Buttercups

Buttercups.

“Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, Amen.”

The child waited for her grandmother to begin another decade of the rosary. It would be her turn next to begin the prayer to Mary. The Grandmother looked toward the sitting room window.

“We can finish this later,” Grandpa will be in for his tea soon. You can go and fill the wood box.”

The child watched as her grandmother peered from the window.

“What a wretched place this is,” said the grandmother, as she dropped the Venetian blinds. She drew the heavy chenille curtains across the window, bringing down the night with them.

“Why do you close the curtains while the sun is still up?” asked the child.

“Because it is time for tea,” replied the grandmother.

“Can’t we have tea with the sun? Is that only for breakfast and lunch, Nana?”

The Grandmother turned and gave one of her looks.

“Go outside and fill your wood box. I am not listening to backchat. I’ll tell you now, the minute you hit your teens, you’ll be off my hands. You are your mother’s daughter, that’s what I know.

“Did my mother have her dinner in the sun?” said the child.

“Oh God, have mercy on me,” “Your mother would not have known what to cook for dinner. She was a slut, and the way you’re going, I can see that you will be the same.”