“Cas?” Mrs. Stevens asked.

“Yes,” Cassandra replied.

Anne Stevens pulled her daughter closer. She reached up to her neckline and unfastened the gold chain. She held it out to her little girl. “You’re seven years old now, old enough to understand what this means to me. Here, I want you to have it. Cherish it always,” Anne said. She handed her the necklace and opened the gilded clasp that was laced with a small rose motif. Inside of the gold locket there was an auburn tendril of hair that had been tied together with a piece of twine; the hair belonged to Anne and Cassandra’s grandmother.

“My mother gave it to me when I was your age,” she explained.

Cassandra smiled brightly and hugged her mother tight.

The church atop the hill sat like a white dove overlooking the small town. Almost every inhabitant of Essex attended the funeral. Mrs. Martha Bryant, a best friend of Anne for years and a former neighbor of the Stevens, held Cassandra’s little brother, Samuel, in her lap during the service. At the age of four Samuel didn’t clearly understand all that was going on.

Cassandra sat between Mr. Bryant and their oldest son, Jon. Jon was three years older than Cas and had been a playmate of hers for her entire life. He held her hand through the funeral and made an effort to comfort her. The little girl sat on the front pew in a daze, her eyes red and swollen from the continuous tears.

Six pallbearers traipsed up to each casket and took position to lead the way to the adjourning cemetery. A train of solemn citizens filed outside to the burial.

That evening Cassandra and Samuel stayed with the Bryants. The loft of the small house was crowded with the five Bryant children and the two additions. Cassandra sat in the corner of the room with her legs tucked up to her chest. The only sounds that could be heard were from the gentle purring of the sleeping babies and from a limb of a tree that gently scraped across the roof. Through the dimly lit light of the oil lantern Jon and Cas spoke in hushed whispers. There had been rumors that the Stevens children would be sent to an orphanage in the morning. The too young adults pondered critically of what she should do.

“Where would you go?” Jon asked.

“I don’t know, but I have to leave tonight,” Anne muttered fearfully.

He watched her wandering eyes. “What about Samuel?”

“You know that I can’t take him with me. Besides, it’ll be easier for him to find a new home at the orphanage,” she replied.

Jon nodded in understanding. He helped her to stand up then went over to open the window. He heaved the heavy casement open and a cool wind gently ruffled the curtains.

Cassandra slowly went over to the side of the rusty old bed. She picked up the suitcase from the bedside table then bent down to kiss Samuel on the forehead. “I love you,” Cas whispered; she gave him one last glance before turning to Jon.

On the wooden front porch of the house an old brown retriever lazed out. When the window creaked open his ears perked. He listened carefully to the whispering voices above.

She slowly crawled out through the window to the grey-slatted roof. Jon handed her the suitcase. “Bye,” Cas nodded as tears began to form in the corners of her eyes.

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “Where will you go?”

She sniffed and replied, “New York.”

He slowly took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Until I see you again...” Tiptoeing quietly, she crossed the roof and descended the drainpipe. Two sets of eyes followed her shadow all of the way to the edge of the yard, until the darkness overtook her silhouette.

more to come...