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allthewriteplaces · 6 months

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Magnolia in May ~ Chapter Twelve

Author's Note: Hey, everyone! I'm so happy to present another chapter of this story. I'm also glad to report that this week has been much better than last. We even watched the new Hunger Games movie, woohoo!

Chapter Summary: Jessie meets the rest of the Shelby clan, but will she earn the approval of the family's matriarch, Miss Polly Gray?

Chapter Warning(s): None

Word Count: 3515

Chapter Twelve

“How long is it gonna take for them to get here?” Ruby asked, tapping her fingers against her cheek impatiently while she and Charlie knelt on the couch in front of the window. Both of them were dressed in their best clothes and had their hair all brushed and styled, since Lizzie and I both wanted them to look nice for when their aunties and uncles and cousins came over.

They’d been awake since the crack of dawn, maybe even a little bit before that, because they were unable to contain their excitement and calm down long enough to try and go back to sleep. It’s a miracle they managed to sleep all week at all. But I was glad that instead of waking their mother and I up right away, they amused themselves quietly in the playroom until it was time to get ready.

The cooks were also hard at work making a delicious breakfast. I could smell the eggs and bacon from the living room and it made my stomach growl impatiently. It was easier for the adults to wait than the children, since they were eating breakfast a lot later than they usually did, hence why their patience was wearing thin.

Their first night at Lizzie’s went better than even she could have expected. It was common for them to be awake in the middle of the night because of nightmares or because they just weren’t comfortable enough to sleep no matter how hard she tried to make sure they had everything they needed. This time, they managed to sleep soundly, but of course they didn’t go to sleep right away, not until they talked with their father.

The living room had a telephone and his number was right at the top of a list of emergency contacts scribbled down on a notepad. She told me that they kept each other in the loop when it came to the children, letting each other know how they were, or if there was a situation that needed to be addressed in regards to them.

Turns out that was how Thomas found out about the old governess. Lizzie has called him one night and told him about what happened. She insisted that he fire her, that the children didn’t deserve to feel unsafe around someone they should have been able to trust.

Ruby told him about the race and Charlie added that it was a tie and that they’d both won since they were only pretend horses anyhow. He also mentioned how the stuffed animals had a brawl over the money and how the soldiers had to step in and make sure no one was hurt, which Thomas tried his hardest not to laugh at.

“They know too much,” I heard Lizzie say to Thomas once I had settled the kids in their beds and I gave them a moment to catch up with one another. She was smiling as she spoke, it was like the most painful part of her past was buried beneath the surface or never happened in the first place. As soon as I walked in, she held the phone out to me. “I am going to bed, leave the two of you alone for a bit.”

From there, we just talked. I told him how much the kids and I missed him, even though it had only been a few hours since we parted and that I was secretly nervous about meeting the rest of the family.

“Don’t worry,” he told me in his sleepy voice, “Everyone is going to love you, I mean, sure, my aunt Polly is not the easiest lady to please and she doesn’t trust people easily, for obvious reasons, but once she gets to know you, she’ll welcome you with open arms. I should mention, though, that I talk about you to her all the time, so she probably already does know you.”

We spoke until well past midnight and when we eventually said goodnight and I retired to bed, keeping the guest bedroom door open in case anyone needed me in the night, I said a short prayer in hopes that God would watch over Thomas and keep him safe whilst he was away.

“I wish Daddy was here.”

Ruby’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. She came down from the couch and went over to her mother, who was seated next to me on the couch while we waited for the rest of the guests to arrive.

“I know, sweetheart,” she said, bringing her into a hug and stroking her hair in a tender way. Neither Ruby nor Charlie liked it when their father went away for long periods of time, and the fact that this was a family reunion and one of the most important members of said family wasn’t going to be there didn’t seem right or fair to them. “But this isn’t just any family reunion, remember? Your daddy’s birthday is coming up. We want to plan a very special party for him.”

Wait, his birthday? How did I not know this!?

“When exactly is it?” I asked.

“Not until next Saturday,” she assured me. “We have plenty of time to prepare.”

A knock at the door caught our attention.

“I wonder who that could be?” she said.

“Come on, Ruby, let’s go see who it is!” Charlie nearly jumped off the sofa and Ruby climbed off of her mother’s lap and they both rushed to the door. Charlie stood up on his tiptoes and looked through the little peephole in the door, but Ruby wasn’t quite tall enough yet, not even when she stood on her tiptoes or even tried jumping up to see if she might be able to see that way.

“Jessie, can you please help me?” she asked.

“Sure I can,” I said and then coming up behind her, I picked her up and then she was able to lean forward and peek through the hole. Then her whole face lit up as she turned her head back to look at me.

“It’s Auntie Ada!” she exclaimed.

“We should let her in, then, yeah?” I said, putting her back down on the ground so she and Charlie could open the door together.

“I haven’t seen you both in weeks!” she exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear and she enveloped both of the children in a hug. Then she looked over her shoulder at a boy, possibly her son, who was just coming in from outside, and brought a hand up to his forehead. “Are you feeling better now, love?”

“Yeah,” he said, sighing deeply.

“Feeling better?” Ruby echoed, sounding a little worried. “Karl, are you sick?”

“I got a little carsick on the way,” he nodded, “but I’m much better now.”

“If you need to stand outside for a little while, get some fresh air —” Ada began.

“Mum, relax. I’m alright,” he assured her, holding her hand.

Ada visibly relaxed and then letting go of her son’s hand, she smiled as a man carrying a little girl in one arm, and a bag in the other, wiped his boots on the mat outside the door and then crossed over the threshold. Both he and the daughter had beautiful golden eyes that shone in the pale light coming in from the window, and dark, curly hair.

“Wanna go see your cousins?” the man said, turning to her. He had a calm, soothing voice and a smile brighter than the stars so any child might feel at ease just looking at him. “Yeah? You want to walk?”

The little girl nodded and he gently set the girl down on the ground, allowing her to find her footing before letting her go. She couldn’t have been any younger than three years old, but once the man put her down on the ground, she was already taking off toward Lizzie, who opened her arms to welcome her.

“Look at you! You’re getting so tall already!” Lizzie exclaimed, running a hand across her cheek.

“She just woke up from a nap,” said Ada. She straightened up and then her eyes met mine and she offered a warm smile. “Hello, You must be Miss Bennett, the new governess.”

“Please, call me Jessie,” I answered, reciprocating her friendly greeting.

“This is Ben, my fiance,” she added and I shook the man’s hand, then placed one hand on the little girl’s back as Lizzie held her. “And Elizabeth, our pride and joy.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Karl joked.

Ada shook her head, laughing and then brought her son in for a hug.

“And you’ve already met Karl, our other pride and joy.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said and shook the boy’s hand as well.

“You as well,” he answered with a proud little smile. He then turned around to talk to Charlie. It was nice for him to have someone close enough to his age that he could interact with and relate to.

“Can you say ‘hello?’” asked Ben, maintaining his gentle tone.

“Hello,” she said, almost too softly for me to hear.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” I replied. I understood her shyness, especially with all of these other people around.

“Tommy has told us all about you,” Ada said.

“It’s all he ever talks about.” A man’s voice joins her and the kids go over and hug him, too. He bends down to pick Ruby up and just like the other Shelbys, his warm smile that reached all the way up to his eyes had the ability to put everyone in the room at ease, including me. “I just mean it feels like we already know ya.”

“Uncle Arthur, we’re planning Daddy’s party!” said Ruby.

“Really? I thought we were ‘ere to discuss business,” he said in a joking manner.

“It’s a business and party planning meeting, there’s a slash,” said Lizzie.

He hummed and then looked at the kids. “Will there be cake at this party?”

“We can’t have a party without cake!” Karl interjected.

“Chocolate cake!” Ruby piped in.

“Yes, everyone loves chocolate,” Arthur agreed.

“And what about your father? Does he love chocolate, too?” asked Ben.

“Maybe,” Charlie shrugged.

“Then perhaps the three of you can make it together,” said Ada.

Arthur reached up to rub the back of his neck and chuckled nervously. “Oh, well, Linda’s more of a baker than I am.”

“What’s this about me?” A pretty woman with short blonde hair and wearing a white sweater, walked through the door, holding a little boy by the hand. He didn’t look much older than Ruby, but was significantly younger than Charlie.

“I was just explainin’ to Lizzie that you’re a much better baker than I am,” he answered, then looked to the little boy. “Isn’t that right, Billy Boy?”

Billy looked up at his father and grinned, nodding. He had his father’s eyes and he had a head of light blond locks like his mother. It was easy to tell where he got his good looks from.

