Genevieve rode quietly in the carriage through the Colorado countryside, gazing idly out the window. A heavy sigh escaped her. Why, of all places, did I have to come here? she thought, slightly irritated but unable to bring herself to be angry. It had been just a few weeks before that her parents were murdered, all for her inheritance, but the killer had yet to be caught. She could still remember the police chief telling her he had found a safe place for her to go, somewhere they would never find her. When they caught the killer, she could return to France.
She hoped they caught him soon.
Geneviéve dragged her mind to the present moment as the horse-drawn carriage approached a home*. Another sigh. Well, no turning back now, she supposed. Soon enough she would be meeting the American family that had been kind enough to take her in. Was her English fluent enough? Sure, she had learned a bit for the English traders her father sometimes dealt with, and she could hold a proper conversation, but she suddenly became worried that it wouldn't be—no. She shoved those thoughts aside. Everything would be fine. Right?
She hoped they caught him soon.
Geneviéve dragged her mind to the present moment as the horse-drawn carriage approached a home*. Another sigh. Well, no turning back now, she supposed. Soon enough she would be meeting the American family that had been kind enough to take her in. Was her English fluent enough? Sure, she had learned a bit for the English traders her father sometimes dealt with, and she could hold a proper conversation, but she suddenly became worried that it wouldn't be—no. She shoved those thoughts aside. Everything would be fine. Right?
Beau sat on the porch of his grandmother's home, the wood of the cabin creaking against the weight of his bobbing knee. He'd just gotten home from working the mines, and thankfully had enough time to wash the soot from his face and hands before their guest arrived. The dirt would constantly cling to his clothes, however, despite multiple rounds through the washing board -- but hopefully the privileged girl wouldn't mind.
At the sound of an approaching carriage, Beau lifted his lantern up to the noise, the orange hue lighting up his face. That was her, alright -- no mistaking it. He'd heard the girl was royalty of some kind, an heir or something akin to it, and her dramatic entrance spoke volumes to that. The blonde began to stuff in his already adjusted black button-up, an uncharacteristically nervous energy filling him. His family was far from regal, but hospitality-wise, there was no one more open; though, first impressions weren't exactly Beau's strong suit. Often assumed to be rude, or just plain slow-witted thanks to his speech impediment, the nineteen year old was used to keeping his mouth shut. Besides, his family did enough speaking for him.
But, seeing as how he was the only patriarch of the house -- at least by technicality -- it was customary to show the guest her entry. So he walked over to her carriage once the horses had halted, but stood a respectful distance back. He wouldn't want her to feel bombarded after all, which was specifically why he told his sisters to wait inside, lest the French girl get hassled with nonstop questions before her foot even hit the dirt.
At the sound of an approaching carriage, Beau lifted his lantern up to the noise, the orange hue lighting up his face. That was her, alright -- no mistaking it. He'd heard the girl was royalty of some kind, an heir or something akin to it, and her dramatic entrance spoke volumes to that. The blonde began to stuff in his already adjusted black button-up, an uncharacteristically nervous energy filling him. His family was far from regal, but hospitality-wise, there was no one more open; though, first impressions weren't exactly Beau's strong suit. Often assumed to be rude, or just plain slow-witted thanks to his speech impediment, the nineteen year old was used to keeping his mouth shut. Besides, his family did enough speaking for him.
But, seeing as how he was the only patriarch of the house -- at least by technicality -- it was customary to show the guest her entry. So he walked over to her carriage once the horses had halted, but stood a respectful distance back. He wouldn't want her to feel bombarded after all, which was specifically why he told his sisters to wait inside, lest the French girl get hassled with nonstop questions before her foot even hit the dirt.
Genevieve saw a young man approach the carriage once they stopped. She was quiet, waiting for her escort—the man driving—to get her trunk and open her door. The man worked fairly quickly, taking her trunk off the top of the carriage before hopping down. However he paused before opening her door, just for a moment. His hand reached out to open the door and he held out a hand.
"Mademoiselle Leclair," he addressed. A dainty gloved hand took the driver's large rough one, and the young woman stepped delicately out of the carriage. She gazed at the house for a moment, before looking at the young man, presumably the son of whomever she was staying with. She didn't speak yet, however, since the driver did so. He took an envelope out of the pocket of his worn vest and held it out to the young miner. "There you are, lad. The letter addressed to the head of the house, with compensation." He winked; the compensation, of course, was the money they were due for taking on this young French woman. "Have a good night." He touched his hat before climbing back onto his carriage, 'hyah'ing and turning the carriage around to return to the nearest town, leaving Genevieve at her new home, quite alone with the young man before her.
