Day by Day

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

 Caroline could easily play "Amazing Grace" on the piano. It was the first song she had ever learned, and it happened to be her most favorite of all. Well, she thought, "Upon a Midnight Clear" was, too.

   Nothing felt as good to her as sitting at the church piano bench on a bright Sunday morning. The familiar faces, all singing. Yet there were several faces she didn't see. Apparently, some people couldn't make it. And there were fewer than last week. It troubled her, but she kept a diligent smile as she pressed upon the keys. Talks of little money had been popping up more and more, even between her parents. There had never been much money before, though enough for luxuries like three or four dresses. Even then, every single one of hers were pretty but, just the same, simple, and homemade. Her bonnets were older, faded until Mimma dyed them to match her dresses. They looked new because she took care of them. All her treasures were inexpensive, passed down from her mother.

    But food was getting high.

 Indian Territory had a great deal of their food brought in from the South. The cotton that they made their clothes out of came from the South, and even that was suffering. Caroline's dresses were in nice shape, as were her mother's dresses. There wasn't a dress in Redbud that hadn't been turned, pressed, patched, and dyed. The Cherokee girls had to use their hair ribbons to sew on their dresses, and for their men folk’s ribbon shirts.

   The sunshine came in, as her lovely melody floated around and matched the varying tones of the words. She wore her pink dress, starched until it was stiff, and ironed until it could stand on it's own.  She wore her hair in her brown chignon, with tiny, wisping clouds of curls that rested daintily on her hairline. Mimma had used strips of old newspaper to curl her hair, after she had taken a bath.

   At the end of the song, she allowed her beloved piano to fall silent. It was an old piano, and she seemed to be the only one who could coax a tune out of it. Every now and then, it had to be tuned.

   It was like a faithful friend to her.

 "Today," Pip began, "I've decided it'd be nice ta hear 'bout people of great faith."

Caroline rolled her lips back coyly. She knew this sermon- had heard it that morning. He had read from a dictionary, and highlighted the word martyrs:

  MARTYR - SOMEONE THAT DIES, OR IS WILLING TO DIE FOR A SPECIFIC BELIEF THEY HOLD UP.

 And it rather frightened her when she thought about it. Why would someone be so cruel? Why were Christians so hated in the old days? She knew nothing else, and she had been raised in Christianity. To Caroline, there were no other options. Anything else was wrong.

  He spoke on the Apostle Peter, and his death. She shuddered, hugging one of her arms around herself. He had been crucified like Christ, but he had been crucified upside down. She felt a pain in her wrists, as if her flesh itself had been pierced. Really, her spirit had been, though. She stared intently at her father, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She read in Galatians, that it said she had been crucified with Christ. And that it was not she who lived, but Christ through her.

   That thought beckoned some deep thinking. Silently, she dug her stocking covered feet against the insides of her thin, tight shoes. Thinking that...knowing that it was not her, well, it sparked some sensations of unworthiness. Caroline felt so mousy in her faith, whereas her father was loud, outgoing, and excited. Her mother was very thoughtful of hers; the type of person that very well might spend hours praying on a hilltop.

  Everyone liked formalized prayer. It was a time when they could all hear the worries and hopes of others. Truthfully, she didn't like it as much as she liked her own prayers. Wicked as it was, during formalized prayer, her mind wondered when she knew that she should focus on God. She did not dare confess that to her mother, though. Nor would she tell Pip.