A full moon perched above the treetops, bearing silent witness. Pale Magnolia blossoms reflected its glow and appeared as dim lanterns on high. The air was still and humid from the heat of the day. Edith strolled cautiously down the middle of a dusty dirt road. As her calloused bare feet lazily kicked away stones, the scrapes and clicks filled her ears, mixing with the faint rustle of her dirty muslin dress.
She had gone to spend the night with her friend Emma. Emma’s family’s farm was a long two miles down the road and luckily she’d gotten a lift on the back of her father’s horse. He was loaded up to make the long trip to visit his ailing mother, but had made room for her and had held her so tightly. At Emma’s, Edith had been content with their play at first, but had quickly grown restless and crabby. Drawn by an unknown force, she’d slipped away when Emma had fallen asleep and wandered down the road in the deepening twilight.
As she neared her home, a decaying old house set back from the road framed with drapes of Spanish Moss, she was drawn to the light of a fire flickering through from the front parlor picture window. Her pace slowed as she saw the silhouette of her mother sitting on the sofa. A man sat across from her and they were talking, gesturing grandly. Edith stood still as a flicker of panic tickled her heart; the man was Emma’s father. And she watched in shattered horror as her mother suddenly stopped, lifted her fingers gently to briefly touch this man’s lips, and leaned in
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This is just beautifully written. You do a fabulous job creating a sense of place. And I love the image of the mother touching the man's lips. Really lovely.
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