confidence without arrogance or deftness.
The minister, a tall, commanding, and incredibly strong man, does not follow the ideal I hold regarding a man of the Bible or cloth. He is clearly wise and educated, but I never discern any biblical discussions or addresses. In conversation, he has corrected me numerous times when I address him as minister to call him Elijah.
The confusion that is nailed to my foggy thoughts keeps me at odds with my logic. At some point, how much is too much ? Can a person’s mind implode with the weight of circumstance? I have been at my lowest point, and the minister’s bizarre behavior drops it to a range level with the deepest part of the ocean—cold and fathomless.
My cabin provides all of the comforts that I have been accustomed to in the past. Sunlight streams through the window slivered with the panes of glass my window affords. Even the scent of the wood in my small room is pleasant—unlike the stench of mold and feces below in the cavity of the ship. One more night, since most of the day has waned, and I will remove myself and return to the hull below. The more hours that pass the more I long to be below with the others. A sense of comfort in an uncomfortable place.
A short rap on my door causes me to snap a stare at it in fear; my heart stutters. Who is visiting?
“ Miss Sybrina?” My breath lets out. Mouse! I am surprised because he visited just a short time ago. I move the chair and lift the latch on my door. Mouse is standing with an adoring mien and has one of the kittens cuddled in his arm, sleeping. “I brought you a visitor.” He steps inside and hands me the tiny creature. “I thought she might cheer you up.”
“ She?” I comment.
“ Two girls and a boy,” he informs me.
“ A fine litter.”
“ Would you like to name her?” Precious and vulnerable, the little cat arranges her delicate body into a cozy position in my arms.
“ I would love to. Let’s see...” I say, thinking of something catchy as her tiny breath rises and falls with sleep. “She’s little,” I remark. “Black and white.” I think for a minute. “Chess!” I exclaim. He frowns in thought.
“ Chess? Wouldn’t that be a boy’s name?” I feign disappointment that he is not impressed with the name.
“ Did you name the boy yet?”
“Yes. Roger.”
“ Roger? That is an odd name for a cat.”
“ His mum’s name is Jolly. Jolly Roger. You know, for pirates.”
“ Oh!” Yes, now that is clever.
Mouse takes the kitten from me and holds her up face to face. “Little girl,” he addresses her, “your name is Chess.” The kitten yawns as he speaks to her; it’s charming. Mouse addresses me. “I will let you get some sleep. Good Night, miss.”
“ Good night, Mouse.” I close the door and place the chair back in its place, my meager attempt at fortifying my room.
I decide now is as good a time as any to try to fall asleep. I lie down and let out a deep sigh. Keeping thoughts of Elijah at bay is hard. The green glass of passion that made up his eyes as he asked, like a gentleman, to kiss me, dashes across my closed eyelids, seemingly branded there. He is a mystery, handsome and smart. No one has ever made me feel the way he does.
Bright English gardens surround an opulent and grandiose home. Joshua’s family home. Weatherby Manor reminds me of my own childhood home. Thick graceful columns stand as sentinels beside the double entrance front door. Inside, ornate settees line the main hallway.
I ’m standing outside repeatedly banging the doorknocker over and over. No one comes. Sadness overwhelms me and I bang again. I wait and wait. I want to yell, “Let me in!” But doing so is blasphemous to decorum. I bang the knocker one last time before deciding to leave, feeling a pierce of abandonment.
A creak of the massive door makes me turn back around; standing just how I remember him
The minister, a tall, commanding, and incredibly strong man, does not follow the ideal I hold regarding a man of the Bible or cloth. He is clearly wise and educated, but I never discern any biblical discussions or addresses. In conversation, he has corrected me numerous times when I address him as minister to call him Elijah.
The confusion that is nailed to my foggy thoughts keeps me at odds with my logic. At some point, how much is too much ? Can a person’s mind implode with the weight of circumstance? I have been at my lowest point, and the minister’s bizarre behavior drops it to a range level with the deepest part of the ocean—cold and fathomless.
My cabin provides all of the comforts that I have been accustomed to in the past. Sunlight streams through the window slivered with the panes of glass my window affords. Even the scent of the wood in my small room is pleasant—unlike the stench of mold and feces below in the cavity of the ship. One more night, since most of the day has waned, and I will remove myself and return to the hull below. The more hours that pass the more I long to be below with the others. A sense of comfort in an uncomfortable place.
A short rap on my door causes me to snap a stare at it in fear; my heart stutters. Who is visiting?
“ Miss Sybrina?” My breath lets out. Mouse! I am surprised because he visited just a short time ago. I move the chair and lift the latch on my door. Mouse is standing with an adoring mien and has one of the kittens cuddled in his arm, sleeping. “I brought you a visitor.” He steps inside and hands me the tiny creature. “I thought she might cheer you up.”
“ She?” I comment.
“ Two girls and a boy,” he informs me.
“ A fine litter.”
“ Would you like to name her?” Precious and vulnerable, the little cat arranges her delicate body into a cozy position in my arms.
“ I would love to. Let’s see...” I say, thinking of something catchy as her tiny breath rises and falls with sleep. “She’s little,” I remark. “Black and white.” I think for a minute. “Chess!” I exclaim. He frowns in thought.
“ Chess? Wouldn’t that be a boy’s name?” I feign disappointment that he is not impressed with the name.
“ Did you name the boy yet?”
“Yes. Roger.”
“ Roger? That is an odd name for a cat.”
“ His mum’s name is Jolly. Jolly Roger. You know, for pirates.”
“ Oh!” Yes, now that is clever.
Mouse takes the kitten from me and holds her up face to face. “Little girl,” he addresses her, “your name is Chess.” The kitten yawns as he speaks to her; it’s charming. Mouse addresses me. “I will let you get some sleep. Good Night, miss.”
“ Good night, Mouse.” I close the door and place the chair back in its place, my meager attempt at fortifying my room.
I decide now is as good a time as any to try to fall asleep. I lie down and let out a deep sigh. Keeping thoughts of Elijah at bay is hard. The green glass of passion that made up his eyes as he asked, like a gentleman, to kiss me, dashes across my closed eyelids, seemingly branded there. He is a mystery, handsome and smart. No one has ever made me feel the way he does.
Bright English gardens surround an opulent and grandiose home. Joshua’s family home. Weatherby Manor reminds me of my own childhood home. Thick graceful columns stand as sentinels beside the double entrance front door. Inside, ornate settees line the main hallway.
I ’m standing outside repeatedly banging the doorknocker over and over. No one comes. Sadness overwhelms me and I bang again. I wait and wait. I want to yell, “Let me in!” But doing so is blasphemous to decorum. I bang the knocker one last time before deciding to leave, feeling a pierce of abandonment.
A creak of the massive door makes me turn back around; standing just how I remember him
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