously. She sighed as she looked out of the window. The garden was neat and orderly, as was the house – she made sure of that. The little gate at the end of the lawn rattled in the wind, and she noticed the dustbin lid had been blown off. She must see to that. It was 8:15, and Catherine was tidying away the dishes of a breakfast in which they had shared petty formalities, and the marmalade.

Dodie paused as she saw the cafe; there was a new flower vendor outside the small cafe with bucket upon bucket of fragrant roses, hydrations, and various other delicate flowers that Dodie couldn't name. The pink, lavender, and blue flowers perfectly complemented the partially hidden cafe that Dodie and Fleur had stumbled upon one tipsy night ages ago. The door’s bell rung cheerfully as Dodie pulled it open and stepped inside the cozy, dim, and sweet-smelling cafe.