The day had been dreary so far. The cold. The damp. The boring wait for the car’s repair. The need to keep her body still and her mouth from chattering.
Gran did not let her wander. Or climb. Or touch things.
“You’ll get filthy.” Gran had stated. Like an ultimate sin.
At first Beth did try to argue. Daddy always said that filth is easy to wash off and that a bit of dirt was no excuse for sitting out good fun.
Gran did not think highly of Daddy.
“What judgment that man could have had in him,” Gran grumbled, “he’d given it up when he chose to leave my uterus early … and it only went downhill from there.”
Or up, Beth thought. He had promised to watch over her. Before the angels called.
“My Hummingbird,” he’d called her.
Her eyes rested on the sign. She smiled.
For Crispina‘s Crimson’s Creative Challenge