Chapter 1
1917
The air inside was crisp and cold
after the midnight rainstorm. Even
though the house was new, there were plenty of drafts. It was dark outside and her husband, Cy, was sleeping
in their adjoining bedroom. She stood in
the nursery at the edge of the crib. Ivy
was lying on her stomach with her right arm up and to the right. She leaned over, reached in with two fingers
and loosened a remnant of fabric from the child’s mouth. It caught in the gap of the two lower teeth
as the young mother removed the 6” square of calico. Hhhhmmmm…that’s one of my quilting scraps,
she thought. She squeezed it gently and
let it fall to the floor. It was
strangely dry, considering where it had just been. She loved those two teeth. They erupted about the same time that the
baby started smiling and they made for lovely, drooly memories. The child was as beautiful at 18 months as
she had been back in those early days, but today in the early morning hours,
even though her eyes were open, they seemed dull and she looked tired.
Ivy was a good baby. She was born
at home and she slept through the night when she was only a few weeks old. Ivy
rarely fussed and when she did, she was easily soothed. This was fortunate, since Cy was away a lot
and raising a child alone can create tremendous strain. Cy would be gone for days at a time working as
a brakeman for D. & R. G. W. They
lived close enough to Bingham Junction that he could easily walk down, hop on
the train and then be gone for days until the run was complete.
She used to like to go to the
junction and welcome him when she knew he was due home, but recently she’d
stopped because she was plagued by thoughts of poor little Wilda Andersen back
in ’98. Wilda was cut in three by a
locomotive pulling three overloaded cars of ore, when she froze in terror on
the tracks. She had slipped her hand from
her mother’s grip to run and see the children playing outside the schoolhouse
on the other side. She
stopped short, dead center in the tracks and froze in terror as the train
approached. The engineer applied the
brakes when some of the school children started to shout. He tried to signal his brakeman, but it was
too late. The three parts of little
Wilda Andersen had to be swept up in a tray.
She pulled her shawl tighter and
stood upright. Maybe she should fire up
the parlor stove. It was earlier than her
routine usually dictated, but she knew there was no chance of squeezing in any
more sleep. She sneaked into the parlor,
started the fire and returned to the nursery. The young mother
gingerly wrapped a blanket around the child as best she could before heading to
the rocker by the stove, but every time she tried to pull Ivy’s arm down so
that she could swaddle her, her arm just popped right back up.
Heavy, heavy sigh. It was good to have Cy home…the whole family
under the same roof. These were her
favorite times. She rocked, tilted her
head back, rocked, pulled the baby under her shawl, rocked, felt the warmth of
the fire, rocked, rocked, rocked, rocked, rocked and started to sing a lullaby.
Soon the sun will
rise again and light the sky.
And though the night
seems dark, my child
The morning will come
again.
So close your eyes
and sleep for a while.
Don’t be afraid.
Morning will come…
So sleep.”
She stopped rocking. Ivy’s eyes were still open. The right side of her face was darkly mottled
but it reminded her of the lovely shadows of the swaying tree outside her and Cy’s
bedroom. Sometimes when she’d lay down
for a spell, and when the light shone just right through the bedroom window
onto the surface of their bed she would become mesmerized by the dancing
shadows of leaves. Ivy’s unrelenting arm
was still saluting, tucked up under her mother’s left arm as she cradled her. It was awkward, but not distractingly so. The mother lightly placed her fingertips on Ivy’s
eyelids and closed them. She pulled her
closer, and felt the torso was now becoming as rigid as the limbs. The coolness of the baby’s body against her
chest made the warmth of the fire disappear.
She smiled to herself and started to rock. Rock.
Rock.
7 comments:
What an intriguing start, I can’t wait to find out what is going to happen. The suspense is going to kill me!
I love it when lullabys are used in creepy tales.
Horrible story about little Wilda Andersen, "The three parts of little Wilda Andersen had to be swept up in a tray." Is this a story that you researched? I'm wondering because you have a date for this chapter as 1917.
I passed to blog spot onto a friend and this was her response.
Jacque,
Please tell your friend that I am so excited to read the rest of her story. I love the suspense right from the start. Please let me know when there is more to read.
Creeeeeeepy! (In the best way, of course.)
Wow...just...WOW! I love it when a story sucks you in with the first few paragraphs.
Great beginning; I am excited to read more!!
A nice creepy beginning to the tale! Looking forward to the rest.
Creepy, it made me shiver!!! I just had a chance to read the story posted last Friday, and can't wait to read the next installment.
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