“This match is a noble one, Jocunda. His family is purest of the pure and will certainly make us proud to call them our kin,” Perpetua Sykes said in her detached, formal manner. “Your father and I are pleased to see you settle down and become a real lady.”
Perpetua frowned as she said this, noticing the flying gear and sports equipment still scattered all about Jocunda’s bedchamber. She just couldn’t understand why her daughter insisted on partaking in such unclean, unladylike activities. It irked and embarrassed her that her only daughter refused to behave like any other well-brought up young woman of high social standing. But now was the chance to change all that for good.
“Real lady, indeed,” Jocunda replied with a catty edge in her voice. She strode casually past her mother, not making eye contact, and picked up her broom. “I’m going out.”
“Remember the banquet tonight! I want you clean and presentable, for tonight you’ll meet the man who is to make you his wife!” Perpetua shouted frantically. It was no use, though, for Jocunda had taken to the stairs and was out of earshot before her mother could, yet again, remind her of the impending doom of marriage.
High in the air above the Sykes family manor in Derbyshire, Jocunda could finally escape. The clouds were light and wispy, the sun shone through to illuminate the faraway world on the ground, and the breeze was the perfect temperature for this time of year. This is just where Jocunda wanted to be “ or even down in the field playing rugby “ no, no definitely in the air. Zipping around treetops was the only true way to escape her parents’ completely awful plans. Cricket and polo were fantastic, too, but in no way other than flying could Jocunda feel absolute freedom from society and the burden of being the Sykes family heiress.
It’s time you chose a husband, Perpetua’s words rang in her ears. Your father and I will not live forever, and we want to make sure you’re taken care of.
I can take care of myself, thanks, Jocunda heard herself answer defensively.
You are a Sykes, for Merlin’s sake! You must keep our bloodline alive! It would be disgraceful and dishonorable not to marry, and you’re not getting any younger by the day.
Jocunda could see her mother’s cold expression, as if she were just another silly town gossip telling stories of the unfortunate Sykes daughter who became too old to marry. She put it out of her head and remembered her angry retort.
Twenty-six is hardly elderly, mama. I’ve nothing against carrying on the family bloodline, but I’ve got things to do first!
Oh, the expression on her mother’s face when she said that was just priceless. Even thinking about it now made Jocunda laugh out loud.
“Things like traveling, flying, getting an education, playing professional Quidditch…” she said aloud to herself, zooming around like a Keeper in a big match. Mama would have a stroke, she thought, and papa would disown me and write me out of the inheritance. All in due time.
Before she knew it, Jocunda had flown all the way to the eastern banks of Suffolk. The salty smell lingered in her nostrils and she took a big, deep breath of ocean air. She’d flown the Channel many times, but today she felt like going for a dip instead.
The water was freezing, right down to her very bones. Jocunda felt every tiny hair on her body prickle in response as the liquid chilled her skin, but she didn’t flee. The pain was endured and even welcomed, for it was one of the few things left that made her feel alive. So much talk of marriage, having children, learning to sew clothes and paint portraits slowly deadened her nerves, but this… This was real. This was exciting. This she could love.
Back before her father’s brilliant idea to arrange a marriage for her, Jocunda was able to sneak off several times a week to fly to and around the Channel as part of her training. Ever since her fifteenth birthday Jocunda had insisted to her parents that some day she would play Quidditch for the Ballycastle Bats. Her only trouble back then was deciding whether she wanted to play Keeper or Beater. On the one hand, being a Keeper meant making or breaking the game with your speed and agility, and on the other, Beaters got to hit Bludgers really hard and aim them at people.
But life couldn’t be just about a game anymore, no matter how much Jocunda wished it. This marriage crisis was so detestable that she had almost made up her mind to go for Beater, just so she could teach her parents a thing or two with a good smack. Now her life was complicated. She’d had to use a few more tricks to win this game.
Jocunda arrived home at Northfield over an hour late. Her clothes were nearly dry but still had visible remnants of sea salt, which also dried her skin and stiffened her normally supple blond hair. And just for good measure, she made sure to track as much mud into the corridor as possible.
“Jocunda!” griped her mother through clenched jaws. “Just look at you! How could you do this to us?”
“Do what?” she replied nonchalantly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I’ve never been so embarrassed! Get your chamber immediately and freshen up! We can’t have Mr. Fontaine seeing you like this!” Perpetua’s voice became louder and louder as she spoke, with every word being a higher, squeakier pitch than the one before. It was positively ghastly and Jocunda was all too willing to disappear from her mother’s range.
No more than twenty minutes later, Jocunda joined the party downstairs. Servants scurried around the place like ants, balancing trays of wine flutes and delectable hors d’oeuvres for the wealthy guests. Some of these people were friends of her parents; most she didn’t know, and didn’t care less.
She spotted her mother across the room and went directly toward her, cutting right between a dancing couple. Perpetua’s horrified face was hysterical.
“Darling, I thought I told you to freshen up?” Perpetua whispered angrily.
Jocunda pretended to be unaware and twirled around in her white gown to show it off. “I did, mama. This dress is beautiful.” She smiled inwardly to herself, enjoying this delicious torment.
“But your hair…! Your face! Oh, I just don’t know what to do with you anymore, Jocunda. Well, never mind that. It’s time to meet him.”
“Mr. Sebastian Fontaine, this is our daughter, Jocunda,” Albert Sykes introduced.
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Sykes.” Sebastian bowed and took Jocunda’s hand as if to kiss it, but she backed away without the slightest hesitation.
“And you, as well. Do you play Quidditch, Mr. Fontaine?”
Albert grumbled and Perpetua gasped so audibly she sounded like she might have had a seizure.
“Once, when I was a boy. Can’t say I have any time for it now. Do you dance?” Sebastian asked her in return.
“Once, when I was a girl. Can’t say I have any interest in it at all,” Jocunda answered stoically. “Lovely to have made your acquaintance. Excuse me.”
Before anyone realized what happened, Jocunda marched to the other side of the ballroom and dashed up the stairs toward her chamber. Her muddy playing shoes made the familiar clip-clopping noise as she ascended. But then there was another sound “ a second pair of clip-clopping shoes grew louder until the owner appeared in her doorframe.
“Miss Sykes, do forgive any offense I may have caused you,” Sebastian pleaded politely.
“It’s Jocunda. And forgive me for offending you, but I will not marry you,” she said sternly. Sebastian watched as Jocunda piled her essential belongings on her bed sheet and tied it all up in a bundle. “I’m leaving, you understand? I can’t stay here. This isn’t my life.”
“But your father… He wishes us to marry. Does that mean nothing to you? They are your family.”
Jocunda retreated to her closet to change clothes in private. When she reappeared she had a lengthy answer for Sebastian. “A family who respects not my wishes is no family at all. They ignore my dreams and insist upon making me someone I am not. I have no doubt you would make a fine husband, but that is not the life I want. I am not a homemaker or a mother or a quilter or painter or gardener. I am a flyer, a runner, a rugby player “ an athlete. I must get away from here before I suffocate.”
Sebastian entered her room and stood by her bed, eying the bundle of her possessions and the wad of white fabric that should have resembled a formal gown. “I see. And this is all you need to survive, is it? A few robes, protective padding, and a broom? Be realistic, Jocunda. You need someone to support you.”
Though his intentions were well meaning, Jocunda most definitely did not appreciate being belittled by a man she hardly knew. What right did he have to tell her she couldn’t do this alone?
“I absolutely do not need anyone’s help. If I could survive my own parents for twenty-six years, I think I can handle the rest of the world. All I need is to be on my own for a while.”
“And do what? Go where?”
“Where they’ll let me be me!” Jocunda yelled. “I’ll go to America “ great opportunity there, you know.”
“Great Depression, you mean.”
Seconds later Sebastian was wiping blood from a quickly swelling lip, horrified that a woman had punched him so mightily.
“Do you have to be such an arse? The Great Depression is over, you idiot. They’re in a war now, and if you haven’t forgotten, so are we. The men have shipped out and the women get to work. Actually work. Haven’t you heard of Rosie the Riveter?”
“What’s that got to do with anything? You’re a Sykes; you don’t need to work. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“Obviously. There are two kinds of people in this world, Sebastian: those who do, and those who don’t. I’m not going to sit around embroidering cushions my whole life just because my parents are stuck in the Victorian Age. I’m going to do something with my life. I’m going to play Quidditch whenever I want to. I’m going to get a job and contribute to society. I’m going to do something so amazing that every woman in the world will realize that we don’t have to put up with your shit anymore.”
“My shit?”
“The entire backwards population’s shit. When you see my parents again, tell them I’ve gone and I’m not coming back. And tell them to keep an eye on the papers.”
Those were the last words Jocunda Sykes ever said in her bedroom. She took her bundle and her Oakshaft 79, jumped out of her second story window and flew away into the darkness.
Sebastian tried to stop her and even crashed the party to tell the Sykes what had happened to their daughter. It seemed Perpetua was more ashamed of Jocunda’s behavior than sad or worried that she had gone. Only Albert had his wits about enough to phone the police for a missing person report.
By midnight Jocunda had reached Ballyshannon, Ireland and was near exhaustion. She rested a few hours in the comfort of her bed sheet and bought food with what little money she brought before setting off again towards the West. The air at that altitude above the ocean was frigid, but nothing Jocunda couldn’t handle. Even though she’d never play for the Bats, it seemed swimming the chilly waters of the English Channel for training wasn’t a complete waste of time, after all.
At times Jocunda spotted ocean steam liners crossing one way or other over the vast Atlantic and occasionally caught a glimpse of whales surging out of the water. She flew and flew until her trusty broom felt as if it had become an extra appendage on her body. Her legs and buttocks were numb, but the increasingly warmer air told her she must have been getting closer.
Jocunda had no idea what day or time it was when she finally spotted land, only that she’d never been as happy to see a foreign country in her entire life. Setting foot on American soil somehow made Jocunda feel instantly freer, like the land was in tune to the foundations on which the country was built.
“I’m here, never to return,” Jocunda said to herself, breathing deeply.
Her legs were stiff and back sore as she walked the sidewalks of this unfamiliar city. The overwhelming feeling of delight “ knowing that she could do exactly what she wanted, and knowing exactly what to do first “ was simply beyond words. She walked until she found any sign of a wizarding community, and took her story to the press.
“The journey was difficult, but as there was no other way to escape, I simply had no choice. Please tell my parents that their only daughter and former heiress is now the first person to have crossed the Atlantic Ocean by broom, and that I wouldn’t have done it without them. Tell them also that I won’t be returning.”
The New York Quill reporter’s eyes bugged out of her round face as she listened to Jocunda’s request and retelling of her historic trip. This story would make headlines all around the world, every witch and wizard would know Jocunda Sykes’ name, and here she was, actually speaking to her.
“You may think I’m mad, but that’s the beauty about it “ I don’t care what anyone thinks,” Jocunda said proudly.
“Not mad! Spectacular! Forget your parents and that ignorant man. You did what you had to do and it made you famous!” the reporter smiled. “Well behaved women rarely make history, you know.”
Fin.