Catch a Shooting Star jd edit 03 12 2012 html by Brianna Lee McKenzie Page B
Authors: Brianna Lee McKenzie
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five-year-old who seems determined to break something with her skipping about and stumbling around in haste and excitement, there should be some sort of device in the house that will bring help sooner than without it.
He pulled out the chair at the head of the table while Abigail called to the child. He heard Hannah’s voice call back from upstairs and then her tiny feet clomping down the stairs in such a hurry that he feared that she would tumble downward. She skipped into the room and received a stern scolding from Abigail, who had taken the chair at the other end of the table.
Dipping her head, the little girl apologized for her actions and then sat in a chair on the side of the table where she pulled her napkin daintily into her lap and lowered her face toward tightly clasped hands and then closed her eyes.
Travis did the same, waiting for Abigail to begin with the prayer. When he did not hear her voice, he opened his eyes again and saw her nodding toward him, silently insisting that he take the honor. He shook his head from side to side. He had not prayed since he had asked the Lord to keep his wife safe while he was away. But Abigail’s eyes narrowed at him and that gesture compelled him to do her bidding.
Clearing his throat, he closed his eyes again and folded his fingers together, praying, “Lord, thank thee for this wonderful meal, for my wonderful family and for my beautiful daughter.”
He opened his eyes just a slit to see Hannah smiling, still squeezing her eyes shut, then he quickly finished, “Let this bounty fulfill our bodies as you fulfill our hearts.”
The two females said ‘Amen’ in unison and Travis repeated it under his breath as he reached for his napkin.
All was quiet at the table and Travis wondered if anyone would speak, but instead, both Hannah and Abigail sat in silence and put fork to mouth as primly and properly as could be. He swallowed his first bite, cleared his throat again and said to anyone who would answer, “We’ll get an early start in the morning to go and get supplies.”
He looked to Abigail, who nodded, and then to Hannah, who seemingly ignored his statement. Then, he asked of his daughter, who stiffened abruptly at his direct question, “Hannah, aren’t you excited about going to town? You certainly were earlier.”
The little girl turned her rigid body toward Abigail, whose stern expression never wavered as she nodded for Hannah to answer her father, but she only gave a short reply, “Yes, sir.”
Silence again fell upon the table as Travis tapped his heels beneath his chair in growing indignation. He took two more bites before he threw down his fork and growled, “What the Hell is going on here?”
Both females jumped so high in their chairs that they nearly tipped them over and then they both looked at him as if he were a mad man, but neither supplied him with an answer, so he demanded, “I said, what is going on here? Just a few minutes ago, we were all happy and chattering like birds in the trees.”
Abigail lowered her eyes, and then set her fork upon her plate just so before she answered, “It is not polite to talk at the table.”
“Not polite? Who the Hell made up that rule?” He asked, glaring angrily at her from across the table.
“It was Tom’s rule,” she said as if afraid to admit that she did what she was told when her husband gave her an order.
“Well,” Travis said with a huff and a hearty clap on the table with his fist, which made the silverware and the glasses clank in response. “I’m the head of the house now and I say we talk at the table.”
He looked at both of them, but seeing that they still refused to heed his advice, he softened his voice and said, “Now, let’s have a conversation. I don’t care what we talk about. We can talk about the weather, we can talk about politics. We can talk about anything. Just talk.”
In a small and cautious voice, Hannah asked, “What’s
He pulled out the chair at the head of the table while Abigail called to the child. He heard Hannah’s voice call back from upstairs and then her tiny feet clomping down the stairs in such a hurry that he feared that she would tumble downward. She skipped into the room and received a stern scolding from Abigail, who had taken the chair at the other end of the table.
Dipping her head, the little girl apologized for her actions and then sat in a chair on the side of the table where she pulled her napkin daintily into her lap and lowered her face toward tightly clasped hands and then closed her eyes.
Travis did the same, waiting for Abigail to begin with the prayer. When he did not hear her voice, he opened his eyes again and saw her nodding toward him, silently insisting that he take the honor. He shook his head from side to side. He had not prayed since he had asked the Lord to keep his wife safe while he was away. But Abigail’s eyes narrowed at him and that gesture compelled him to do her bidding.
Clearing his throat, he closed his eyes again and folded his fingers together, praying, “Lord, thank thee for this wonderful meal, for my wonderful family and for my beautiful daughter.”
He opened his eyes just a slit to see Hannah smiling, still squeezing her eyes shut, then he quickly finished, “Let this bounty fulfill our bodies as you fulfill our hearts.”
The two females said ‘Amen’ in unison and Travis repeated it under his breath as he reached for his napkin.
All was quiet at the table and Travis wondered if anyone would speak, but instead, both Hannah and Abigail sat in silence and put fork to mouth as primly and properly as could be. He swallowed his first bite, cleared his throat again and said to anyone who would answer, “We’ll get an early start in the morning to go and get supplies.”
He looked to Abigail, who nodded, and then to Hannah, who seemingly ignored his statement. Then, he asked of his daughter, who stiffened abruptly at his direct question, “Hannah, aren’t you excited about going to town? You certainly were earlier.”
The little girl turned her rigid body toward Abigail, whose stern expression never wavered as she nodded for Hannah to answer her father, but she only gave a short reply, “Yes, sir.”
Silence again fell upon the table as Travis tapped his heels beneath his chair in growing indignation. He took two more bites before he threw down his fork and growled, “What the Hell is going on here?”
Both females jumped so high in their chairs that they nearly tipped them over and then they both looked at him as if he were a mad man, but neither supplied him with an answer, so he demanded, “I said, what is going on here? Just a few minutes ago, we were all happy and chattering like birds in the trees.”
Abigail lowered her eyes, and then set her fork upon her plate just so before she answered, “It is not polite to talk at the table.”
“Not polite? Who the Hell made up that rule?” He asked, glaring angrily at her from across the table.
“It was Tom’s rule,” she said as if afraid to admit that she did what she was told when her husband gave her an order.
“Well,” Travis said with a huff and a hearty clap on the table with his fist, which made the silverware and the glasses clank in response. “I’m the head of the house now and I say we talk at the table.”
He looked at both of them, but seeing that they still refused to heed his advice, he softened his voice and said, “Now, let’s have a conversation. I don’t care what we talk about. We can talk about the weather, we can talk about politics. We can talk about anything. Just talk.”
In a small and cautious voice, Hannah asked, “What’s
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