The Sun and Moon and Stars

Chapter XX

Her mother smiled warmly and led her to the kitchen were Cuppie, their cook, placed a platter of freshly warmed pot pie in front of her.

Her mother bustled around the kitchen as she ate, discussing with Cuppie what they would have for supper.

Frances barely touched her food. She could barely stand to be in the kitchen. Her skin crawled being so surrounded by metal and rushed productivity.

She pushed away her plate. "I'm sorry, Cuppie. It's very good pie," she turned to her mother, "but I'm tired. I think I'll just go unpack my things and see you all at supper."

Mrs. Barrett frowned. "Yes, of course, dear. I had the maid upkeep your room while you were away so it doesn't have to be dusted or anything."

Frances smiled and left.

She soon found herself back in her old bedroom. It was decorated in purple, soft and feminine. And suddenly uninviting. She sat down on her bed and kicked off her shoes.

The pit her stomach yawned open and her hands began to shake. What was she doing here?

She looked around the room that had once been her favorite place in the entire room. She had felt safe and warm and at peace here. Now, she felt like ripping off the wallpaper and pulling all the books down off her bookshelf. She had never wanted anything more than to slip out the window, find another cab and head straight back to Malborrow Creek. Her stomach loosened at the very thought of leaving and her face relaxed.

But then Julian's face flashed in her mind and her stomach tightened again. No, she couldn't return. Besides, Malborrow Creek would never be the same place. Winnie was gone.

***

France pushed a piece of broccoli around on her plate. Harriet sat across from her and watched the vegetable intently. The whole family did.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Mr. Barret asked. He had a well-tailored suit on and his face was decorated with a gray mustache and peppered hair.

Frances nodded and smiled. "Yes, I'm alright."

The parents exchanged a glance. "Why don't you tell us about your time. We haven't heard from you since your last letter and that was quite a while ago."

Frances looked up from her plate, "Well, Mrs. Fellowes past away yesterday. Jul--Mr. Fellowes had already made the funeral arrangements and I missed home so terribly that I decided to take the first train home."

"Well, you've become quite the efficient reporter," Mr. Fellowes said, a teasing glimmer in his eye.

Frances smiled back. "I think you'll find that I've actually become quite the storyteller. That's what they did, the Fellowes family. They told stories. And they were...magical."

She smiled at the memory, and for a moment, she was back at the Fellowes' homestead. "When Mr. Fellowes told his children stories, your stomach would fill up with fireflies. That's the only way to describe, really. It is the same feeling you get when you look up at a sky filled with stars or when you climb the highest building in town and look down over all the little people going about their day. You feel full. As if you could just close your eyes and listen for the rest of your life, and you'd never get hungry or thirsty or tired."

Frances closed her eyes. "The moon could be anything from a doting mother to a dying lover, to even God's dinner plate. And the sun would be the jealous husband and the birthplace of fire nymphs and the hearth of the Olympian gods, all at the same time."

When she opened her eyes again, her mother and sister looked concerned and her father was frowning.

Mr. Barrett's mustache twitched. "This Mr. Fellowes, was he a respectable Christian?"