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Extended Work
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| The Tattered Rose (Chapter 3) The Secret | |
| By beatricelouise | ||||||||||||
| 06 April 2008 | ||||||||||||
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The chapters will be shorter from now on. Thanks to all who are interested and are following the story. I appreciate your thoughts and comments so much. I undertook the usual path to the post office. Hidden inside my torn pocket was a letter I'd written to Aunt Rebecca and five copper coins. One penny was required to purchase a stamp. Amidst the branches of the scruffy Christmas tree sat a miniature box with five shiny pennies enclosed and these words inscribed, 'To our darling little girl, Merry Christmas, Lucy.' It was the best Christmas ever. The turkey, Papa selected, roasted to a crispy brown and when sliced, juices sizzled. Mamma's plum pudding ablazed to excellence! Mamma permitted me Christmas Day, Boxing Day and the days following to attempt skating with my new-found friend. I learned to stand on my skates and glide on the slick surface, but the fine art of stopping and twirling would prove more difficult goals. “Lucy, I’m so thrilled to have you come and skate with me. You’re closer to me than a sister.” Sarah gave me a big hug. “I think I’ll adopt you. Would you be my sister, Lucy?” “Of course, Sarah. I’d love to be your sister. I’ve two brothers but haven’t any sisters as yet.” Puzzled, shy and thinking myself ignorant, I managed to voice meagerly, “What does adopt mean?” “It means you’d be my sister even though we didn’t have the same father and mother.” ”Would I have to leave my Mamma and Papa?” Worry begin to nibble at my brain. Leaving my Mamma wouldn’t be an option, no matter how I loved Sarah. “Of course not, silly! You’d live at your home, but would spend a great deal of time with me. It really would be a ‘state of mind’ adoption, not a ‘structured’ adoption with lawyers and the like. If you could live with me, it would be wonderful but…. Sarah's hands trembled, and her voice followed the same manner. "Well, there’s something I’ve never told anyone else before. Can you keep a secret?” “Of course, Sarah! I wouldn’t tell a soul.” I was intrigued by the thought of keeping a real secret. “Not even if you’re life depended on it?” I didn’t even have to think about the answer to that question. “Not even if my life depended on it!” Sarah and I sat on the bench by the ice pond. The full moon and reflection off the white snow glistened the environment into the brightness of daylight. Icicles hung as though chiseled into beautiful see-through ornaments alongside the house. We each snatched one to suck on. The temperature hung at freezing point and the breeze blew slightly. Dogs barked in the distant. The air was invigorating—I didn’t want it to end. “Lucy. When I was about your age, I asked a friend to stay the night. We played tic-tac-toe, hangman’s noose and chatted girl talk until near midnight. We were having a marvelous time when suddenly, I heard the entry door fling shut. My father arrived home late as was his custom. He stumbled to his bedroom down the hall.” Sarah trembled while she laid bare these upsetting memories. She continued, “Soon I could hear father and mother fighting. First, they shouted, and then a lamp toppled with earsplitting crash. I ran down the hallway in time to see father's hands around mother's neck. My plan failed. Even with a stranger in the house, they hadn’t any pride. I screamed, squeezing between them. Finally, he let her loose. I never felt so frightened. Never had I ever seen my father so angry. I thought surely he’d kill her. It was the last time I asked anyone to stay the night.” “Oh, Sarah! How terrible! I’d have never guessed such a thing would happen in such a beautiful home. How could it be? I don’t understand!” “I was so embarrassed and ashamed. My friend kept the incident to herself -I think- but she hasn’t returned since and I don’t blame her one bit. Sometimes, I visit her or one other friend, but it is the rare occasion. My mothers over protectiveness doesn’t allow me to leave the house. We seem rich to some, but truly we are poor….” Sarah’s voice mutated. “I guess I’m the lucky one, Sarah. My Mamma and Papa get along fine, especially now that Papa’s quit drinking. Beer guzzling and late nights were Mamma’s grief too.” How soon I forgot the past as though covered by whitewash. A memory surfaced as I spoke but it was hard to tell my accounts for Mamma drilled me -- what went on home wasn’t anyone’s business. "The hurt Mamma suffered was the kind that gnawed at the heart. She wanted Papa near her and when he chose rather to be at the pub, it ate at her insides. Those were Mamma’s very words.” Both of us tearfully hugged and consoled each other by this time. We, bosom friends had now taken an oath of sisterhood.
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