From Chapter Fifteen: A Lasting Memory
Ann woke up several hours later with a start and quickly wipes the sweat from her brow.
She had dreamed of her mother, of the night she died, how helpless she had been to save her.
For a moment, Ann’s mind betrayed her, forcing her to believe that her mother was really alive,
lying comfortably next to her, ready to laugh at the foolishness her daughter had only imagined.
But as the girl’s hand fell from her cheek, her fingertips brushed the chilled metal of the locket her
mother had given her on her deathbed. Her dream had been real, the pain had been real, and Ann
had the overwhelming feeling of isolation once again.
Suddenly the side of the tent was bathed in startling light, followed almost simultaneously
with a roar like thunder. But this sound did not emit from the clouds above, but the land below.
She could feel the earth shudder as if it was cowering in fear.
Martha stood by the tent opening, a flap drawn back and a look of anxiety was prominent
on her face. “Cannon fire,” she explained in an offhand manner as if to downplay the seriousness
of the issue. “There must be a battle going on nearby.”
The soft cries of Emma brought Ann’s attention back to the tent and she rolled over onto
her side. The poor child was trembling in the aftershock of the blast, her little hands clawing at
the blanket in an attempt to bury herself in the darkness. Ann gently reached over and took her
sister’s tiny wrists and pulled the child close to her body. Emma’s eyes glowed like lantern light
as a second tremor issued from the darkness.
Ann woke up several hours later with a start and quickly wipes the sweat from her brow.
She had dreamed of her mother, of the night she died, how helpless she had been to save her.
For a moment, Ann’s mind betrayed her, forcing her to believe that her mother was really alive,
lying comfortably next to her, ready to laugh at the foolishness her daughter had only imagined.
But as the girl’s hand fell from her cheek, her fingertips brushed the chilled metal of the locket her
mother had given her on her deathbed. Her dream had been real, the pain had been real, and Ann
had the overwhelming feeling of isolation once again.
Suddenly the side of the tent was bathed in startling light, followed almost simultaneously
with a roar like thunder. But this sound did not emit from the clouds above, but the land below.
She could feel the earth shudder as if it was cowering in fear.
Martha stood by the tent opening, a flap drawn back and a look of anxiety was prominent
on her face. “Cannon fire,” she explained in an offhand manner as if to downplay the seriousness
of the issue. “There must be a battle going on nearby.”
The soft cries of Emma brought Ann’s attention back to the tent and she rolled over onto
her side. The poor child was trembling in the aftershock of the blast, her little hands clawing at
the blanket in an attempt to bury herself in the darkness. Ann gently reached over and took her
sister’s tiny wrists and pulled the child close to her body. Emma’s eyes glowed like lantern light
as a second tremor issued from the darkness.
| Orphan Child Excerpt |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |