Title: Cinnamon Toast
Source: Description Challenge #1: Childhood Home
Word count: 477 words
This is a new challenge sponsored over at Writings By Ender. Here is my contribution.
All these years later, the memory is as fresh as if it had been this morning. It was winter, and the single-paned window was thick with frost. Rolling to my right side I wormed my arm from under the covers ensuring the precious warmth didn’t escape and the chill didn’t snake its way in. I exhaled. My breath floated cloudlike in the air.
I placed my hand flat against the pane, recoiling from the cold. The frost didn’t register the warmth of my handprint. Blowing on my hand warmed it, and I placed it back on the pane. I waited until my hand tingled and icy pinpricks stung me as the frost melted. I wiped my hand on the covers and then the windowpane so I could peer outside.
Dawn tinted the world’s dark edges with an orangish pink glow. I saw Papa pulling wood to replenish the hopper next to the stove. I snuggled deep, relishing the warmth and gathering my courage.
The back door slammed followed by thumping noises as Papa dropped frozen logs onto the pile.
“Is it morning?”
The layers of covers muffled Laura’s groggy voice, and I nudged her with my foot.
“Yes, Papa’s making coffee. Wake Bridget,” I said.
My two sisters and I slept in the same bed. The bedroom was a tiny space at the top of steep stairs. Tucked under the eaves of the cabin there was one window, the stove flue, and three clothes pegs.
I waited, listening to Papa’s morning chores as Laura and Bridget squabbled.
“I don’t wanna get up,” Bridget said pushing Laura.
“Girls. Rise and shine,” Papa yelled.
I threw back the covers, the chill morning air swept over my exposed sisters, and I sailed across the room. The clothes peg closest to the flue held my clothes, and the heat seeped into my clothes. I dressed and was ready for breakfast.
Bridgett cowered in the corner, clinging a corner of the cover Laura was trying to wrench from tight desperate baby fists.
I scooped Bridget from the bed, dumped her on the wood floor and snapped the cover from her hands. I stepped around Laura and smoothed the covers on the bed.
“Noooo,” Bridget sobbed.
I bent, lifted her and turned her tear-stained face towards me.
“Bridget, go stand by the flue where its warmer and get dressed. Hmmm,” I said, sniffing the air. “I smell cinnamon. You know what that means Bridg?”
Her nose twitched like a rabbit’s and a smile spread across her face.
“Yes. If you get dressed and hurry downstairs, it might still be warm.”
Bridgett scampered to her peg. Laura was half dressed as I left the room headed to the kitchen.
Today, the nurse placed a tray in front of me and I smiled at the mingled aromas of coffee and warm cinnamon toast.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer