Letta dangled her feet over the edge of the tentwagon steps. She gazed up at the night sky. It was full of stars tonight. Her older sister, Lidi, sat behind her brushing out Letta's red curls in a motherlike way. A soft breeze blew Letta's hair, and she sighed. She wished every night could be like this one. The show must have gone well, Letta guessed, because all was quiet, and peaceful. Their was no worried voices, talking about money, and no muffled, angry shouts from inside the tentwagon. Letta didn't understand why her parents argued, or why her father was always so worried about money. In her mind the whole world was good, kind, and magical. Nothing was impossible. She began to count the stars.
"How many?" She asked Lidi.
"Stars? Lidi responded. She stopped brushing her little sister's hair and looked up at the sky. “No one knows.” She said. “But keep counting. You’ll be the first to find out.”
She began brushing Letta’s hair again. Red curls, like her own, inherited from their mother. The girls had their mother’s eyes, too, dark brown. Lidi gazed over the open fields. She thought about tonight’s show. They had done well, lots of tickets sold. But would it be enough? She pushed this thought out of her mind.
“Don’t stop,” Letta interrupted Lidi’s thought. Lidi realized she had stopped brushing Letta’s hair. She turned back to her sister. Brushing Letta’s hair with slow, gentle strokes, Lidi followed her sister gaze and looked back at the stars.
Lidi leaned close to her sister’s ear and whispered,
“How many?”
“Still counting.” Letta replied.
That night Letta was sleeping deeply, in the same room as Lidi, like always. Suddenly she was awakened by someone shaking her shoulders and whispering her name. It was her mother. Red curls, and dark, brown eyes, with a cloudy, faraway, unreadable expression in them.
“Come,” She said. “Be silent, now.” She quickly pulled a dress over Letta’s nightgown.
“Mamma, what...” Letta didn’t understand.
“Shhh, don’t wake your sister,” Her mother said, glancing over to where Lidi was sleeping. She handed Letta a bag. “Carry this,” She said.
“Mamma,” Letta cried.
“Shh, come,” Her mother pulled her out of the tent wagon into the mild night air.
“Mamma, what are we doing? Where’s Daddy?”
“Come, Letta, I willl tell you later, maybe, come!” Letta’s mother lifted Letta up on to their only horse, that was already saddled. “We are not staying here,” She whispered, a distant and strange look lingering in her clouded eyes.
“No, Mamma, where is Lidi? We can’t leave Lidi! Where is Daddy? We can’t lea-”
“Shh,” Her mother pulled herself up onto the horse. “Lidi will stay here.” She said, clucking the horse into a fast trot. “You stay with me, my Letta.”
Letta began to cry. She stared after the dissapearing wagons, her home.
“Lidi, Daddy,” she cried softly. The tent wagons dissaperared into the darkness.
Lidi suddenly heard a sound. Weeping? Slowly she opened her eyes. Weeping. She sat up. She looked over to Letta’s bed. Empty? Lidi jumped up. She ran into the other room. Her father sat on the end of his bed, head in hands. Lidi’s mother nowhere in sight.
“Daddy,” Lidi said, her heart racing, “Whats wrong, Daddy?”
He didn’t turn to her.
“Daddy, where is Mamma, where is Letta?”
He lifted his head from his hands. Without meeting her eyes, he said,
“We have to forget, Lidi,”
“Daddy, what to you mean?” Lidi began to shake.
“They’re not coming back.”
“Where, Daddy, where are they?” Lidi held back her tears.
“I don’t know.” He said. Lidi stared at him.
“It wasn’t enough,” He said. Then he met her eyes, though he looked ashamed to do it.
“I wasn’t enough,” He said.
Lidi understood now.
She quickly turned and ran into the other room. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. She closed the door.
They were gone. Her mother, her little sister, gone. Forever? In her heart she knew yes, they were gone forever. She then cried. Quietly, painfully she wept. Alone.
The next morning she woke. It was the same as always. She brushed her hair, and dressed. Like always. But they were gone. She wiped her eyes, and opened the door to the tent wagon. Her father was making breakfast, his back to her. Then he turned around. His face. Lidi stopped in her steps. So different. So broken. So hard. Lidi heart felt hurt, dread and cold. She hugged herself tightly. She slowly walked toward her father. He didin’t look at her. She quietly took a small sausage, though she knew she could not eat it. Lidi changed, then. She grew up. She was too young to grow up, but she did. Life wasn’t a fairytale anymore. She knew you couldn’t really count the stars. She couldn’t really vanish and go somewhere far away. This was real. She looked at her father again. He silently ate a sausage. He needed her now, she knew. She was all he had left.
We have to forget, he had said to her the night before. Forget. How could they forget? His wife, whom he had loved, cherished, given his all for. His own little daughter. Lidi’s little sister. But he seemed to forget. But Lidi knew he didn’t. He was feeling everything in his heart. He wouldn’t say anything, he would not cry. Lidi was the only thing that saved him. He needed her. More then anything.
by Ryn D.
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written by my younger sister Ryn. Happy new year, by the way!! ~ Nina
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