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Photo: Wren Meinberg. UnsplashRosie's Story. Episode FiveRosie snuggled down into her covers while Minnie stirred then re-arranged herself as only a comfortable cat can do. It was winter in the Cape, but it was also Saturday morning. Rosie felt happy down to her toes. There'd be no cold walk to the bus stop and no annoying school. She was free for the day, and she knew exactly how she was going to start it off. Rosie reached for the mystery novel on her bedside table and settled in for a long read. Then, in what felt like mere minutes, she heard a soft knock on her bedroom door. Rosie's mother entered the room. She wore a pretty apron and a bandana over her thick, dark hair. She perched on the edge of Rosie's bed and smiled. "That looks like a good book, but you'll need to put it down for a bit. You have chores to do, and we need to go to confession later on, OK?" Rosie groaned from behind her book. "But it's Saturday, Mom. Can't I just stay home? And anyway," she added carelessly, "confession is a waste of time." She wanted to add that church was too, but knew that wouldn't go down well. "Rosie, remember, we go because we must. It's what my family has always done. Our Irish ancestors were faithful, and we must follow their example and be good Catholics." Rosie's mother patted her gently on the cheek. "Do you understand, Rosie? I know its not always easy, but it's what the Mackellans have always done." "But I'm not a Mackellan,"said Rosie testily. "I'm an Anderson, and they don't go to church."Rosie was pretty sure of this. Her dad definitely didn't go, and although her paternal grandparents had a Bible in their home, they only spoke vaguely of being Protestants and never went to church. Rosie saw how her mother's shoulders seemed to slump. She rose to leave, but turned to face her daughter at the door. "We'll speak more about this later. Please get up now Rosie." Rosie couldn't bear to see the defeated look on her mother's face. She tumbled out of bed, disturbing both Minnie and her book, and flung her arms about her mother. "I'm sorry, Mommy. I love you. I'll do my chores and go to confession. I have more to confess now anyway, don't I?" Peace was restored to the Anderson home, and later, Rosie dutifully went to confession. But in her most private and un-confessed thoughts, she hoped that her mother would become more of an Anderson and less of a Mackellan. *** Copyright: Alison Lawrence *** By the way, you may like to pop over to A Basket Of Hope and my Books/Links page for more reads. *** Forth coming, there are a few more episodes of Rosie's Story as well as some poetry. Once Rosie's Story is complete, I will post a couple of inspirational short stories God willing, as well as chat and garden news. :) *** See you next time! God bless. :) |
Battle Evil swarmed and swooped thickly throughout the valley. Jonathan's sword slashed to the left and right. Sometimes, it arched through the air above his head, as infuriated hisses and screeches filled the darkness. To Jonathan's left and right, inky blackness was being pushed back by his companions. Stretched across the valley, they marched on, their swords slashing and crashing through the thick air, and bringing limp scaly bodies to the ground. The bright ones could not stop. Victory was not theirs yet, for the evil hordes kept coming. There were more than ever before it seemed, here at the closing of the ages. Jonathan grimaced as a foul creature landed close beside him. It screeched and bared its fangs in final rebellion. But Jonathan kept on. Supernatural strength coursed through his body, as more warriors joined the battle. They were nearing the far side of the valley now. The atmosphere remained black and grim: the battle was far from over. Jonathan's sword coul...
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