"Mademoiselle Leclair," he addressed. A dainty gloved hand took the driver's large rough one, and the young woman stepped delicately out of the carriage. She gazed at the house for a moment, before looking at the young man, presumably the son of whomever she was staying with. She didn't speak yet, however, since the driver did so. He took an envelope out of the pocket of his worn vest and held it out to the young miner. "There you are, lad. The letter addressed to the head of the house, with compensation." He winked; the compensation, of course, was the money they were due for taking on this young French woman. "Have a good night." He touched his hat before climbing back onto his carriage, 'hyah'ing and turning the carriage around to return to the nearest town, leaving Genevieve at her new home, quite alone with the young man before her.
From politeness's sake alone Beau refrained from tearing into the letter while in the presence of the woman -- Ms. Leclaire, if he remembered correctly. Names were easily forgotten to Beau, especially ones as foreign sounding as the girl's, but he'd make an honest effort at least. By the time the carriage was halfway down the road, Beau had knelt to take hold of his guest's luggage, before giving her a quick nod and a tight-lipped smile.
"Hell-H-Hello." he managed, squaring his shoulders despite the obvious flub in his speech. It was strange for most people to see Beau's unyielding, confident eye contact in the midst of such presumed anxiety -- but really, he was hardly nervous, or even shy at all. The stutter would come out regardless, whether he was completely serene or on the verge of utter peril -- not that that knowledge kept the unwanted assumptions at bay.
"I'm B-..uh, Beau," he spoke slowly, perhaps even insultingly to the guest, but he wasn't sure how much English she knew -- he damn sure didn't know a lick of French, "c'mon, ya m-must be hun-hungry."
"Hell-H-Hello." he managed, squaring his shoulders despite the obvious flub in his speech. It was strange for most people to see Beau's unyielding, confident eye contact in the midst of such presumed anxiety -- but really, he was hardly nervous, or even shy at all. The stutter would come out regardless, whether he was completely serene or on the verge of utter peril -- not that that knowledge kept the unwanted assumptions at bay.
"I'm B-..uh, Beau," he spoke slowly, perhaps even insultingly to the guest, but he wasn't sure how much English she knew -- he damn sure didn't know a lick of French, "c'mon, ya m-must be hun-hungry."
Genevieve frowned worriedly. The man... He had a speech impediment? His stance didn't portray nervousness or mental handicap... Nonetheless, it would make it very difficult to understand his English, especially with her limited knowledge of the English language already. However she tried her best to understand him, even with the extra syllables. The young woman cleared her throat.
"Hello, Mr, Beau," she said with a gentle nod of her head. Her voice was smooth, with a soft French accent, not too thick. "Yes, let us go indoors." She had very proper grammar—obviously she was taught the King's English. But unfortunately, her vocabulary was lacking, so she would have to adapt to all the words the native-speakers would use.
She turned and began walking towards the house...if one could even call it that. It appeared rickety and rather wretched... It was no Versailles, but it would have to do for now. The young woman appeared to be more suited to a palace than a cabin, with her dark hair tucked away neatly under her bonnet, her long, clean dress sweeping over the ground as she stepped lightly. She held an air of grace, perhaps best shone by the calm look in her eye, despite all the worries that were flooding her mind behind those dark blue eyes.
"Hello, Mr, Beau," she said with a gentle nod of her head. Her voice was smooth, with a soft French accent, not too thick. "Yes, let us go indoors." She had very proper grammar—obviously she was taught the King's English. But unfortunately, her vocabulary was lacking, so she would have to adapt to all the words the native-speakers would use.
She turned and began walking towards the house...if one could even call it that. It appeared rickety and rather wretched... It was no Versailles, but it would have to do for now. The young woman appeared to be more suited to a palace than a cabin, with her dark hair tucked away neatly under her bonnet, her long, clean dress sweeping over the ground as she stepped lightly. She held an air of grace, perhaps best shone by the calm look in her eye, despite all the worries that were flooding her mind behind those dark blue eyes.
