Dancing In the Minefields- chap 1

England, Camden.

Saturday, April 14Th, 1945.

3:45 p.m.

I stared at my reflection through a window, while the bright sun reflected on my face. The heat blistered my forehead as the tears began to well in my eyes. This was happening.

People were crowded in the church, all here to mourn my mother's death. Everybody dressed in the most black clothing I'd ever seen. Some people were staring at me with sympathetic frowns, and others wouldn't even give me a peek. I wasn't seated next to anyone I had recognized; instead I was squeezed in between a pair of elderly ladies.

One of the ladies tapped me. "Are you her daughter?"

I stared up at her. "Yes," I choked.

"My condolences, your mum was a lovely woman." I noticed she was wearing a rather large hat.

My lip quivered. "Thank you, miss."

The other lady turned, "Why are you seated so far away from them?" she made a gesture.

I shook my head and placed my fingers anxiously between my legs. "I haven't a clue."

I'd heard from my friends Arabella and Clementine, there was usually reserved seating, but yet my relatives were all scattered across the room. My aunts and uncles were a row across from me, then my grandparents were at the very front row; my father resided at the other side. He arranged the seating, and for some reason he wanted me far away.

I watched my father from across the room. His charcoal black hair was even darker this time. I searched for a sign of emotion, but nothing showed except coldness. My gaze drifted towards my mother's coffin, and it took all my restraint to not run through the isle, open the coffin, and embrace her dead corpse.

An abupt noise shook me. A woman behind me scuffed, "She would never do that!"

"It's not exactly beyond her true nature, you don't remember what happened all those years ago?" the man responded. I heard whispers s on how my mom might of died throughout the room. Nobody knew how she died; but as her child, I was positive of a few things.

I can recall the night of her disappearance, it was only two weeks ago. She left late in the night, with barely any reason for doing so. I hadn't reacted because I thought it was a illusion, and I had no control over my actions. The next morning, my father searched desperately for her. Then a boy found her body behind at a local park and the police contacted my father. When he came home, he told me in a few simple words, "Your mother has died. Her body was found at a park this morning." I denied it and continued to believe I was dreaming, but today I was confronted with the awful reality. I was a motherless child.

The doctor revealed little to nothing. Apparently, my mother slipped and her head slammed into a rock, causing a major concussion. Then due to how cold it was that night, she had a severe case of hypothermia. While it did explain why she died, it didn't explain why she left that or who she thought in her last moments. All the questions I longed to know, but no one could answer. I regret my lack of words to my mum, in her last moments.

I did also ask the doctor if he possibly saw any trace of the locket my mother was wearing that day. It was her most cherished piece jewelry, and as far I know she never took it off. My mother would be pleased knowing that it was safe, but the doctor said he hadn't seen it when he examined her body. Much to my dismay.

The priest stood up and brushed sweat off his cheek, "We have gathered her to mourn Cordelia A. Newbury's death. She is survived by her husband, Allen Newbury, her parents, Lennon Smith and Ramona Smith. Siblings, John Smith, Alex Smith, Libby Calloway. Then her daughter, Jane Imogen Newbury."

When the priest said my name, everyone turned to me. My dad stared for awhile but didn't say anything. I wanted to swallow my pain and show them I was fine, but I couldn't. It was all too difficult. A tear spilled down my cheek and splattered onto my velveteen coat. I dug my nails into my cheeks and I opened my mouth for air, but instead, came a loud shriek. I've never been very keen on expressing my feelings in words.

My uncle John squeezed in between the two elderly ladies, and sat beside me, "It's alright, Jane." I liked how my uncle comforted me, but I wasn't fond of being called by my first name. I preferred my middle name, Imogene. Jane sounded like a girl who was social and feminine. But that wasn't me, however when something terrible happens you don't worry about those things.

I noticed Arabella and Clementine did attend the ceremony, along with their parents. They both waved at me and expressed empathetic glances; I offered a shy wave back. For the past weeks since my mum died, I hadn't't actually been talking to either of them very often, in fact I'd actually been rejecting all of their requests to spend time with me. I didn't like the idea of ignoring my friends, and in those weeks I hadn't done very much of anything. Instead of trying to be happy, I rathered to wallow in my pain.

After the ceremony was over, we began walking towards the cemetery. Only the immediate family was to attend the burial. As we walked, I watched children playing in the streets. The boys played with their model airplanes and the girls tended to their dolls. I was glad that not every child happened to be as miserable as I was today. My pace quickened allowing everyone else to remain in my shadow.

"You musn't walk so fast!" my father scolded. Those were the first few words he uttered to me today.

I whipped around. "Maybe you all should walk faster? It's not my fault you can't keep up!" I snapped.

My mood shifted from sadness to anger. I was angry because of my father's lack of connection towards me. He's never been loving, but I just hoped he would at least comfort me. I stomped my feet on the ground with each step I took, not caring that the mud would leave a stain on my shoes. I folded my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes until I could barely see.

And I can't seem to remember my father ever behaving kindly or pleasant towards me. Except for one vague memory, I hadn't even reached a year old. I was alone, the sky was black as ink, and I hadn't one iota of knowledge about where I was. Maybe in the backyard of our home? I shed buckets of tears as my, weak and chubby legs trembled. Surprisingly, my father stood before me. His tall and lanky figure kneeled down, and scooped me up. He showered me with kisses, regardless of me being complete with mud.

"Oh, Jane. Don't get your shoes muddy!" He looked slightly afraid, but yet a warm smile filled the corners of his lips.

After some unsuccessful gibberish, I managed to murmer one word. "Da-daddy?" My vulnerable eyes looked helplessly at him.

He embraced me once more. "Yes...I'm your father. My sweet, curious little bunny." He tapped my nose. I cherished that memory endlessly, but unfortunately it could've easily been just a dream.

My mind transitioned from the flashback. Father's jaw bone clenched, and his fists tightened. He walked back to my uncle and they started a conversation, "People will always judge, but it was so many years ago!"

My Aunt Libby pushed her son Gregory, in his perambulator. She caressed his cheeks with her fingers, and whispered down to him. I envied Gregory, for I knew I wouldn't be able to experience the same with my Mum anymore. Even at thirteen, I still enjoyed her bedtime stories and how she would greet me as if she would never see me again. And one of those times, she wouldn't.

I was also scared, if my Mum wasn't alive, who would I be left with? My father wasn't here much, and although I do have friends and other relatives, I needed maternal support. Without a mother, who was I speak with when I had issues only a female would understand?

After our immense walking trip, we arrived at the cemetery. I found a copy of my mother's obituary laying in the grass. I examined it, she looked so more content and at least a decade younger. Not similar to her last days, which seemed less pleasant. However, she still clearly loved me. And she showed by how, no matter if she was tired, she'd wake early to prepare my favorite meal of biscuits and bacon. Even sparring some of her own rations to me.

The cemetery felt haunted. It was no surprise, due to all the dead people who were buried in its grounds. The grass was unmaintained, and there was no sight of a healthy tree in distance. We weren't the only people, there were plenty of families at the cemetery; the strange part was, not every family looked particularly sad. Some, were even happy.

I fled the crowd of my relatives at the entrance, and went over to my mother's coffin; there were few cemetery workers waiting to lower her in the ground. I glanced down at puddle. My blond hair was unkempt since It hadn't been brushed that day; my blue eyes that were once lively and cheerful now looked sad. I was thin, with knees that resembled knobs and sticks for arms. I resembled my mother very much, and she was the female version of my uncle. I spotted a few yellow lily flowers on the ground and tossed them in my pocket; I planned to add them to my collection of Peculiar Yellow Things. Sometimes, I was unaware of my true self. I was logical yet, totally imaginative. I could be outgoing, yet socially awkward. My personality was an oppositition.

I stood silently as everyone else talked, until my grandma came to me. "It's been a few months since we last saw each other, Imogene." I hugged her immediately, when we last saw each other she had me by an inch, but now I was taller than her.

"I've missed you!" I said.

"I see you are wearing the pearl necklace I gave you," she smiled. The wrinkles on her forehead curved into a thin line. Her hair was completely gray, and she had the same pale blue eyes that everyone in my mom's family shared.

I showed my neck. "I rarely ever take it off!"

My grandma spoiled me and for the longest I was her only grandchild. Every week she would drop by my house, and deliver a gift of some sort. It was usually jewelry or a fancy dress. I never could quite figure out why, but my grandmother had a special liking for me. I suppose every grandmother loves their grandchild, but it was different with her. Somethings did change when my cousin Gregory was born, though. She gave less attention to me.. and I resented him for it.

"How is grandfather doing?" My gaze shifted towards him, and he was at the other side of the cemetery chatting with my father. My grandpa was a kind lad, although he was barely lucid. I remember him being intelligent at one point, but it was long ago.

"He's devastated," she said. "Alice was our first daughter and we loved her dearly."

Out of all the siblings, only my mum and aunt Libby married and had children; although aunt Alex was engaged to some shabby salesman in his forties. And well, my uncle John maintained "I'm married to my job".

"Grandma, if people who are dead can see their relatives down from heaven; what do you think mom would be thinking about me at this moment?" Her face softened and lips pressed together.

It's interesting to think of heaven. I've been told before you'd rather a loved one be in heaven than on Earth, if that's true than am I wrong for grieving? Should I actually be happy for my mum? I didn't know what to feel, and maybe I didn't care if I was being selfish or not.....

"Always remember, your mother loved you more than anyone ever did, and I'm sure she would be proud of you."

"Alright then, Grandma." I sighed.

Everyone joined us by my mother's coffin. Before they lowered her coffin, we threw flowers in the grave. By the end, my aunts and grandmother were in tears; and my uncle and grandfather tried to remain composed. I didn't bother to look at my father. All I did was savor every image in my head, for it was the last time I would see my mother. Alive or dead