05-10-2022, 10:06 AM
Lory wanted to feel the right things. The relief at seeing them all return, one by one, preferably with nets full of fish. Sometimes she could smell a good catch being hauled down the street … but the door opened, and she smelled no catch.
All she could think of was food. The bread that had already cooled on the surface, which she prayed still held some warmth in the middle. She was sitting with the other girls, quiet and withdrawn as they did their homework together.
She barely seemed to hear the announcement, even as her mother thanked God and relief, that relief poured through the room. The other girls were at the window, but Lory continued her drills. They’d all be coming home from the sounds of it. Didn’t they always? No one fretted this much over the women – maybe half as much when they were pregnant. She knew the amount of time it generally took them to get to the food part get ready for supper. Silently counted the seconds when she could think of little else.
Her head shot up when the door opened, and not a moment sooner. Lory’s count had begun.
Mary touched her husband and sons’ arms as they came in, a routine she’d had ever since her first child to pass in the night. Her sons, she hugged like it was the most gracious miracle they were back. She got to Luke, frowned because her arms couldn’t fit fully around both him and Simon, then squeezed them both into lung-crushing arms.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she wheezed, to Luke. “All of you.”
All of you boys. Lory’s gaze was flat. Plenty of women disappeared from the market, and she suspected the end the sea offered was far kinder – but they had too many daughters, didn’t they. Meanwhile, the men were made of [fool’s] gold.
Matthew smiled over at his cousins and sisters. It was always a bit of a hero’s welcome back, as it should be! Lory smiled flatly back, and Matthew sheepishly shuffled over to ask his cousins about their day instead. He was older, but she still had a way of making him feel like he was two feet tall. She could shoot some of the same looks Ma could.
Lory contented herself with making Matthew squirm. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine … now if Luke just kept his mouth shut so they could eat …
All she could think of was food. The bread that had already cooled on the surface, which she prayed still held some warmth in the middle. She was sitting with the other girls, quiet and withdrawn as they did their homework together.
She barely seemed to hear the announcement, even as her mother thanked God and relief, that relief poured through the room. The other girls were at the window, but Lory continued her drills. They’d all be coming home from the sounds of it. Didn’t they always? No one fretted this much over the women – maybe half as much when they were pregnant. She knew the amount of time it generally took them to get to the food part get ready for supper. Silently counted the seconds when she could think of little else.
Her head shot up when the door opened, and not a moment sooner. Lory’s count had begun.
Mary touched her husband and sons’ arms as they came in, a routine she’d had ever since her first child to pass in the night. Her sons, she hugged like it was the most gracious miracle they were back. She got to Luke, frowned because her arms couldn’t fit fully around both him and Simon, then squeezed them both into lung-crushing arms.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she wheezed, to Luke. “All of you.”
All of you boys. Lory’s gaze was flat. Plenty of women disappeared from the market, and she suspected the end the sea offered was far kinder – but they had too many daughters, didn’t they. Meanwhile, the men were made of [fool’s] gold.
Matthew smiled over at his cousins and sisters. It was always a bit of a hero’s welcome back, as it should be! Lory smiled flatly back, and Matthew sheepishly shuffled over to ask his cousins about their day instead. He was older, but she still had a way of making him feel like he was two feet tall. She could shoot some of the same looks Ma could.
Lory contented herself with making Matthew squirm. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine … now if Luke just kept his mouth shut so they could eat …
