John Pirillo"Writing fuels the heart and soul!" Science Fiction, Fantasy and Adventure Tales to Take Your Breath Away!
In the year of our Lord
Eighteen Hundred and Ninety One
This September 11
231 Rue Claire Street
It is I once more carrying on the story with the blessings of time and space to separate my thoughts and memories from fact and fiction. If you read the earlier journal, you know my Papa was in a very difficult place for a father and even more so as a friend, for he and Wells were knee deep in a war with creatures whose minds could not conceive of the smallest of kindnesses. Their empire was built on the enslavement or destruction of all they fought with.
Something we didn't understand or learn till much later on, but learn we did.
The one indomitable thing about the human spirit is that it always finds a way to seek the Higher Ground, even if it is over many dips and valleys that are both painful and troublesome to pass through. Jules was such a soul. Wells was such a soul.
I know some of you may have judged our fathers harshly for abandoning us, or seeming to abandon us in Portamente, but such was not the case. They were protecting us in the only way they knew how...through action.
And so it fell to Valentine and I to protect our mothers while our Papas were gone into the battlefield.
It's hard to imagine two young girls such as we were capable of doing much more than darning socks, playing with kittens, and preparing to become mothers, but we were not brought up by traditional fathers and any male who assumed we would just bow down to them because of their masculine superiority were doomed to a big surprise.
I awoke first when my Papa left, because our bond is to close that I can virtually feel whatever emotion he is going through. When I was a baby I would cry and cry and cry, and poor Mama didn't have the slightest idea at the time that I was feeling Papa and the pain he was going through. Later, when I could sort out those feelings and thoughts, I let her know what was happening. She gave me a big hug and cried with relief, having felt for a long time as if she had been a bad Mama.
I hugged her back and stroked her soft, pretty hair. "No, Mama, not you, but I was at fault."
Then she stroked my hair as I cried with her. "No, my dear, my fault for not realizing how close the two of you were. Even from the moment you were born and he took you into his arms, your eyes never left his face. I have never known a baby who was so stricken by her father's presence as you were, and I have witnessed many births. It's like you two are part of the same soul."
I laughed. "That would be a tight squeeze, Mama."
She laughed as well. "I suppose it would."
So now as I recall the events of that day, I remember feeling this enormous dread come over me as my Papa never returned, and then later a tremendous weight seemed to hover over my heart, as if at any moment it might plunge and break it.
I immediately began praying for Papa, knowing he was in great danger. How great, I didn't learn until much later on.
So, as I said, Valentine and I took care of our Mamas after our fathers left to fight the Martians. The first thing we did to help heal and care for them was to run down to the fields and pluck as many wild flowers as we could, gather them up into beautiful bouquets and bring them back and place them in empty wine bottles throughout our flat.
When Mama woke up and saw the flowers, the burst from her bed and clasped the two of us in a great hug. We stood there, feeling her warmth and love and knew we had done the same thing.
Later on, Amy awoke and we were treated to a new round of hugs, and kisses. Ah! Our Mamas! God loves them, as I know he does, they remain dear to my heart after all these years, though they are long gone from this world and visiting another and better world.
We went into the village to shop for groceries and found an exquisite bread store, where they made the finest of breads whose fragrance was so rich and zesty that both I and Valentine nearly went out of our minds with hunger.
The owner of the shop, a very tall man, who looked more like a huge Sailor, than a Baker, felt so sorry for us, that he plied our empty stomachs with small buttered rolls and sweet croissants. I am both happy and sorry to say that by the time we came home with our breads, that Valentine and I were both already full. Quite satiated.
So the first few days our Mamas were quite content, though still a bit anxious over our Papas, but not overly worried. They got the message sent by them, which didn't remove their worries, but removed their fear of something awful having gone wrong.
"But Mama!" I scolded Mother. "I would know if something had happened to Papa."
"Of course you would, Mon petite." She cooed back at me, gathering me in her arms and lifting me upon her lap. "My little girl knows much that I long for, but am grateful to recieve through her."
Mama always teased me like that. Reminding me that I still was a young girl, even if somewhat gifted.
How gifted? Neither of us knew at that time. And would not for quite some time, although some of those gifts were surfacing, just not as quickly located and described.