Dancing In The Minefields-chapter 2

England, Camden.
Sunday, April 27th, 1944.
7:56 a.m.

It had been almost two weeks since the funeral, and my relatives were back in town at our house to attend the will reading the next day. Most of my relatives slept downstairs, and since there were no more rooms my aunt Libby and Gregory slept with me.

The past few weeks I felt as if I was going through the motions of things. I was doing the actions, but yet my mind was somewhere else. I took a few days of going t my school. I recieved comfort from biting my nails, ad trying to swallow the pain, but it would eventually resurface. My father stayed later at work, and wouldn't come home until midnight; after my bedtime.

As soon as my relatives arrived at our home, I rushed upstairs to my room. The only time I exposed myself outside my room's comfort was when I was forced to help tidy the kitchen. For the whole time, I stared up at the ceiling pondering. I thought of all I lost, and what I had taken advantage of when my mother was alive. I never thought of how much I adored her bringing me back a gift from the grocery shop when she went out for shopping. Or the stories she would tell from her past. There was a new one each time, but no less enchanting than its predecessor. She once told me how her she and my father met and her simple honesty about the matter interested me.

She said her family was poor, and his family was rich. My mother said that my father had a attraction to her, but she wasn't taken by him. He proposed to her, and she immediately declined; then her sisters pressured her to change her mind and accept it, and eventually she did-- despite what she wanted. However, she said she grew to love him. Thinking about these memories gave me grief, but yet I couldn't form tears.

My aunt Libby and I talked a bit that night. Our conversation was superficial, but the feeling wasn't. She seemed to care about me, and it was the most affection I had seen in a very long while. But of course, there can only be so much of a good thing.

"You are getting older, and I assume you are changing," she began, "And you will need these," she handed me what appeared to be a few very large napkins.

I held the napkins up to my face. "What are these for?" I groaned.

"You will know as soon as it begins, and you might have emotions. Control them. Which I know you already have trouble doing." she told me softly. After, she turned over and fell into her sleep, leaving me to figure out the rest. I had no understanding of what happened, and a similar situation took place a month ago with my mother, accept with an item called a "brassiere".

My room was colored absolutely purple, down to my walls to my shelves. My shelves were stacked with rows of dolls and Sherlock Holmes novels. My vanity mirror was clustered with ration coupons and stacked with boxes of jewelry. Then beside my door, was a basket full of yellow umbrellas and mittens--- I collected them. I could almost imagine my grandma materializing at my door and beckoning, "Tidy your room this instance!"

My aunt Libby and her infant son laid sound asleep me beside me; they snored breathlessly. She slept on top of the hard wood flooring, a few pillows beneath her, then a silk blanket covering her. I realized that I never changed my clothing from yesterday, and I also hadn't slept a wink. I wiped the tiredness from my eyes, and dragged myself from underneath my bed sheets. I leaped over aunt Libby and Gregory, and went to my vanity mirror. Unlike most girls my age, I didn't wear a Toni perm because I liked my hair straight. I brushed my teeth with paste and I slipped on my sailor dress; after I immediately grabbed a pair of saddle shoes. I made sure I didn't disturb my relatives.

There wasn't any sense of light in my room as all the curtains were shut, just like the rest of the house. I detected footsteps below my room. And below my room, was the meeting room. I wasn't allowed there, as well as loads of other rooms in the house.

My curious nature was very irritating to my father, and I often interfered in things; including his business. To be honest, it was one of my favorite things at night to wonder in the rooms and find possible clues to mysteries. Although, I'd never actually found anything interesting, just countless files from my father's work. I realized that the real secrets were hidden somewhere else, probably the most unlikely place.

I suppose my wander lust came from being an only child. In my childhood, while I did have many friends and people to mix with; I just was short of a true companion..... someone I could always count on. A very long time ago, I was supposed to have a sibling but something happened. My memory was highly vague, but I still remembered the important things.

