~I am coauthoring a new book with my husband Stephen McClelland. It is a wonderful story of living with Jesus in the midst of adverse circumstances. The setting is early America, when slavery was still lawful. This is a rough draft sneak peak. Enjoy! <3
John’s picturesque wife Nancy, stood still and then trembled as she fought back tears. The light from the lanterns glowed softly on her silky, long, summer-blonde hair. She lifted her small pale hands off her son Luke’s shoulders and took a careful step back. She then clutched her sculpted hands into the fabric of her white gossamer night-gown. Pools of the elegant fabric hung loosely on her arms and fell down in ripples over her slender body. It collected like heavy mist across the floor. She could feel her fingernails digging painfully through the stylish fabric as she circled them down to pinch her flesh. It took all she had to restrain herself from throwing her body down over her father-in-law’s corpse. She wanted to pour out her passionate sorrow and disregard how undignified her cry might be. But she feared any display of her sorrow might frighten her and John’s son. I must be strong for Luke. I must!
The more she looked at Solomon’s corpse, the more the anguish within her pierced her heart. She sniffled back a trail of snot that was threatening to trail down her nostrils. Lifting the back of her right hand, she pressed it to her pointed nose. Burning salty tears gathered behind her bright blue eyes. She gritted her teeth and crinkled her nose in an attempt to damn the emotional torrent within. Rebellious large tears soaked her long eyelashes and fell down her cheeks in streams. Her cheeks hued into a soft rose as her face became aflame with tension.
Within moments liquid began to drain freely from her eyes and nose. She kept rubbing at both, soaking her sleeves. Her spirally curls stuck to the salty fluid on her cheeks.
Luke could hear his mother weeping quietly behind him. He intuitively knew that she didn’t want him to see her, so he gazed ahead. His eyes were abnormally transfixed on his grandfather. He scanned the emaciated form and wondered why his grandfather had stopped breathing. He focused on his chest but didn’t see it softly rise and fall. No sound came from him. Luke had a terrible sick feeling down in his gut. He felt like his stomach was churning, like it had often done when he was a baby before he threw up.
Why isn’t grandpa moving? Why is mommy crying?!
A few minutes passed and he could feel his mother’s legs on his back. She bent down behind him and hugged a delicate arm around his chest. He could feel the wet tears on her cheeks as she pressed her hot face against his ear. She kissed him tenderly on his temple and whispered brokenly, “I’m so sorry sweetie. But grandpa won’t wake up this time.”
Why won’t he mommy? Luke wanted to ask, but only gulped painfully instead.
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