The Bootlegger's Daughter

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Running Late to a Funeral

To keep true to my promise, I am going to skip ahead a week or so in time. This is the day of Grandfather’s funeral. It started out like any other day, I got up and got myself dressed. I was feeling very sentimental that day. Maybe it was because of the funeral or maybe it is because I was just in that sort of mood. The calling hours started at ten, than the service was at eleven. I had time to spare, which is good as it took me longer to get ready.

For instance, I stared at the photograph of David, Mary, Robert, John, and me for about ten or so minutes. I wondered who had taken that picture. Was it my mother? Was it Father? Maybe it was Aunt Emma. I still don’t know who actually did, but I am fairly certain that it was Mother. Father has told me that she liked to photograph David and me. He has an album somewhere in his room filled with pictures of the two of us.

Although I do not feel this most days, but I really missed Mother that day. This was also most likely because of the funeral. It was quite an odd thing to do as I hardly remember her. But the idea of having a real motherly figure, not a replacement was very appealing that day.

Nowadays I think David needs a mother more than I do. I am my father’s daughter more than even I would like to admit. Father and I are very much alike. We think the same way, have the same beliefs. But David is different. He is more outgoing that either of us. Father said that Mother used to be like that, he must have picked it up from her. But I am content with Father, but David is not. He has never explicitly said this to me but I can tell. No one else can, but I can tell.

Coming back from that tangent, I got dressed like I normally did, only more slowly as I looked through almost every dress in my dresser and thought of a memory I had while wearing it. I wore a simple black dress. There wasn’t much detail on any part of it. I also wore black stockings and black shoes. I set out on my bed to put on later a black coat, black gloves, and black hat with a veil. Not that I wish death on any of my family, but I do love that hat a lot and was happy for the occasion to wear it.

I went to Mary’s room like I did every morning. When she let me in her room I saw another bottle of alcohol.

“Mary, I thought you were better than this. Look at you, not even bothering to hide it from me.” I said.

“Shut up, Lucy. Or I won’t do your hair.” Mary threatened. I sat down at her vanity and did not say another word. The bottle was laying on her bed, that was not made. Granted the maids were going to be here that day, I just always make mine so they didn’t have to. But the main thing about the bottle was that it wasn’t empty and only had a few sips taken out of it. Mary caught me looking at it from her mirror. “I am just nervous. It was opened this morning. And I am not drunk, nor will I be.” Mary said in a strict and matter of factly tone.

“I didn’t say anything.” I said defensively.

“You were thinking it.”

And at that Mary finished my hair. Our morning conversations were always delightful. I left her room and went down to the kitchen. There Aunt Bertha was trying to work amongst chaos. It seems all my family was in the kitchen for some reason. One of the maids, Martha was helping Aunt Bertha, but she was also tripping over her own feet. Martha is a bit over five years older than me and a nice girl, just not the most graceful person. Martha did make her way over to me and handed me a plate with my breakfast on it.

“Here you are, Miss Lucy.” She said as I took the plate from her. I thanked her and left the kitchen. I know a lot of families will eat all their meals together, but it feels like ours never does. Well that is for breakfast at least. Lunch is a bit up in the air but for supper we always try to eat together. Meals are always hard as we never know who will show up at them until they are there.

I was the only one sitting at the table which seemed odd to me until I looked at the clock. It was already 9:15. I took so long getting dressed that I was starting to run behind. I didn’t take notice to it at the time but when I think back on it, Mary was already dressed and everyone was in the kitchen because they were putting things away. Martha didn’t say anything to me because she didn’t know that I was on a schedule. But if Aunt Bertha had handed me my food she would have asked me where I was and told me to eat quickly.

So I rushed through my meal, but by the time I was done so people were already leaving the house to head to the funeral parlor. I brought my plate back to the kitchen. Only Martha was there so I gave it to her.

“Where did Aunt Bertha go?” I asked Martha.

“She went to grab her son, then is leaving.” Martha said without really paying attention to me.

I went up to my room and finished getting dressed. At least I had some foresight as to layout my things. I put on my hat and made sure it looked nice in the mirror. Then I put on my gloves and finally the coat. I left my room and looked down the hallway. All the doors were shut and darkness was coming out from under the doors. Everyone had left me. Then I remembered that Aunt Bertha and Matthew was still in the house. Not that I really had anything against them, I would rather be by myself than go to a funeral parlor with them.

As I went down the stairs I could hear Aunt Bertha talking to Matthew so I almost ran out of the house. Sometimes I can be dramatic, I will admit that.

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