Bridget The Story of a trained Slave
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Bridget's DaysChapter 10 free porn video
I smiled, wondering what would have happened had I been able to follow up on my impulse of that long ago evening. Probably for the best that I didn't have the chance. Things were confusing enough without the memory of having slept with my great-great-great whatever father-in-law.
I closed the book, locked it and set it beside the chair. Oh, there were so many other stories I wanted to tell, so many tales of the "ancestors". I looked across the room again at the picture of Mike and the companion picture on the other end of the shelf. A young me in a simple white dress with flowers in my hair clutched an equally young Mike by his arm. He looked so handsome in his uniform. The day we were married. After all that had happened, I was able to experience an old saying I had only been able to dream of for centuries: "Happy the Bride the sun shines on".
Darn watery eyes. You'd think my doctor could do something about those allergies. I pushed up my glasses and dabbed the moisture away with a tissue. Tears come to everyone, I know. No matter how blessed I had been in my life, the trials that I had undergone never left my memory.
The two times I had been rushed to the hospital after Mike had failed to duck fast enough...
The heart stopping knock on the door by a uniformed Marine Officer when Sean was shot down and was missing in action in one of those nasty little police actions that had filled the century...
The frantic call when Mary had skidded off a rainy road and hung between life and death for weeks...
The false phone call that lured me to an deserted town in an attempted assassination by someone in revenge for my actions as a CIA Agent long before I became human again...
Every skinned knee, fever, heartache, black eye, broken date, every disappointment my children endured...
Oh, but those memories were so outnumbered by the others. They filled my mind. Happy pictures of my children in school recitals and plays and church cantatas and choirs. The steps up from every level from kindergarten to Law School. Academy graduations and Commissioning Ceremonies and Doctorial Vestings. Awards and presentations ranging from perfect attendance at Catholic Youth to Medals of valor and Service, Police and Military and Medical and so many more.
Even those were crowded out by the more important memories, the simple ones. Walking hand in hand with Mike along the seashore, dancing alone together in a gentle rain. The first kick from our Mary, and every kick from all the children. Picnics and family outings of every size and shape and form. Shopping with my daughters and the hilarity of seeing Mike's grumpy face mirrored exactly by my sons as they impatiently waited for us. Watching them all grow up and fall in love themselves and the arrival of my grandchildren and then my great-grandchildren.
Even those terrifying times had times of joy. Seeing Stephanie come out of the operating room with a smile on her face and the announcement that Mike had "dodged another one". The incredible vision phone call from the Middle East when the screen had lit up to reveal my youngest; hungry, dirty and bandaged but with the reassurance that he was alright. That last moment in that town when I had run out of choices and was bursting from hiding with no thought but to take someone with me and then standing in shock as the cavalry arrived. The nights of kneeling by Mary's hospital bed, praying desperately for my daughter's life and then feeling her fingers touch my hair and her whispered "Mamma?".
I reached down with my left hand and touched the other book where it snuggled in another side pocket. I thought of another old saying I had always loved. "Weeping may endure for a night but joy comes in the morning." My night had been very long indeed, but my days had more than made up for them.
I relaxed, folding my hands in my lap. I looked at Mike again. Not that I needed a picture to keep his face in my mind. I closed my eyes, holding him before me, as handsome and as strong and loving as he had always been.
Those French doors must have opened somehow. I could feel a gentle breeze on my face. Well, Lisa was going to have a fit, but I wasn't going to get up and close them. It just felt too nice. I could hear the distant roar of the ocean. "Silly old woman," I thought to myself, "The sea is a hundred miles from here." But the rhythm was soothing and I felt myself being lulled to sleep.
My eyes struggled to open, then gave up and stayed closed. Now this was a fine-how-do-you-do. I didn't recall having done the "wake up and not know where I was or what the heck happened" since the fight with Thorfinn. Maybe I was just overdue after 65 years.
It did feel nice, wherever I was. The sun was warm on my face, even through my eyelids. I had never tired of reveling in the sensation of feeling the sun. On Mike's and my honeymoon I had ended up with a case of sunburn that made me look like a lobster. Poor Mike had spent the whole trip home from Bermuda slathering me in Aloe and scolding me for not respecting the sun.
The breeze felt wonderful too. I could feel my hair blowing away from my face. The scent was of fresh green grass with just a tiny hint of salt air. Speaking of grass, I seemed to be sitting on a thick carpet of it. I ran my fingers through the blades. There was still a faint film of dew on them, it must be early morning.
Cathalina
- 03.11.2021
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