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CHAPTER 6

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Arlana cradled Jaira in her arms at the back of the church, her youngest sibling resting her head on Arlana's shoulder. Mark didn't have a shy bone in his body or a sense of time, apparently, as he mingled with the men. Sheila, not nearly as outgoing as her husband hung back, smiling at those who acknowledged her while her second eldest child, Adelaide, scuffed her shoe impatiently on the threadbare carpet at the entryway.

"Go ahead and wait outside," Sheila whispered.

They didn't have to be asked twice.

Refreshing night air embraced the sisters, the mellow radiance of the House of God silhouetting them against the approaching twilight. The first stars of the evening winked in the broad expanse above their heads.

Arlana sighed. Stars were much harder to see in the city lights - lights which suffocate the grandeur of nature, God's creation. She wasn't mindful of how many moments had passed before Mark appeared, a deep chuckle disrupting the tranquillity. Rising from the rickety bench, Arlana followed her father to the old, bronze-hued car, securing a seat belt around her sleeping sister. Adelaide slid onto the cracked leather seat, sitting on her opposite side.

Mark rolled down the window, "Sounds good, I'll just follow you."

Their car tires groaned, crunching gravel as they leisurely exited the parking lot, the last car to leave.

***

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THE PEARL-GREY CAR in front of them turned right, then left, then straight ahead. Within a short time Arlana was lost, thankful she wasn't the one driving. Having no sense of direction wasn't something to boast of.

The sky blackened in the next few minutes, great drops of rain splattering the hood of the vehicle. City lights shimmered in the rainy reflection, a recollection she would never forget. In fact, throughout the years that followed, her penchant for rain falling on cars at night would be a comfort she couldn't quite place until she was much older. Then she remembered. The memory was associated with love, tenderness, and this very event. It finally made perfect sense...

The Gallen family pulled into a sloping driveway behind the Buick. The driveway was adjacent to an average bungalow, white with deep blue-gray shutters.

Mark was the first to emerge, or more accurately, he nearly vaulted out of the car. Sheila smoothed her well-worn skirt and the girls?

Adelaide was at her father's side, as usual, clasping his calloused hand with both of hers while Arlana tenderly woke up Jaira. The youngster barely opened her eyes. Arlana pressed the seat belt button forcibly, wriggling the silver square that kept her sister safe. Scooping up her "baby," she accompanied Mark and Adelaide, Sheila bringing up the rear.

"Come in," Michael's melodious voice was thickly accented, "Don't worry about your shoes."

Disregarding their host's instructions, Mark growled, "Take your shoes off."

The children didn't have to be told twice as they slipped out of their worn-out shoes, standing in silence against the wall in the entry.

Awkward.

Out-of-place.

Arlana traced the bumpy plastic carpet runner with her stocking-covered foot, memorizing the irritating tingle of that texture on the soft underside of her foot.

The hand-me-down nylons her mother had given her after many years of wearing them now had runs and holes. They had been "good enough" concealed in her shoes, but now they were out in the open and Arlana was mortified to be the herald of her family's poverty.

She tried to scrunch the thin fabric between her toes with the opposite foot, but her toenails only made the hole bigger.

Michael didn't notice. "Have a seat," he motioned to the flower-patterned Chesterfield couch.

***

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THE GALLEN SIBLINGS didn't need to be told how to behave. They sat like sardines, not stirring a muscle, a parent on either side. Arlana perched on the edge near Sheila who took advantage of that moment to jab her scrawny elbow into her daughter's ribs.

"Ask..."

For an instant, Arlana felt significant as she set Jaira down on the couch, stepping forward to assist in the kitchen.

"You too," Sheila pushed Adelaide.

Of course, she would have to share the moment...

Jaira wasn't one to be left out, "I wanna help too."

"Only big girls can," Arlana cajoled.

"I'm a big girl!" Jaira sputtered defiantly.