“Yeah. Mum makes good muffins.”

“Muffins aren’t cake,” said Ruby.

“Technically, they’re little cakes,” said Karl.

“Wait, aren’t those cupcakes?” asked Charlie.

“They’re made from the same stuff.”

“What’s this about cupcakes?” We all turned our heads to see two more boys walking in. In some ways, they looked alike. They were almost the same height, they both wore the signature Peaky Blinders hairstyle and they were dressed up in a fancy suit and tie. However, one boy had green eyes while the other had brown.

I was about to inquire as to who they were, until one of them strode over to me.

“You must be Tommy’s new girlfriend, eh?” he said, then leaned over to whisper to the boy next to him. “He was right, she is pretty.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to make it,” said Ada.

“Change of plans,” said the one with an impish grin and then gestured to the other boy. “Practically had to drag this one along by his toes.”

“I meant it when I said I’m not a morning person,” the other replied with a roll of his eyes. He hung up his hat and then turned to me. “Finn Shelby, and this is Isaiah.”

After I shook both of their hands, Charlie walked over to them.

“Isaiah, are muffins little cakes?”

“No, those are cupcakes,” he answered.

“That’s what I said.”

“Are you sure?” asked Finn.

“Any word from Esme?” asked Arthur, leaving the kids to settle the debate as to whether or not muffins could be classified as cakes.

Ada nodded. “I received a telegram yesterday. She will be catching the train with Polly.”

“And will our aunt be bringing a certain someone along with her?” he teased.

“Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t,” Ada whispered back.

“If I didn’t, what?”

At the sound of another woman’s voice, both siblings froze in their tracks, and they slowly lifted their heads to meet her gaze. They weren’t proud of the fact that they’d been caught and this immediately took me back to when I was a kid, stealing cookies from the cookie jar and being spotted by Uncle Albert. Standing behind her was another woman, slightly younger, but just as pretty. The children wasted no time in wiping their feet and coming inside.

“Polly,” Arthur began, a little sheepishly, “we had no idea you were—”

“We didn’t know you were listening,” Ada finished.

“Oh, I’m always listening, dear girl. Always listening, always watching.” The words hung in the air for a moment and the sound of the children’s laughter floated and swirled around me.

When you hear the words ‘girl’ or ‘woman,’ you think of soft skin, soft lips, freckled-cheeks, long skirts and button-up shirts, but the tough-as-nails and sharp- as a-whip Shelby women were the sort that no one with a brain would dare mess with, and the one standing before me, her eyes locked on mine, had an air of authority about her and at first glance, I felt as though I were a walking target.

She also had the face of a leader, her posture rivalled that of any noble woman, queen, princess, or duchess. But at the same time, many people admired her for her strength and courage and her ability to step in and take charge of things when necessary. In short she was the true matriarch of the Shelby family and the sort of woman that many young girls would and should aspire to become when they grow up.

So as much as I feared her, I, too, admired her.

“You must be Miss Bennet,” Polly then said, after what felt like an eternity.

Should I acknowledge her with a ‘hello.’ or ‘it’s a pleasure to meet you?’ or should I merely nod politely and allow her to do the talking? Thomas told me that pleasing his aunt was no easy feat, and that she was wary of strangers upon first meeting. Making a bad impression on Polly Gray simply wasn’t in the cards.

In the end, I knew it would be rude to leave her inquiry unanswered, so I went with the second option, along with the classic. “Your nephew has told me all about you.”

“Seems he’s had a lot to say about the both of us then,” her gaze softened as did her posture, and mine became a bit less rigid as a result, but even among those closest to her, she carried herself with grace and dignity. She then turned to acknowledge her younger nieces and nephews, all of whom flocked around her like sheep and she was their shepherd.

It was only then that I noticed the man standing off to the side as he watched her interacting with the kids. I could only assume this was the ‘special someone’ that Ada and Arthur were speaking of a moment ago. His hair, which was perhaps lighter or darker in his youth, had grown silver with age, and somehow it suited him rather well.

“I don’t think I caught your name,” I said, moving a little closer, but keeping a respectful distance. He tore his gaze away from Polly and smiled the sort of smile that made his eyes crinkle.

“The name’s Gold. Aberama Gold,” the man answered, extending his hand in the typical greeting. My hand was small in comparison. When I lifted my gaze, I saw only kindness and warmth.

