01-24-2022, 07:07 AM
[CW: Grooming.]
1888.
Lory had spent longer at market than she had intended. There was this one gentleman who came about in the lunchtime. She had learned to time her day accordingly. If he came, he paid for everything and then some. She wondered if he were courting her, but her mother was adamant that courting began no earlier than sixteen.
So, she entertained his attention without making note of it. Polite smiles, the way the girls in school did when they were waiting for their turn to talk. Effusive gratitude. A question, here and there, about the gentleman’s life.
Sometimes, the questions she wanted to ask Ruth but was too nervous to. Ruth was a friend, but it felt dishonest to praise her beauty the way the other girls praised each other. She could not pinpoint why – just that it did.
She had enough dishonesty in her life, skirting around father. God! Sometimes she wished the sea would chew him up and spit him out a kinder soul, like a stone that had had its rough edges rolled away.
Their little shack came into view. The sky was dark, and the wind was whipping. As she carted their staples in, she could see that none of the men’s clothes were hanging out to dry yet. It was quiet.
Peaceful.
She hummed a tune to herself as she stocked the pantry, her excuse for the extras already at the back of her mind.
1888.
Lory had spent longer at market than she had intended. There was this one gentleman who came about in the lunchtime. She had learned to time her day accordingly. If he came, he paid for everything and then some. She wondered if he were courting her, but her mother was adamant that courting began no earlier than sixteen.
So, she entertained his attention without making note of it. Polite smiles, the way the girls in school did when they were waiting for their turn to talk. Effusive gratitude. A question, here and there, about the gentleman’s life.
Sometimes, the questions she wanted to ask Ruth but was too nervous to. Ruth was a friend, but it felt dishonest to praise her beauty the way the other girls praised each other. She could not pinpoint why – just that it did.
She had enough dishonesty in her life, skirting around father. God! Sometimes she wished the sea would chew him up and spit him out a kinder soul, like a stone that had had its rough edges rolled away.
Their little shack came into view. The sky was dark, and the wind was whipping. As she carted their staples in, she could see that none of the men’s clothes were hanging out to dry yet. It was quiet.
Peaceful.
She hummed a tune to herself as she stocked the pantry, her excuse for the extras already at the back of her mind.
