Lucilly Peterson: Memories Start
The young child was guided to rest by the supple hand of her father, atop a throne of hardwood. And there she would stay, petulance setting a quiver in her lips. For but a moment, and then Lucilly allowed herself respite from that which tormented her.
Two more girls in some amount of grace danced about her still form, their bodies more youthful, their expressions more exuberant. They mocked her:
"Lucy's in trouble, Lucy's in trouble!" Twins imparted with gifts of similar countenance, their piglet voices would also crack in disharmonious unison. A more matronly voice calmly implored of them:
"She's not in trouble. Please be kind to your elder sister, Victorya, Sevilla." The mother's intervention drew forth protest from the babe's mouths, but they were silenced with looks of unrelenting firmness, from heights as lofty as the heavens themselves were. "Lucilly. My darling, darling baby girl. You are so mature, so impossibly wise-!"
"-While being so young. Just yesterday, I carried you from your cradle while you giggled nonsense at me." Baritone, deep and rich. The powerful voice one would expect of a minister. Arvin settled his fatherly hand atop the crest of the shoulder of his faithful wife, Annablle. The eldest of their daughters, now the eldest child of their sanctified home, looked between them with trepidation upon her eyes.
"Yes, I..." A pause and a swallow for breath. She wished to declare in gentle tones her fear of the unholy mistake made in letting Markinson and Doman reign free, seize control of the home from where it belonged. To split apart their unit, their core of being. To say, ultimately, that she already missed her elder brothers with all the power her childishly heaving bosom could muster. She'd already spilled tears, and threatened to spill more, even as her younger sisters jeered in their innocent arrogance. "Mommy, daddy..." She paused. She did not feel right, speaking in a manner so, but for the moment her heart would not allow her head to reign. "It's not right. It's written!" Her memory, sharpened as whetstone, produced the verse she'd memorized in her prior years. "Proverbs 15:5, a fool despiseth his father's instruction-"
"-But he that regardeth reproof is prudent," Alvin finished for her as he nodded in loving approval, Annablle clapped a hand to her mouth, fingers splayed in instinct to hide the smile she could not suppress. Even Sevilla and Victorya in their impudence were cowed to hiding in their mother's skirts for but a moment, staring out at their elder sister awed and even jealous. Lucilly did not receive such attentions well, some especially base part of her even wanted to assume in a fit of paranoia that she was the victim of condescension. But her desire to tantrum was stayed, by that same maturity her parents so praised, and her temper was washed away by the unconquerable tides of her duty and obedience, of her love and respect. "When did you memorize that, angel?"
"Sunday school. Mr. Henderson helped me." Her father nodded, and lowered himself that his eyes might have been level with his own beloved daughter's. Her brown iris softened, resistance quailing before the godly sight of that which looked upon her with only the love of heaven itself. All was still and silent for a moment, and Lucilly floundered for further input, finding that she could only babble. "I will miss Mr. Henderson." The storm of her mind's eye suddenly began to abate, as she found herself now thinking of the good times she'd shared with her elderly teacher and his love of framing photographs of his best pupils. She could still recall the beautiful aquamarine blue veneer of the wood her own smiling face had been surrounded by. "I think I should send him a card, to thank him for being a great teacher." That in turn set about a quiver in her father's iris, shaded as her's was. His smile could not have grown any wider.
"That is a good idea, of course."
"Would you help me with that, father?" Thoughts of charity and gratitude had indeed driven the clouds of fearing the unknown from her mind, which would do no good polluted by such adult matters. Some would say forgetfulness, but perhaps it was best to understand it as forgiveness, of the shortcomings she had that were only mortal. Once more, she only knew that she loved her elder brothers and wished them the best. If they were here, if they were a million miles away, their home would be whole either way. She couldn't quite finish any sort of logical construct that justified her spiritual revelation, but indeed, she did not need to. In good faith, she now understood. It still hurt, but perhaps now she could begin to accept the pain with the whole of her heart.
"Of course, angel." He took another breath, strong, and carefully created counsel that he hoped would guide his daughter. "Wherever and whatever your brothers choose to do, we shall love them all the same. We'll never be a house divided, you know?" Lucilly shook her head, still ever mystified by that commanding rapture her father could speak with. He was her father, her silly and strange and sometimes waking-up-late-for-work patriarch of her household. But like his parish, he could move her as easily as the heavens moved about the Earth. "For they will always have our words and our prayers in their hearts. Even if they do not hear them. That is why I allow them freedom, for they will find their own way in God's world, no matter what that way may be. As the Lord commanded. Do not provoke your children to wrath, but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord."
"... Ephesians 3: ...6."
"6: 4." And at that Sevilla and Victorya laughed in secondhand triumph, and Lucilly embarrassed hugged her father, delighting in his reassuringly powerful embrace. Annablle would hug her soon after, and induce the twins to do so as well, even as they attempted to squirm away.
It was thus that after Lucilly retired to her new room in better spirits, letting the blear of the Kingman sun wash into her new room. Here it was that she would find new life, and do honor onto her family as best she could. Boxes of all shapes and sizes vied for her attention, but she found one among the masses that she recognized from the particular creasing of the letters 'This Way Up'. With an immaculate fingernail she broke a seal of tape, and then another, and then called her father for help with the remainder. So he helped her in producing the first item delicately resting in a protective cushion of packed clothes. A picture of the seven strong family, together with many a familiar aunt and uncle and grandparent, all smiling at a brief and glorious moment in time so many years ago. Lucilly had been in her Sunday best, so had Sevilla. Victorya had been difficult to tame that day and had a clean diaper wielded as a weapon in one hand. Markinson and Doman...
Despite herself, Lucilly hugged the frame to her chest, gulping down a sudden lump in her throat. They were there. It was all that mattered. As father had said, so she would believe.
She tenderly put the photo beside her bed, where it now belonged, and went to see if she could help with the unpacking elsewhere in the house.
((Lucilly Peterson continued in What A Day))
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'Yea, we did put all our seeds into the earth'
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