“Pleasure.” I smiled back, hoping to return that same warmth. I was about to say something else when a few of the kids stepped away from Polly and ran up to me and chanted who are you who are you who are you?

“I’m Jessie,” I answered. I could hear Aberama chuckling beside me.

“Uncle Tommy has a girlfriend,” one of the boys said, making them all giggle.

“Is that so? I wasn’t aware of that,” I tried not to laugh with them.

“Silly, she’s Charlie and Ruby’s nanny,” someone else said.

“Governess,” the oldest girl corrected him.

“Same thing,” the boy argued back.

“You’re really pretty,” the youngest boy said.

“Thank you,” I told him with a smile.

“Alright, why don’t we leave Jessie alone for a while, eh?” Esme said, a small smile on her own face as she lined up all of their boots and made sure none of them were touching the freshly mopped floor, then she remained in the hall for a moment, getting a good lay of the land, before looking over at Lizzie. “Shall we get everyone seated?”

“Cook said that breakfast should be ready soon,” she nodded.

“Good, I’m starving,” said Karl, going over to Ada.

Ben was holding Elizabeth’s hand and calmly encouraging her along.

Much like Thomas, he was a man who would go to great lengths to protect his children, and it showed in the way he stood next to her, watching her every step, ready to catch her if she were to stumble and fall.

There were enough chairs for everyone to sit in and everyone was free to sit wherever they liked. Both Ruby and Charlie wanted to sit beside me, so they waited for me to choose where I wanted to sit and then they both sat on either side of me; Ruby between me and her mother and Charlie between Karl and I.

Esme sat on the other side of me. I didn’t know much about her, though she was perhaps one of the most intriguing members of the Shelby family. According to Thomas, the marriage between her and John, his younger brother, was arranged in order to first of all, bring peace between the Shelby and Lee families and second and most importantly, provide a mother for John’s four children. Then the two of them welcomed two more children from the time they were married until the time of his death.

I could only imagine what it was like for her to raise six kids without the help of her husband, but apparently, she lived out in the countryside with a few of her family members, so at least she had help whenever she needed it. She also had little involvement within the family business or the Peaky Blinders, which was probably a good thing considering what she’s been through in the past few years.

Learning all their names was simple enough.

There was Katie, the eldest. Then there was Queenie, Matthew and Finn. After Finn was born, and John and Esme got married, Mercedes and little Birdie came along.

Once all of her children were settled in their seats and started eating, she looked my way and greeted me with a soft, almost worn out smile.

“Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner. Had to make sure the kids were settled, you know? They’re a little bit restless after the long drive.”

“I understand,” I said, keeping my tone warm and light-hearted in order to put her at ease a little. “I remember when I was their age, every time I went somewhere with my cousins, there’s the restlessness and the repetitive question of ‘Are we there yet?’”

She brought a hand to the side of her forehead and let out a groan of feigned irritation. “I can’t count the number of times they asked me, but I don’t blame ‘em, though. They’re just excited to see everyone, and with any luck, they’ll fall asleep on the way back home.”

“Here’s hoping,” I said in a joking way.

This must have been what all family gatherings were like, at least twenty people under the same roof, a flurry of activity, their footsteps, their voices, and their laughter all mixing and mingling together, but it was odd to have the whole family together except for their father, and it was even more obvious when I saw the empty chair. I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt a twinge of sadness and a familiar ache in my chest, but seeing how happy everyone else was, I pushed the feeling as far back as I could.

To be continued!

Taglist: @zablife @runnning-outof-time @sherbitdibdab

#peaky blinders #thomas shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #cillian murphy #tommy shelby x oc #fanfic #fanfiction #tommy shelby

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masculinepeacock · 11 months

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reading another louise erdrich novel and suddenly remembering why The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse caught my attention so so quickly

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ilikereadingactually · 1 year

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The Sentence

The Sentence by Louise Erdrich

it feels almost criminal that i have waited this long to read any Louise Erdrich. her work has been in my periphery since 2004, when my best friend wrote heavily about one of her books for her undergraduate thesis (sorry B, i still haven't read The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse). i picked up this one earlier this year, when i was only just getting back into reading more regularly, because (i'm pretty sure) that same friend recommended it, and i love ghosts.

this book contains so much, and somehow still feels so simple and straightforward. like, of course, perfectly ordinary for Tookie to help a crush by transporting a body, who hasn't laughed at greeting card that promises the same? totally expected for the justice system to work against and incarcerate an Ojibwe woman, and just totally normal life stuff for her to marry the former cop who arrested her after she gets out and then have a fraught relationship with his grown daughter and surprise grandchild. and come on, what indigenous-owned independent bookstore isn't haunted by the ghost of a regular customer, especially during early COVID-19, in Minneapolis, amid the grief and rage following the murder of George Floyd?