A more genuine smile graced Beau's lips at the sound of the guest's accent -- her English was choppy but it sounded like she knew enough to hold conversation. "Alright, then." he said with another quick nod, stuffing the letter in his pocket for safe keeping and grabbing all of Leclaire's bags in one go.
Without holding out a hand for the French visitor to grab onto or even offering her a hand, the blonde began to walk towards the cabin, not thinking twice about the change of decorum for the petite young woman. "My s-s-sister's fixin' to make s-supper if she ever get off'er beh-behind." he grumbled, more to himself than the lady behind him. Opening the wooden door by his tattered boots, all eyes were instantly on the two of them -- the house was filled with women, the oldest being the grey-haired grandmother sitting cozily in her rocking chair.
Without holding out a hand for the French visitor to grab onto or even offering her a hand, the blonde began to walk towards the cabin, not thinking twice about the change of decorum for the petite young woman. "My s-s-sister's fixin' to make s-supper if she ever get off'er beh-behind." he grumbled, more to himself than the lady behind him. Opening the wooden door by his tattered boots, all eyes were instantly on the two of them -- the house was filled with women, the oldest being the grey-haired grandmother sitting cozily in her rocking chair.
Genevieve shot him a side-glance. Oh dear... She would definitely have a difficult time these first few days. She was used to Englishmen... Apparently Americans spoke with a much, much different accent and with different slang... But she nodded, despite not knowing a few of the words he said.
She followed Beau, taking note of his strength, what with him carrying her trunk and her two bags. Perhaps American brutes were at least a bit useful. As they entered the cabin, Geneviéve stopped. That was quite a few people living in such a small house. She looked at them all, before giving a little dip of her head to them all. "Good evening."
She followed Beau, taking note of his strength, what with him carrying her trunk and her two bags. Perhaps American brutes were at least a bit useful. As they entered the cabin, Geneviéve stopped. That was quite a few people living in such a small house. She looked at them all, before giving a little dip of her head to them all. "Good evening."
None of the girls spoke up at first, too busy eying Leclair's extravagant manner of dress to even attempt to greet her. It was only after Beau cleared his throat, making sure to subtly nod towards their guest while staring at his sisters disapprovingly did the girls remember their manners.
"Pleasure to have ya." one of the four girls spoke up, her mousy brown hair braided behind her back, though few strands fell over her face. Her exact copy stood beside her near the fireplace, the likes of which gave both twins an almost eerie glow. They were identical in every way aside from their clothing -- with the one who'd spoken up dressed in a worn white dress, the other a dark green one, with tattered edges on the hem. It was a stark contrast to Leclair's, and though the girls were taught against such vile things such as jealousy or envy, it was hard to stifle the emotion with such beauty before them.
"I'm Piper." she said cautiously, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the porcelain doll before them. "I'm 'Cilia." the other twin chimed in, taking on the same starstruck tone. Cecilia and Piper, only fifteen but working hours and hours in the town's cotton mill. It was a small price to pay to keep food on the table, and the girls never complained -- none of them did, really.
"I'm Lyric." the middle child said from her perch at the too-small kitchen table, her curly blonde hair a disheveled mess atop her head. An attempt to place the curls into two ponytails had been made, but with the twelve year old's tomboyish antics and her penchant for rough-housing they'd long since come undone, held together only by the poof of her locs and the small strings around. A white gown was all she wore, the soles of her bare feet tinted black from running around God knows where without care.
"An-And that's Ag-A-Agnus." Beau cut in, ushering towards the youngest sister, hiding meekly behind her grandmother's rocking chair. She had vibrant ginger hair, and blue eyes filled with wonderment at the strange lady before her.
"Judith Eaves." the grandmother said with pride once her family had made their rounds. The old woman slowly got to her feet, and shuffled over tiredly to the girl near the door, "It's an honor to have y'all here Misses Leclaire."
"Pleasure to have ya." one of the four girls spoke up, her mousy brown hair braided behind her back, though few strands fell over her face. Her exact copy stood beside her near the fireplace, the likes of which gave both twins an almost eerie glow. They were identical in every way aside from their clothing -- with the one who'd spoken up dressed in a worn white dress, the other a dark green one, with tattered edges on the hem. It was a stark contrast to Leclair's, and though the girls were taught against such vile things such as jealousy or envy, it was hard to stifle the emotion with such beauty before them.
