The chandelier’s crystals gleamed like chunks of ice casting their reflections across the ballroom. Miss Strandforth glided down the spiral staircase, looking like a sweet confection at the county fair.
Her frosty blue eyes gleamed as she sought out Randall Cranston across the room. Her smile could melt the polar icecap.
Little do they know the wintry blood that runs in her veins. She’s a girl who gets what she wants. And she wants the same things I do.
Cecilia’s hands folded into tight fists around her canes, remembering the day Clementine Strandforth pushed her down these cold marble stairs.
like a stream through the woods.
A moment of sunlight,
A moment of shadow
Cast by the tallest trees.
A clear cool spring,
Or standing still.
Deep dark pools.
Among the fallen trees.
Nurturing all that grows within.
Reflecting all that is around.
Thunder clouds and
Wispy bits of angel wings.
Feathers that float on high,
Carried by breezes
To places yet unknown.
Don’t know why they called it a Singer, ‘cause it sho’ wouldn’t sing for me. I jumbled up more outfits ‘n I care t’ remember. My fingers still got callouses from jammin’ ’em under the needle or tryin’ to pry out them balls of thread from a messy seam.
Ma could make it sing though. When we was little, she done beautiful clothes at the factory.
Worked long hours, she did, ‘n’ always come home tired. Never had much time for me and Jemmy, but we always had food on the table and, of course, decent clothes. Nothin’ fancy mind you.