SO MUCH HAPPENS in this book, but it's all narrowed to Tookie's pov--her own very personal and specific wants and fears, her struggle and belief. it's beautifully done, so delicately balanced, a book that fills you like a warm meal even as you're crying and remembering what you felt like sitting in bed and looking out the window and wondering when you would ever feel safe out there again. i hesitate to call it magical realism, even though i think that's where it falls in the range of "kinds of books i like," because Tookie presents every event as equally real--and in February of 2020, i would have thought a worldwide pandemic and indefinite lockdown just as unlikely as a retail ghost and the otherworldly power of an old book (which is to say, all things i could imagine happening but had never happened to me personally). magnificent.

the deets

how i read it: as an ebook from the library, via Libby! this was at a time when i hadn't yet gotten back into the habit of reading and so frequently forgot to go back to books i was in the middle of, but this one was so compelling i actually finished it before it was due.

try this if you: are ready to process some of that 2020 terror, love a main character whose flaws are part of her charm, want a book with a majority native cast of characters, or just want to hang out in somebody else's weird life for a while.

some memorable moments: i read this a while ago and no longer have it handy to quote, so this is a fun test of my bad memory! there were a lot of scenes i really liked that i can recall, but one that sticks out as very charming to me was when Tookie's artist coworker at the bookstore closed herself in a repurposed confessional booth to decorate the inside, got a little high on the glue, and in this altered state confirmed Tookie's suspicion that a former customer was haunting the store. I loved everything about this; the slightly weird artsy coworker, the confessional in the bookstore (based, i presume, on the one that lives in Erdrich's store, Birchbark Books), the triumph of having someone validate your ghost theory and the tragedy of wondering if it's just because she's been breathing glue fumes.

also, i just love so so much that Louise Erdrich wrote herself into her own book, as the owner of the bookstore in the book which is not quite, but almost, her own bookstore in real life. please i want to just chat with her for several hours, what a mind.

#books and reading #book recs #book reviews #bookblr #the sentence #louise erdrich #indigenous literature

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kubinashi · 1 year

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Louise Erdrich, The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse

#literature #sorry for the terrible scanning job i just keep rereading this page over and over #it makes me insane #i’m not even religious but what is life if not a constant search for signs that god loves us

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lesmislettersdaily · 1 year

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At Bombarda's

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 3: In The Year 1817; Chapter 5: At Bombarda's

The Russian mountains having been exhausted, they began to think about dinner; and the radiant party of eight, somewhat weary at last, became stranded in Bombarda’s public house, a branch establishment which had been set up in the Champs-Élysées by that famous restaurant-keeper, Bombarda, whose sign could then be seen in the Rue de Rivoli, near Delorme Alley.

A large but ugly room, with an alcove and a bed at the end (they had been obliged to put up with this accommodation in view of the Sunday crowd); two windows whence they could survey beyond the elms, the quay and the river; a magnificent August sunlight lightly touching the panes; two tables; upon one of them a triumphant mountain of bouquets, mingled with the hats of men and women; at the other the four couples seated round a merry confusion of platters, dishes, glasses, and bottles; jugs of beer mingled with flasks of wine; very little order on the table, some disorder beneath it;

“They made beneath the table

A noise, a clatter of the feet that was abominable,”

says Molière.

This was the state which the shepherd idyl, begun at five o’clock in the morning, had reached at half-past four in the afternoon. The sun was setting; their appetites were satisfied.

The Champs-Élysées, filled with sunshine and with people, were nothing but light and dust, the two things of which glory is composed. The horses of Marly, those neighing marbles, were prancing in a cloud of gold. Carriages were going and coming. A squadron of magnificent body-guards, with their clarions at their head, were descending the Avenue de Neuilly; the white flag, showing faintly rosy in the setting sun, floated over the dome of the Tuileries. The Place de la Concorde, which had become the Place Louis XV. once more, was choked with happy promenaders. Many wore the silver fleur-de-lys suspended from the white-watered ribbon, which had not yet wholly disappeared from button-holes in the year 1817. Here and there choruses of little girls threw to the winds, amid the passers-by, who formed into circles and applauded, the then celebrated Bourbon air, which was destined to strike the Hundred Days with lightning, and which had for its refrain:—

“Rendez-nous notre père de Gand,

Rendez-nous notre père.”