At three years of age, she knew better than to talk out loud when her father was speaking, but there was no way she was going to sit back and be left out.

"Big girls don't fall asleep in church!"

Jaira countered Arlana's logic with her trademark pout, but it was too late. Her sisters couldn't see behind their backs.

"May I help you?" Arlana murmured from the threshold of the kitchen, observing their hostess drape a hand-embroidered dish towel on the oven door.

Katrina pivoted, beaming at the young girl before drying her hands on a white apron stitched with cherries.

Arlana grinned. The snow-haired woman was far from threatening, her plump figure most huggable.

"Thank you for the offer, Dear, but dinner is ready. You can help me by bringing this platter of dinner rolls to the table."

Arlana carried the tray with care, hoping to make Katrina proud of her. The table lay in the adjacent room in full view of the guests. Jaira licked her lips, ignoring Arlana's warning nudge and whisper, "Don't be so obvious!" before they returned to the couch where they squeezed side by side until summoned for supper.

***

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HONEY GLAZED HAM WAS heaped high on a serving plate along with dishes of cranberry sauce, truffle, fresh fruit, homemade dinner rolls, and two types of pie - cherry and apple. The sister's eyes bulged unbecomingly - this was the most food they'd seen at once!

Michael bowed his head and breathed a humble prayer of blessing upon the food and the family who had entered their church for the first time.

Arlana regarded herself blessed already - more than fortunate as she eyed the apple pie beneath long lashes. Adelaide glanced her way and grinned, wiggling her eyebrows up and down at her sister who'd caught her red-handed.

Ladylike, Arlana suppressed a giggle with her hand, peering over at their hostess, her double chin wriggling as she mouthed a faint benediction of her own as her husband prayed. No wonder she was large! Katrina was an astonishing cook and if you sampled everything you baked, well, her being the largest person in the room was understandable.

"Help yourselves," Katrina beamed, flushed from the heat of the stove.

Mark didn't have to be asked twice, burrowing the serving fork into the mound of ham. Four slices plopped onto his plate, yet their hosts never blinked.

Michael started to speak of something, but Arlana wasn't listening as her father eventually began to pass the food around the table. She glowered at each of her siblings hoping they would read her silent warning to make sure they left her some. No one was paying attention. Thanksgiving had come early! Sauces, jellies, truffle, rolls, preserves - oh my!

Arlana ate as though this were her last supper.

"We don't want leftovers - please, eat more!" Katrina urged.

Mark's eyes lit up. He polished off the platter of ham and the rest of the cherry pie. Gorged, he, at last, rose from the table, shoving his chair back.

"This was good, very good," he stated the obvious.

Arlana excused herself, retreating to the washroom. One can only cram so much food into their stomach before feeling ill.

The restroom was a representation of the homeowners if that made sense. It smelled of fragrant perfume and...baby powder? A moss green, fuzzy cover was on top of the toilet, a corresponding mat tickling her toes. Everything harmonized, but that made sense. After all, the ivy creeping up the white wallpaper was the same shade of green. It was comfortable for a washroom and above all everything harmonized, unlike her family home where everything was helter-skelter and looked more like a yard sale.

"Well, it's getting late," Mark bellowed from below, his voice so loud Arlana nearly dropped the miniature bar of soap she was sniffing. There was no escaping the Gallen scourge, try as she might.

Arlana slipped downstairs hoping no one would notice she had spent far too long in the restroom. How humiliating if Katrina should realize she had spent the entire time whiffing her soap collection.

Mark and Sheila were radiant as they escorted their brood out the door. It was only when they were nearly home that Arlana understood the reason - her parents had never been invited to dinner by anyone from any church ever before. Tonight had been monumental.

Arlana grinned too...and then sniffed her wrist. A whiff of lilacs lingered on her skin, the remnants of a bar of soap she had rubbed on her wrist earlier in lieu of perfume. Katrina's soap collection was positively marvellous.