"I'm Piper." she said cautiously, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the porcelain doll before them. "I'm 'Cilia." the other twin chimed in, taking on the same starstruck tone. Cecilia and Piper, only fifteen but working hours and hours in the town's cotton mill. It was a small price to pay to keep food on the table, and the girls never complained -- none of them did, really.
"I'm Lyric." the middle child said from her perch at the too-small kitchen table, her curly blonde hair a disheveled mess atop her head. An attempt to place the curls into two ponytails had been made, but with the twelve year old's tomboyish antics and her penchant for rough-housing they'd long since come undone, held together only by the poof of her locs and the small strings around. A white gown was all she wore, the soles of her bare feet tinted black from running around God knows where without care.
"An-And that's Ag-A-Agnus." Beau cut in, ushering towards the youngest sister, hiding meekly behind her grandmother's rocking chair. She had vibrant ginger hair, and blue eyes filled with wonderment at the strange lady before her.
"Judith Eaves." the grandmother said with pride once her family had made their rounds. The old woman slowly got to her feet, and shuffled over tiredly to the girl near the door, "It's an honor to have y'all here Misses Leclaire."
Geneviéve suddenly felt very out of place, even more than before. She had been raised around silver platters and tight corsets and silk gowns... What she was about to live with was anything but what she was used to. However she kept up her pleasant, small smile, nodding to each female as they spoke up. When the oldest woman spoke, she nodded once more.
"Thank you for having me," she said gently, before looking at the other girls. Oh, how would she remember all of their names? Piper and Cecilia were the twins, Lyric was the blonde, and Agnus was the youngest. Surely she would remember Judith and Beau, but there were so many young women in the home, at least compared to back home. She cleared her throat and set her eyes on Judith. "My room?" she requested hesitantly, folding her hands in front of her thick skirt.
"Thank you for having me," she said gently, before looking at the other girls. Oh, how would she remember all of their names? Piper and Cecilia were the twins, Lyric was the blonde, and Agnus was the youngest. Surely she would remember Judith and Beau, but there were so many young women in the home, at least compared to back home. She cleared her throat and set her eyes on Judith. "My room?" she requested hesitantly, folding her hands in front of her thick skirt.
"I'll show ya!" Lyric piped from the corner of the kitchen, jumping down from the wooden chair and paddling across in a flash to the dapper woman. "I wanna show her." she whispered through grit teeth and barely moving lips, looking up at her brother stubbornly. Beau only shrugged, walking behind the two still carrying Leclaire's bags with ease.
Running past the stove and back into the adjacent hall, a wide room filled with tightly-wound steel springs housing mattresses and sheets were in place. It seemed the girls all shared a room, and much to Leclaire's supposed dismay, she was no exception.
"Here's where we sleep." Lyric said matter-of-factly, running in and bouncing on her own bed, knowing from experience to stay far away from Piper and Cecilia's, lest she get yelled at. "You can take a spot by the wind'er, but it gets kinda nippy'et night."
Beau placed Leclair's bags inside wordlessly, but his silence was only an illusion -- always analyzing, he stole a glance to gauge how the lady was taking all of this information. What was normal to them was apparently surreal to her, if her clothes and flashy arrival was any indication. But despite all of that, she carried herself as impeccably unfazed; it was as baffling as it was respectable.
Running past the stove and back into the adjacent hall, a wide room filled with tightly-wound steel springs housing mattresses and sheets were in place. It seemed the girls all shared a room, and much to Leclaire's supposed dismay, she was no exception.
"Here's where we sleep." Lyric said matter-of-factly, running in and bouncing on her own bed, knowing from experience to stay far away from Piper and Cecilia's, lest she get yelled at. "You can take a spot by the wind'er, but it gets kinda nippy'et night."
Beau placed Leclair's bags inside wordlessly, but his silence was only an illusion -- always analyzing, he stole a glance to gauge how the lady was taking all of this information. What was normal to them was apparently surreal to her, if her clothes and flashy arrival was any indication. But despite all of that, she carried herself as impeccably unfazed; it was as baffling as it was respectable.
Geneviéve gazed around at the large bedroom, taking a few steps inside. A subtle swipe of her gloved fingers against one of the beds, a quiet glance around... It was what she needed to nod her approval. Of course, she had been hoping for at least her own room—she had dared to dream of her own washroom—but she daren't let her kind caretakers realize her disappointment.
