Read Online Home From Within by Jennifer McCartney, Lisa Maggiore - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer McCartney, Lisa Maggiore
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to sneak?”
Without another thought, her instinct to protect kicked in, and she let go of his hand.
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” she said in a defeated tone.
“Jessica, I know one day you’re gonna come to me and say you’re ready. And when you do, I will be.”
Jessica found Paul’s effort valiant; however, he did not know her father. Besides the whole “shooting a boy who steps foot on the property” threat, Jessica had a lot of self-control. All thanks to her self-control training. Her father would put marshmallows in front of Jessica at the age of two and make her wait before eating one for fifteen, twenty, even thirty minutes. If she tried to reach for it, he would hit her hand. No squirming either. Her father took pride in Jessica’s ability to sit still with her hands folded in front of a marshmallow treat for thirty minutes at age two and a half.
But in bed that night, Jessica cried next to her pillows. Her soul was forever being scarred by watching Paul with his slew of girls. The self-control she took so much pride in was starting to wane, and in the dark of the night, her thoughts started to bend toward taking Paul up on his offer to sneak. She thought it would be easier if her father was away on a business trip, but she’d heard nothing about him traveling again. And it had been four months since his return home.
The only bright spot in her life was Aunt Lodi’s visit. Aunt Lodi always came to Chicago in the spring for a week. Her mother prepared the guest bedroom as if someone was being laid to rest. Jessica loved the fact that this was one of the only times that music was played on the radio in the kitchen. Usually it blasted news coverage 24-7, but with Aunt Lodi around, sounds of peace and yesteryear prevailed.
C hapter 8
Genealogy is a word that calls forth memories and stories to be told. Some memories and stories are laden with words like adventure, courage, and hope. Others are represented by stoic faces and muted clothing, framed and hung on the walls of their ancestor’s home. Jessica’s home was lacking in both stories and memories from the past. The only item that was kept was a chest in the attic that her mother said was given to her by her grandmother. It contained some old clothes that did not appear that important; otherwise, they would have found life in the closets of the living. Every once in a while, Jessica would sneak in the attic or into her parent’s bedroom and look around. She was not searching for anything in particular, but the thought of finding clues to their past lives was compelling enough to bypass her fears of possible video surveillance.
There were two pictures in her parent’s bedroom. One was on her mother’s dresser; a round, shiny silver frame showed a black-and-white photo of a man in a hat and suit holding a baby. He was not smiling even though it looked like a special day. The baby was dressed in all white, with a little bonnet. Even the blanket that wrapped the baby in warmth was white. On her father’s nightstand was a simple black frame with a picture of him and Aunt Lodi on horses in the woods. They looked young, maybe in their twenties. Snowcapped trees and white hills surrounded them as a crisp baby blue sky hung low. It almost looked like they could reach up and touch it with their hands. Jessica was amazed at how beautiful the scenery was in that picture. The natural elements helped, but her father and Aunt Lodi looked so intertwined with it all, like they were one with the earth. It was the type of picture that should be showcased in the office. But as she thought about it further, its mere presence amongst the harsh visuals of war would no doubt drown out its beauty. Maybe that’s why her father kept it in the bedroom, behind the closed door, because it’s too easy for a beautiful memory to be engulfed by a room full of harsh ones.
Jessica sat at the desk in her bedroom contemplating how to lie to her parents. She already
Without another thought, her instinct to protect kicked in, and she let go of his hand.
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” she said in a defeated tone.
“Jessica, I know one day you’re gonna come to me and say you’re ready. And when you do, I will be.”
Jessica found Paul’s effort valiant; however, he did not know her father. Besides the whole “shooting a boy who steps foot on the property” threat, Jessica had a lot of self-control. All thanks to her self-control training. Her father would put marshmallows in front of Jessica at the age of two and make her wait before eating one for fifteen, twenty, even thirty minutes. If she tried to reach for it, he would hit her hand. No squirming either. Her father took pride in Jessica’s ability to sit still with her hands folded in front of a marshmallow treat for thirty minutes at age two and a half.
But in bed that night, Jessica cried next to her pillows. Her soul was forever being scarred by watching Paul with his slew of girls. The self-control she took so much pride in was starting to wane, and in the dark of the night, her thoughts started to bend toward taking Paul up on his offer to sneak. She thought it would be easier if her father was away on a business trip, but she’d heard nothing about him traveling again. And it had been four months since his return home.
The only bright spot in her life was Aunt Lodi’s visit. Aunt Lodi always came to Chicago in the spring for a week. Her mother prepared the guest bedroom as if someone was being laid to rest. Jessica loved the fact that this was one of the only times that music was played on the radio in the kitchen. Usually it blasted news coverage 24-7, but with Aunt Lodi around, sounds of peace and yesteryear prevailed.
C hapter 8
Genealogy is a word that calls forth memories and stories to be told. Some memories and stories are laden with words like adventure, courage, and hope. Others are represented by stoic faces and muted clothing, framed and hung on the walls of their ancestor’s home. Jessica’s home was lacking in both stories and memories from the past. The only item that was kept was a chest in the attic that her mother said was given to her by her grandmother. It contained some old clothes that did not appear that important; otherwise, they would have found life in the closets of the living. Every once in a while, Jessica would sneak in the attic or into her parent’s bedroom and look around. She was not searching for anything in particular, but the thought of finding clues to their past lives was compelling enough to bypass her fears of possible video surveillance.
There were two pictures in her parent’s bedroom. One was on her mother’s dresser; a round, shiny silver frame showed a black-and-white photo of a man in a hat and suit holding a baby. He was not smiling even though it looked like a special day. The baby was dressed in all white, with a little bonnet. Even the blanket that wrapped the baby in warmth was white. On her father’s nightstand was a simple black frame with a picture of him and Aunt Lodi on horses in the woods. They looked young, maybe in their twenties. Snowcapped trees and white hills surrounded them as a crisp baby blue sky hung low. It almost looked like they could reach up and touch it with their hands. Jessica was amazed at how beautiful the scenery was in that picture. The natural elements helped, but her father and Aunt Lodi looked so intertwined with it all, like they were one with the earth. It was the type of picture that should be showcased in the office. But as she thought about it further, its mere presence amongst the harsh visuals of war would no doubt drown out its beauty. Maybe that’s why her father kept it in the bedroom, behind the closed door, because it’s too easy for a beautiful memory to be engulfed by a room full of harsh ones.
Jessica sat at the desk in her bedroom contemplating how to lie to her parents. She already
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