Member-only story
The White Pebble
A small white pebble remained of her mother. She moved it between the waves of her fingers in her pocket when she stood idly or when nervous, and beneath the sheets while falling asleep at night. The others could not know about the pebble, or they would take it.
She did not even know if it had been a part of her mother’s things, or if it had fallen in during transportation and was an ordinary roadside pebble. Nevertheless, it was all she had, for even the cardboard boxes had been burned.
She made a friend one year, a serious girl, tall for her age, with long black hair that she combed every morning, midday, and evening so that it shone and rippled like water at night. Mildred was very popular for her beauty and cleverness, but she disdained everyone save Anna, to whom she held close like an ermine coat.
Parents were never discussed among the orphans, so it was a sign of deep friendship that Mil whispered to her in bed one night, “Do you remember your parents?”
Anna rolled sideways to look at her, heart palpitating at the bold, intimate question. “I remember my mother,” she whispered, staring into Mildred’s eyes.
The marble face with its green eyes and heart-shaped lips almost displayed an emotion. “Did she love you?”