“Give us back our father from Ghent,

Give us back our father.”

Groups of dwellers in the suburbs, in Sunday array, sometimes even decorated with the fleur-de-lys, like the bourgeois, scattered over the large square and the Marigny square, were playing at rings and revolving on the wooden horses; others were engaged in drinking; some journeyman printers had on paper caps; their laughter was audible. Everything was radiant. It was a time of undisputed peace and profound royalist security; it was the epoch when a special and private report of Chief of Police Anglès to the King, on the subject of the suburbs of Paris, terminated with these lines:—

“Taking all things into consideration, Sire, there is nothing to be feared from these people. They are as heedless and as indolent as cats. The populace is restless in the provinces; it is not in Paris. These are very pretty men, Sire. It would take all of two of them to make one of your grenadiers. There is nothing to be feared on the part of the populace of Paris the capital. It is remarkable that the stature of this population should have diminished in the last fifty years; and the populace of the suburbs is still more puny than at the time of the Revolution. It is not dangerous. In short, it is an amiable rabble.

Prefects of the police do not deem it possible that a cat can transform itself into a lion; that does happen, however, and in that lies the miracle wrought by the populace of Paris. Moreover, the cat so despised by Count Anglès possessed the esteem of the republics of old. In their eyes it was liberty incarnate; and as though to serve as pendant to the Minerva Aptera of the Piræus, there stood on the public square in Corinth the colossal bronze figure of a cat. The ingenuous police of the Restoration beheld the populace of Paris in too “rose-colored” a light; it is not so much of “an amiable rabble” as it is thought. The Parisian is to the Frenchman what the Athenian was to the Greek: no one sleeps more soundly than he, no one is more frankly frivolous and lazy than he, no one can better assume the air of forgetfulness; let him not be trusted nevertheless; he is ready for any sort of cool deed; but when there is glory at the end of it, he is worthy of admiration in every sort of fury. Give him a pike, he will produce the 10th of August; give him a gun, you will have Austerlitz. He is Napoleon’s stay and Danton’s resource. Is it a question of country, he enlists; is it a question of liberty, he tears up the pavements. Beware! his hair filled with wrath, is epic; his blouse drapes itself like the folds of a chlamys. Take care! he will make of the first Rue Grenétat which comes to hand Caudine Forks. When the hour strikes, this man of the faubourgs will grow in stature; this little man will arise, and his gaze will be terrible, and his breath will become a tempest, and there will issue forth from that slender chest enough wind to disarrange the folds of the Alps. It is, thanks to the suburban man of Paris, that the Revolution, mixed with arms, conquers Europe. He sings; it is his delight. Proportion his song to his nature, and you will see! As long as he has for refrain nothing but la Carmagnole, he only overthrows Louis XVI.; make him sing the Marseillaise, and he will free the world.

This note jotted down on the margin of Anglès’ report, we will return to our four couples. The dinner, as we have said, was drawing to its close.

#les mis #les mis letters #volume 1: fantine #book 3: in the year 1817 #chapter 5 #sorry this ones late i thought id already posted it here lol

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vympr · 2 years

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The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse by Louise Erdrich

are you an ex catholic

#mean book asks

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lucydacusgirl · 2 years

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I got a little bit lost reading the last report on the miracles at little no horse but the way Louise Erdrich writes is so incredible

#ough...

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spookylittletownhq · 2 years

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A CECIL CROSS has arrived in Albion. While they may seem FAMILIAR, they are connected to the WESTERLY FOOTHILLS CROSSES. Their passport was stamped at Falls Inn and shows that they are THIRTY, SIX FOOT THREE INCHES, with DUSTY CHESTNUT HAIR and GRAY GREEN EYES. Mrs. Kuiper at the Inn said that they seemed FORGIVING and METHODICAL, though they were seen SMOKING A STRANGE SMELLING HERB FROM A THICKLY PACKED CIGAR as they departed St. Catharine’s Depot. Be wary, and report any sightings to Madame Lange’s Tea Room.