I believe I was four years old, and I was standing outside of my parent's bedroom. It was late at night, but candles were lit all around the house not allowing a spot of darkness. All the windows were also open, pouring in the cold winter air. My grandmother was holding my hand, and her eyes sparkled with delight and excitement. The bedroom was filled with yelling and screaming, so I pressed my ear against the door to hear more; and due to my height my ear barely reached the knob. Finally, my father opened the door and his forehead was extremely wrinkled. He welcomed my grandma in and I tried to follow her, but he pushed my chest back with his finger. I sat in the hallway by myself for a long time and I listened to plenties of crying and whispering. The midwife came out and told me lots of thing I was too young to understand, but now almost too old to remember; "stillborn" was all I could recall.

Eventually, I ran into the room and I found my mother laying on her bed and she was hysterical. From what I remembered, I heard footsteps outside the window, as if someone had just left; I assumed it was the midwife. And without warning, my mother scooped me into her arms and held onto to me for dear life; she sank her head into my shoulder and flooded it with tears-- my grandmother joined her. My father just watched us with a blank expression on his face. It remained like this for days, but after awhile everything went back to normal... as if nothing ever happened. And what was made into nursery, went back to being our living room. Although, I never met the baby or saw it, not a day went past that I did't think of it... or what it would be to have a sibling.

I heard a voice moan from downstairs, "Imogene is a girl of thirteen years old, she doesn't need one." What didn't I need?

"I aren't speaking of that. I am her father, and there is only so much I can assist her in." my father said.

"I understand she is a young child but...." the voice trailed off.

"She isn't a young child but a-,"upon a sudden surprise, I was startled. Unfortunately, I didn't hear the end of my father's sentence.

"What are you up to?" my aunt Libby asked, her blue eyes skeptically peering at me.

I rose up and started for the door. "Nothing!"

"Tell everyone I will be down momentarily!" she yelled after me.

"I.. will!" I said.

I sauntered out into the hallway. I placed my hands on the railing of our staircase and I planted each one of my feet down lightly, with severe caution. When I finally reached the last two steps, my feet sprang to the ground. I calmly gathered myself as if I had never plunged to the floor a few moments before. I continued to advance to the kitchen. My grandparents were there, as well as my uncle John and aunt Alex.

My uncle John offered a hand. "Join us for some tea?" I obeyed him, questions were always demands.

I sat down at the edge of my chair, and grabbed a tea cup from the small table. I sipped slowly, consuming the bitter contents of my cup. "Is there sugar in this?"

My aunt Alex's eyebrow raised. "No, you must go with out it. Rations are low."

"How was your night?" my grandpa asked.

"Restless..." I said.

We sat there at the table, all of our legs were crossed beneath it. The table was a pale pink, and there were flower painted teacups on top laid across it. I fixated my eyes upon the floor, and my hands clutched my elbows. The kitchen was vastly large, with two refrigerators. The kitchen's setting was mostly colorful, with furniture of all sorts. The counters were scattered with cooking ingredients and red and green table cloths. The pots and pans hung from the wall, and they were as shiny as can be. My mother even told me once if I looked closed enough, they'd blind me.

My relatives began speaking in Welsh. Actually, most of my family was fluent in the language; but I never learned it. And only by body language and facial expressions could I decipher what they were saying. My aunt Alex's nose wrinkled in disgust, and my uncle John's chrome dome reddened. I wondered why nobody ever taught me.

A pain swam down my heart. I had been reminded of the dreadful night my mother disappeared by hearing them speak Welsh. I hadn't known why that sparked a memory, I just knew it ignited something. It just felt incredibly familiar, and I knew it came from something unpleasant I saw that night. And suddenly, my eyes began to water.

My uncle John's shifted. "Is everything alright? We are highly sorry about everything....".

I bit my lip and the tears rushed down more rapidly, "Yes,"

My aunt Alex curved a tear off my face with her thumb, "How do you feel, Imogene?"

"S-sad!" I cried out.

I've wondered before what it would be like to not have a mother, but now I knew. I don't know how to describe the pain, or the loss. It doesn't feel like I'll be able to carry on, but somehow I manage to live with it. There wasn't any other choice but to.

They both placed hands on my shoulders and massaged my back. My grandparents eyes silently gave me their condolences. I sobbed into my fingers until they were covered with tears and snot, every muscle in my body was tense.

My father joined us at the table, allowing the atmosphere to change with his presence, "Hello, everyone."

"Greetings," aunt Alex said.

