2018 Writing Scrapbook

Pillars of Sand

When Millie saw the young man lumber down the street, tears came to her eyes. They were damp and blurred her vision so that view of him was obscured. He didn't happen to notice her standing on the corner but she darted around when she caught a glimpse of him.

Her breath wavered, and a gentle old woman with a kindly smile patted her on the back. "Dear girl, what's the matter?"

She shook her head, wiping away the tears. "No, it's nothing."

The woman rested a hand on Millie's shoulder. With a bashful blush of shame, Millie glanced to the left, focusing on the location of the young man before letting out a whimper.

The old lady gazed in his direction and asked, "Did he hurt you?" Turning to him, she shouted out, "You! Hey mister! Get your ass over here!"

Millie clamped a hand over her mouth to quiet her. "Stop! This is only my own fault, not his."

"Child, do you wish to tell an elder about your woes? This is a small village, after all."

"Not particularly."

Millie began walking away from the scene of the commotion, but found that the prune was diligently hobbling after her. "Quit! Stop following me!" She wiped the salt from her cheeks, eyes flaring. "Go away, old hag!" Millie didn't dare to let the lady follow her home, but instead darted into a crowd at the marketplace. A fountain rained shimmering aqua rivulets, so she sought refuge in its curvature.

A moment later the woman heaved herself over to where Millie was sitting, but the young girl was too bitter to care anymore. From this vantage point she had unexpectedly discovered the young man once more.

"Dear, what's your name?"

"Millie Ashbrook? Why'd you come?"

"I have seen many girls treated unjustly in my time, and I won't let another one fall to the injured if I can help it."

Millie twirled her mane of thick auburn. "I don't think you can help me. Say, what's your name?"

"Oh, I'm Miss Pendergrass. But you may call me Betty."

Millie looked at her oddly. "You aren't married?"

"No, ma'am. Never have been, either. I've devoted my life to helping young women like you, Millie," Betty tested the name on her tongue.

"You're crazy! An absolute loon!"

"But I'm good at listening. Say, what are your problems? Anything about the young sir?"

Millie bit her lip and glanced at him, lowering her head. "It's... complicated."

"Was he a lover?" Betty pried.

Another tear escaped Millie's eyes. "No. He never was. Listen, it's a foolish story. I shouldn't hardly be grieving over it at all."

"Millie, you are a beautiful young lady, about twenty, I'd say. Any reason for your tears is a story worth listening to."

"Alright," she agreed, peering around the landscape. "I'll tell you." The storefronts were adorned in marvelous arrangements of ribbons and banners, the new summer air fresh and clear. Warmth entered Millie's skin, and she soaked up the dappled rays. Sunlight gleaned from the cloudless heavens as the churches chimed noon. It was an exemplary display of a beautiful day, one she would not soon forget.

Betty smoothed the legs of her frock and became dim and quiet, all attention directed towards the girl with skin of porcelain. Millie took a breath of weariness and began. "His name is James. James Murphy. And I loved him. I still do."