Darling Belle

Thirteen

Maryjane laced her fingers together tightly, head tipped back in religious fervor as she began to pray furiously. 'Father, before we enjoy this meal, we give thanks for the cycle of growth, and change. Bless this food, and may it nourish us in all its stages, from seed to rot. And with our hearts sick with worry for our Mallory, we beg your grace to guide her back to us, fed, unharmed and as pure as snow, as pure as she'd departed-'

The house rattled, then-it was likely an earthquake (which was fairly common in Alaska) and ceased prayer.

Maisie's attention strayed. She wanted to leave as there was nothing keeping her here anymore. But if Mallory were to return- she had to make sure her sister was okay, so, she remained in place for the time being. It was hopeless to search, she'd already tried. So, begrudgingly, she suffered through a whole evening with Maryjane.

Maryjane didn't conclude her plea till the house stopped trembling. 'Amen,' she finally muttered. Looking pointedly at Maisie and her clasped hands.

'Amen.' She gave it to her this time. The control her mother so deliriously wished she had over Maisie, and released her digits.

She swallowed nervously, viciously, guiltily, miserably. There's the slightest crack in her plate, and she knew who'd been responsible for it. Mallory, oh, Mallory.

Maryjane's voice pierced the carefully webbed barrier she'd built between her mind and reality. 'Is there something wrong with the food?' she tsked with appraising eyes, her own plate full to the brim.

Maisie avoided eye contact. 'No, it's simply overwhelming. There are too many dishes to choose from,' she evaluated with a sweep of a look. 'It doesn't seem like a table set for two.'

A simple platter of cold, rice-stuffed grape leaves with the tiniest bits of raisins for additional sweetness, olive oil, fresh herbs, and adorned with lemon slices; creamy red pepper pasta; steamed broccoli; garlic sautéed spinach; roasted asparagus; rosemary loin lamb chops; and venison steak conquered the entire table much like chess pieces on a board.

Her mother grinned pleasantly, picking up her cutlery. 'Always so observant, Pearl.'

Maisie grimaced. 'How are you acting so nonchalant? Your seven-year-old daughter has practically vanished into thin air.'

Her smile turned sour, poising her utensils over the feast on her dish. 'It isn't the first time,' she snarked.

Maisie almost laughed. 'I was fourteen. Double the age.'

Mother's eyes softened ever so slightly. 'What difference does it make? You'll always be my baby.' Soft.

Maisie didn't allow herself to be swayed nor distracted. 'You're missing my point. What kind of seven-year-old will be able to navigate the outside world, let alone such a sheltered child?'

Maryjane sawed into the deer meat with a steak knife, speaking dismissively almost like a verbal wave of her hand against fictional smoke, 'don't underestimate your sister.'

Maisie slammed her own hand down, hard against the timber, quivering. It sounded like a gun-shot. 'She's seven for fucks sake!'

Maryjane flinched.

Maisie lips parted, startled at the unsolicited expression her action brought. 'I'm...'