My father didn't seem to care that I was upset, and it was apparent. My dry and red eyes pleaded to him for comfort, he offered me a handkerchief and proceeded to sip his tea. I lifted the handkerchief with my pinky and tossed back to him. As a child, I often thought he was afraid of me. I saw all of my friends receive affection from their father's, and he wouldn't even smile at me.

"I heard bomb fall this morning." I admitted, trying to muster a conversation.

My father ignored me. "I have a matter we all need to discuss with you,"

"What is it?" I sniffled.

He cleared his throat, "I think you could use a guide,".

I folded my arms over my chest, "Why? I already have a father and mother- I mean I had a mother." I forgot to place my mother in past tense.

"I am your father, but I am a male, and you need-" he paused.

"Don't speak any further, I'm positive she is well aware of what you are speaking." my aunt Alex interrupted.

"Okay, I am aware. Is there a reason why you or Aunt Libby can't stay?" I asked.

"We have our own families." she moaned.

A plague of silence entered the room. I was overloaded with information, to the point where my head spinned. I could look after myself, I wasn't in need of a nanny. But of course they provided a much more politically correct term for it, "guide". I understand the process of them, they are secondary mothers. I'd had a few when I was younger until the age of seven.

My aunt Libby entered the room with her infant in her arms. My father nodded at me, indicating he would discuss this with me later on. Now, he had to manage my mother's will.

We left out the door as my uncle held it open, and went on another long walk. Our house was a mansion and located in a private area, with no neighbors. Although our lawn was small, and it had a victory garden. My father and I lead the crowd as everyone else followed behind. The weather was fairly warm today, although my father was dressed in winter clothes. He wore a pair of long trousers and several layers of shirts. For my whole entire life, I've noticed his ability to accept physical and mental pain that others can't.

It was still early in the day, therefore the sun had barely set. The grounds appeared uncleanly, and were clustered with garbage and dirt. The sounds of airplanes and helicopters roared above us, causing me to shield my ears. To comfort myself, I reached for a copy of my mother's obituary from the day before. I vowed to travel with it for the rest of my life, and I had memorized every last detail of it until, the image was forever trapped in my mind. Would I forget her memory?

Once we arrived, there was already a lad standing behind the glass door anticipating us. He immediately shaked hands with my father and welcomed the rest of us in. He appeared young to me, far too young to be capable of a job such as this.

We passed through a long hallway, and for some reason the buidling echoed a Benny Goodman record. I didn't mind it though, for Benny Goodman was the best swing musician. And the lad continued to lead everyone into a room, then advised us to sit down at the table. "Welcome everyone, lets begin shall we?"

"We shall." my father answered.

He reached into his bag, and as if he were a magician, he drew out a sheet of paper. He held it close to his face, and examined every detail. Everyone waited impatiently, my uncle looked slightly cross. The chairs we sat in were highly relaxing, even though they happened to be wooden.

"In the will of Alice Newbury, she leaves her wedding ring and pearl necklace for her husband Allen Newbury. For her father, her antique sofa; and for the rest of her jewels, she leaves them for mother and sisters. Then for her brother, a collectible steam boat." he announced.

Everyone in the room looked fine and not at all shocked. My uncle began to rest his facial expressions slightly and my dad began to rise up. However, the will reader wasn't quite finished.

"For her daughter," he glanced around the room for me as if it weren't obvious that I was the only child here. "she leaves her diary and photo album behind."

Everyone gasped, and stared at the lad. My father even showed emotion, his brows furrowed and he gazed helplessly at me.

I was unsure of what to do, I just nodded slowly and forced and smile from my lips. My mother never told me she had a diary, and come to think of it; there were very few photos in my house. My parents displayed a few photographs from my infancy, and maybe a couple from my schooling but nothing else. What was so important about them that made my mother leave me with them? And why was everyone else so alarmed by the occurrence?

"Could you please read that again, sir."my father demanded.

He showed my father the paper, and allowed him to skim over it, "It isn't accurate?"

"Not at t'all....thank you..." he mumbled.

My aunt Libby comforted Gregory who began to cry, and laid him in his perambulator. We all left the room, one by one out the door. My father gazed over at me worriedly, everyone did the same. But I had bigger issues, what was the significance of my inheritance?