However, it was quite unnerving that she could barely understand a word the child said, so with that same gentle smile, the French woman took a breath. "Mm, thank you, little sweet." She hoped her carefully crafted countenance had not faltered, had not broken. She was truly grateful to be out of harm's way, but she only wished that she would be with at least a middle-class family, a smaller family perhaps, or at least in a house with proper bedrooms!
However, it was quite unnerving that she could barely understand a word the child said, so with that same gentle smile, the French woman took a breath. "Mm, thank you, little sweet." She hoped her carefully crafted countenance had not faltered, had not broken. She was truly grateful to be out of harm's way, but she only wished that she would be with at least a middle-class family, a smaller family perhaps, or at least in a house with proper bedrooms!
An impish chuckle left Lyric's mouth at the odd sounding nickname, the likes of which showed off the girl's two gap teeth. She liked this new girl -- whomever she was -- her voice sounded like what Lyric would imagine honey would sound like...if the nectar could be heard, that is.
The girl was beckoned back into the kitchen by her grandmother, probably to work the stew on the fire while the twins prepared the rest of the pork. Without so much as a parting word her feet his the wood once more, dashing away to leave Beau and Genevieve alone in the quarters.
The girl was beckoned back into the kitchen by her grandmother, probably to work the stew on the fire while the twins prepared the rest of the pork. Without so much as a parting word her feet his the wood once more, dashing away to leave Beau and Genevieve alone in the quarters.
Geneviéve quietly walked to the bed by the window (which she imagined Lyric had meant by "wind'er") and took off her bonnet, setting it gently down on the mattress. Her ebony hair was pinned back in a neat bun, only slightly jostled from the day's travels. Once she had removed her gloves and coat, she glanced back over her shoulder. That man, Beau, was still there.
Was she supposed to say something? Had she missed something that was common in American culture but unbeknownst to her? Honestly the huge man made her slightly uncomfortable, despite her knowing that he was being paid to protect her. Hopefully he would remember that and not try to break her.
Was she supposed to say something? Had she missed something that was common in American culture but unbeknownst to her? Honestly the huge man made her slightly uncomfortable, despite her knowing that he was being paid to protect her. Hopefully he would remember that and not try to break her.
Never one for small-talk, Beau stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dusty pants, hoping to think of a good enough reason to put some distance between he and the French girl. It wasn't that he disliked her -- on the contrary; but what wasn't as apparent to his younger sisters was obvious to the blonde, especially with working in labor and being looked down upon by those with money. She wasn't comfortable, and would probably never truly be comfortable here. The last thing he wanted to do was add to her unsettled feelings by looming around her, mutely.
He could've made up an excuse to go check on something, or to pardon himself for water, but that would involve fixing his mouth to speak and Beau figured he'd done enough of that for one night. Walking back into the kitchen, he hoped his absence wouldn't be seen as too rude -- and that the girl could find her way back without help.
He could've made up an excuse to go check on something, or to pardon himself for water, but that would involve fixing his mouth to speak and Beau figured he'd done enough of that for one night. Walking back into the kitchen, he hoped his absence wouldn't be seen as too rude -- and that the girl could find her way back without help.
Geneviéve sighed a small sigh of relief once Beau had left. Of course she would only be a minute adjusting her hair in the handmirror from her bag, putting it in pristine condition once more. She rubbed her hands on her arms and glanced out the window across the fields of nothingness. Another sigh. She was already missing her bright vineyard, the colorful garden, and the exquisite ballroom of her home. Her grip tightened on her thin arms as her thoughts of France turned to her parents, but she quickly shoved them aside. No tears. Not here. She couldn't leave herself alone, because that's when she started to wish for home.
So in a decided turn, the French girl walked out of the room and back to the kitchen, lifting up her skirts slightly so they wouldn't drag so horribly on the floor. It would be strange, she decided, living with so many people. But she would have to learn to deal with it, at least for the time being.
So in a decided turn, the French girl walked out of the room and back to the kitchen, lifting up her skirts slightly so they wouldn't drag so horribly on the floor. It would be strange, she decided, living with so many people. But she would have to learn to deal with it, at least for the time being.
It wasn't long before dinner was ready, much to the Eaves' satisfaction. Just as Genevieve stepped back out amongst the family, stew and pieces of prok were already being served into individual dishes placed around the table.
