Jane's Cardinal

Chapter One

"Jane Marie Lucille! You are not your father, his child and nothing more!" I could hear the tears in her voice. A twisted smile glided across my right cheek. How ironic that she had said my full name.

"Dad's name was Reverend J.R. Lucille, was it not?" As the cold hard silence proceeded I entered my room. I sat behind my tightly shut door with tears of my own traveling down my face. I can see how doing dad's work brought only fainted memories to my mother. I know how this hurts her, but the ugly truth is I don't care. I will continue what dad had started. I just can't desert these people after bringing them this far. I couldn't and I won't. Dad didn't waste his time and I know I'm spending mine as wisely as he did.

I whispered to Maralah sinking into my wilted, full sized bed. "Dad wouldn't keep me from doing what I love would he Maralah?" My words were confident, yet I still looked for a reaction. She just blinked and curved her body to meet my eyes. While I wondered if that meant anything I heard the front door creak open. As far as I know neither mom nor I expected any company. I quickly stood tall in my round mirror, wiping the tears off my pale cheeks. Drying my eyelashes I strived to find any pink in my retina. If there was any it was faint and not at all noticeable. With that note I trampled over my own feet to the living room.

Grandma leisurely sat down knowing someone would be there eventually to greet her. I breathed in little by little. In no rush at all I approached her. "Oh my dear!" she said in worry. "Has my baby been crying?" I didn't say a word. Mom finally came in with a fake smile as if nothing had happened. "What have you done to my poor baby?" grandma asked my mom nicely.

"You know Jane, always finding trouble." She joked. My grandma smiled and played along. "Do I need to send her to your house with you to help with anything?" My mother sounded happy to get rid of me, but who cares? I know I don't.

"Well sure. Come on Jane lets go." She waved her hand for me to guide her through the door. When I did she turned to me just as we left mom's hearing range. "What happened this time my dear?"

I looked down unable to begin. It's the same thing that always happens. What do I say without boring my fragile grandmother? "Well," I started "You remember Mrs. Johnson?" I got a simple "Mhmm." And then I explained. "She wrote me a letter. I believe a thank you letter. I never did get to read it, but anyway mom got to it before I did. You can imagine how that turned out." She wobbled her head in an understanding. I let her think of what to tell me and finished our path up the drive way. I opened the door anticipating what she was coming up with.

"My son," she paused. "I mean your father had a lot of passion for people and I can see that you too possess that. But, my dear, your father also loved your mother very much. He showed that with every ounce of his being. You seem to have forgotten what a blessed young lady you are."

"Grandma!" I interrupted.

"I know I know." She said calmly. "You love your mom and realize how lucky you are, but when is the last time you let her know that?" I stumbled upon her words. It may be true, but my mother does not support what I do. Mother's are suppose to support their daughters, how can I let her know anything when she won't listen?

"I'm sorry, my dear, your dad taught you well and I know you will learn in time." She ended the conversation still winning me over with her sweet "I only care" look.

We walked in and dropped ourselves on the coach. "So what do you need me to do?" I looked around noticing the house was as neat as I had left it two days ago. Grandma shrugged her shoulders with a mischievous fleeting look.

"Just thought I could use your company is all." I zoomed in closely as she peeked in over at her shiny black piano. I knew exactly what that indicated. I skipped happily to the rectangular hardened seat already pulled out from under the piano. My fingers rolled diligently across the keys. They flowed to the rhythm of a beautiful melody grandma had already laid out for me. She loved to hear me play; she is also the only one who knows of how well I do. My mom knows I play the piano, but never has she heard me.