I
Sunlight streaming through the window.
A lark in the tree singing.
Mother hums braiding Elizabeth’s hair.
Elizabeth braids Juliet’s,
Juliet braids Lilliana’s,
Lilliana braids mine.
I braid the hair of the small pink doll.
The soft gurgle of the stream,
The lark still singing,
The humming,
The calm before the storm.
Father is away.
He will be back by sunset,
Or so he said.
I was young,
The war had just begun.
I knew nothing of it in my youth.
Children of six do not need such information.
But Mother knows,
Elizabeth knows,
Juliet knows,
Lilliana knows.
I am left in the dark.
I am always left in the dark.
They came as the sun set.
The fiery golden halo unable to mask the stark blue.
Blue paint,
Blue eyes,
Blue banners.
Mother sees something out the window.
She sees the blue.
Blue is frightening.
She pushes us into the cellar below the floor.
The old cellar.
The cold cellar.
The dark cellar.
I am always in the dark.
A hushed whisper,
No noise. Do not move. Do not leave the cellar
A loud banging.
Then complete dark and no Mother.
We sit,
Hours pass,
Days pass.
We never move.
We never speak.
We never leave.
Then one day, there is noise.
Soft noises that grow louder,
Closer.
Someone is here.
The cellar door opens.
Elizabeth gasps,
Juliet gasps,
Lilliana gasps,
I don’t.
I cannot see,
I am still in the dark.
I am always in the dark.
Then hands,
Not blue but tan.
Not dirty or caked in blood but clean and smooth.
Hands grab Elizabeth first.
She is gone.
Hands grab Juliet next.
She is gone.
Hands grab Lilliana.
She is gone.
The hands reach again.
They do not find me,
I am too far back to reach.
A face appears,
Not painted but clear.
Not menacing but kind.
A smile and hands reach out.
They wrap around me and pull me out.
Suddenly I am in the light.
My eyes squint and blink,
Adjusting.
Then I can see again.
My sisters stand,
Each next to a man in shining armor.
I have my own.
He stands less rigid than the others.
Come. Your father awaits.
We go.
We have no choice.
There is ash and ruin,
Broken glass and shattered pots,
Dirt everywhere.
We are each lifted onto a horse,
A knight for each.
Mine smiles,
Kind and warm.
His arms are around me.
He shows me how to hold the reins.
Our wrists flick,
The horse moves,
The house disappears.
Elizabeth cries,
Juliet cries,
Lilliana cries,
I do not.
Father is unwell.
He lies on a cot,
Pale,
Sleeping, always sleeping.
Elizabeth cries,
Juliet cries,
Lilliana cries,
I stare.
I look to my knight.
He has followed us into the tent.
He looks down at me.
He smiles,
Sad but still kind and warm.
He holds out a hand,
Gloved,
Rough,
Clean.
I take it, and he leads me away.
We walk.
Through the camp,
The beige tents,
The large sparkly foul-smelling men,
The noise.
We come to a grove of trees and sit.
What is your name?
His voice is smooth,
Like honey,
Like water,
Like silk.
Adelaide.
My voice is soft,
Like cotton,
Like clouds,
Like Mother’s hands.
Beautiful. How old are you Adelaide?
He says my name funny.
It sounds formal,
Pretty,
Like a princess.
Six.
He smiles again.
What’s your name?
He looks thoughtful,
Then answers,
I have many names. You may call me Florence.
Florence,
I repeat.
The name sounds foreign.
It tastes funny,
Like oranges and honey.
He nods and smiles again.
Yes, Florence.