"Oh, sit wherever ya please, dear." the grandmother said kindly, sitting down nearest the front door while Piper served the meal. Beau helped himself to a seat, as did the rest of the siblings, and all waited for Leclair to grace them with a seat of her own. Stomachs growled quietly from around the table, with all wanting to dig in as fast as possible -- and after grace was said of course.
"Oh, sit wherever ya please, dear." the grandmother said kindly, sitting down nearest the front door while Piper served the meal. Beau helped himself to a seat, as did the rest of the siblings, and all waited for Leclair to grace them with a seat of her own. Stomachs growled quietly from around the table, with all wanting to dig in as fast as possible -- and after grace was said of course.
Geneviéve blinked. How quickly everything had been set up! She offered a kind smile and took the open seat near one of the twins, smoothing down her dress and glancing around the table. So many faces for a family dinner! Usually she was only with her two parents, perhaps just one or two guests. It would be a nice change, perhaps, from her old mostly-solitary life in France.
"Pork'n stew for supper tonight." Cecilia hummed next to Leclair, wanting the newest temporary member of their family to feel as comfortable as possible. Once prayers were said the lot dug in, with social graces left at the door. Lyric had both feet propped up on her chair, and was perched on top of it like a frog, bowl and spoon in hand. The others weren't as blatantly ravenous, but they made sure not to leave a scrap behind -- good pork was hard to come by, of course, but tonight was a special occasion.
"Som Luhclair?" Cecilia asked, her accent distorting Genevieve's name somewhat, "What's back home like?"
"Som Luhclair?" Cecilia asked, her accent distorting Genevieve's name somewhat, "What's back home like?"
Geneviéve was surprised, to say the least, at the way they all ate. She just remained quiet and ate her stew with a certain delicacy. She didn't show any disgust towards the others, but rather was just a bit put-off. She was glad for Cecilia's question after a bit. Home?
"In France?" she classified, before setting down her spoon and setting her hands in her lap. "Beautiful." She smiled a bit, wishing she knew enough words to properly describe her home. "Home is a... a large house, with a garden, and grape field, for wine." A vineyard, of course, but she didn't know the word. "We have horses, and they eat on the fields behind the garden. Everything is has color—green, red, purple, yellow. Rain there is beautiful, also."
"In France?" she classified, before setting down her spoon and setting her hands in her lap. "Beautiful." She smiled a bit, wishing she knew enough words to properly describe her home. "Home is a... a large house, with a garden, and grape field, for wine." A vineyard, of course, but she didn't know the word. "We have horses, and they eat on the fields behind the garden. Everything is has color—green, red, purple, yellow. Rain there is beautiful, also."
For a moment all rapid chewing stilled as Genevieve went onto describe the details of her life back home. Though scarce in words the picture she created in the minds of the siblings, and Judith as well, was one of magnificent beauty.
"It must look like somethin' out'a a paintin', huh?" Piper sighed dreamily, turning her large green eyes onto Leclair, expecting the woman to hear past the accent. "That sounds -- real nice."
Silently, Beau tore a piece from his pork to scoop onto Agnus' plate, much to the girl's delight. She returned the gesture with a full-on smile, the likes of of which nearly stretched up to the eight year old's ears. She needed all the food she could get, being a growing girl and all, and Beau could go without much longer than the child could.
"Now, now, let Miss Leclair eat'n peace." the grandmother spoke with a chuckle, but still managed to drive home her subtly commanding nature. She knew of why the girl was here, and would hate for her to have to relive such tragedies over nosy table talk. She'd divulge more about her life if and when she wanted to.
"It must look like somethin' out'a a paintin', huh?" Piper sighed dreamily, turning her large green eyes onto Leclair, expecting the woman to hear past the accent. "That sounds -- real nice."
Silently, Beau tore a piece from his pork to scoop onto Agnus' plate, much to the girl's delight. She returned the gesture with a full-on smile, the likes of of which nearly stretched up to the eight year old's ears. She needed all the food she could get, being a growing girl and all, and Beau could go without much longer than the child could.
"Now, now, let Miss Leclair eat'n peace." the grandmother spoke with a chuckle, but still managed to drive home her subtly commanding nature. She knew of why the girl was here, and would hate for her to have to relive such tragedies over nosy table talk. She'd divulge more about her life if and when she wanted to.
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