INTRODUCING CECIL CROSS

(This is in the voice of Cecil’s father, as he sends a prayer to the Heavens, as he asks for forgiveness for his son.)

Dear Heavenly Father, thou art in Heaven… please listen to my pleas, and hear my explanation of my son and his little deeds.

When he was born, oh so small, in the dead of night, I wept on my knees as I am sure you remember well. Miriam and I, my wife, thought he wouldn’t make it to daybreak, with a heartbeat so faint and his limbs so fragile. For weeks, it seemed, each day was precious and un-promised, just as the last, but with your grace, he grew in strength. He was not named until his second moon had come & passed, for we feared to give him a name would be to lose more than we already would.

Once our fears began to fade, small Cecil grew with rapid progression, and we have you to thank for this blessing, I know. He never stayed in bed during the nighttime, and would doze off in the most odd places during the day. Always in the garden, but careful not to trample the sprouting buds of flowers & vegetables. Miriam was quick to put a spade in his small fists, and from there, he blossomed.

Though a strange child, small he didn’t quite remain, towering above the other children in the Valley by the age of ten. Then, I prayed to you, for he might find a friend, someone to run the dusty streets with and skin his knees climbing trees. I know you hear every word, but I fear most of my requests over these long, hard years have fallen on deaf ears. We have suffered, Lord, and struggled through our days. With no children following our little Cecil, it’s just me and my brothers in the fields, and he is of little use with a plow or a horse.

I fear I have been less of a father & more of a burden to Cecil, so for this, I ask for forgiveness as well. I did not foster & teach him in the ways of you, Lord, for I am regretful. He has snuck out of morning mass more times than I can count, and I fear sometimes he harbors an evil streak in his palms. Do not misunderstand, he is a miracle worker, and has cured more ailments with his funny little plants than I ever knew was humanly possible - but I wonder what it is exactly, to cause him to be so… odd.

Childhood was simple enough for him, I suppose. We struggled with our funds, but his needs were met modestly, food on the table and a fire in the hearth. Cecil is not one to complain or want for grand things, and of this, I am grateful, for we never could have provided jewels and crumpets if he’d asked for it. Birthdays were unceremonious, a regret of mine yet… but he seemed happy, he seemed bright.

Miriam wept in my arms the day Cecil decided to move along, make a name for himself in his own home, and had somehow purchased with funds I had no idea of a little beaten down cottage, just down the lane. I suppose now I took advantage of his nearness, too bitter that he was to abandon our farm to pursue his own apothecary of what I saw to be useless ointments & potions… perhaps yet, I was right. Perhaps yet, I should have asked you for more guidance, but it is too late.

Not even two years passed, Cecil on his own, making deals in the night and tending to his covered gardens, the strange smoke always coming from his chimney… he was nineteen, I believe, when the Burton boy died. I mourned, of course, but thought not to pray to you, Lord, for protection… for sometimes, tragedy strikes. I had not realized what Cecil had done in those years, just shy of two, for the town. How much his reputation had grown, how much faith had become bestowed in his fingers.

They whispered of hexes and magic and I would scoff and laugh. I never thought that so quick, they’d turn their back on my son, and he would disappear into the night. But, he fled, as the windows shuttered against him in the days following the Burton boy’s funeral. I can’t help but wonder why he ran; why he hadn’t been more careful, wonder what truly happened…

It took a year for him to write to us, to inform us he had found a new home, almost twenty one now, and was tending a small, humble garden of his own. A ramshackle shop set up on a street corner on Saturday’s, he reported, was his source of income. He spoke nothing of lovers, or of friends, or of the future, or even of the past. The letters were short, and he was different; changed. Cecil had seen the true color of man, and how quickly you can lose their favor, and become a shell of what he’d been in the past.

When Miriam died, only five years after Cecil left, the letters stopped… until now. I lay here, Lord, sick and on my final days, but feeling assured that my son is coming home. I will be gone in your arms by the time the train stops in Albion, but Cecil has returned.

I may never know why, but he says the moon spoke to him, and has called him home. He says he is bored of the mundane, and he misses the smell of the Valley’s Earth, of the energy running in the roots of the trees. I think he has gone a bit mad, but then again… so have I.

I pray you forgive his misdeeds, I pray he is welcomed, and I pray he is not alone when he steps off the train and onto that platform. Send someone to guide him, as you have me, for a son without his father is a lost man indeed.

Amen.

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