LJ Idol, Prompt 2: “What Really Matters”
Eliska looked forward to her visits with Granmama. Her house was small, neat and cozy, and always smelled enticingly of cinnamon-sugar cookies and her favorite honeyed lemon tea.
She shouldered open the heavy wooden door and stepped quickly inside. It took a mere moment for Eliska to pivot around and shut it again, to prevent any more frigid winter air from whistling in behind her.
Granmama sat where she always did, in her overstuffed chair by the large fireplace. The chair was covered with a sturdy, utilitarian gray fabric, but brightly colored handmade afghans in shades of red and yellow were draped warmly over the back and one arm of the chair. Next to her grandmother sat a plate of freshly-baked cookies, still warm from the oven, and the scent lured her gaze away from her grandmother’s kind, wrinkled face and beatific gap-toothed smile.
The cookies were impossible to resist.
“Good evening, Granmama,” Eliska said politely. She removed her coat and planted a kiss on her grandmother’s powdery-soft cheek, then grabbed a cookie from the plate.
Granmama took up her knitting. “How has your week been, little one? Have you been doing well with your lessons?”
Eliska settled onto the ottoman at her grandmother’s feet and rested her forearm on the ample lap. Years ago she used to cuddle up on her grandmother’s lap, but sadly she wasn’t quite so little any more.
“Of course, Granmama. The headmistress is very pleased with my progress. She says I’m a natural baker,” Eliska reported, taking a large bite of the delicious cookie.
One day soon, she was confident Granmama would share all of her mouthwatering recipes with her.
Outside, the wind whistled through the tree branches, and a loud crack and thud sounded from the nearby edge of the roof.
“Tstch,” Granmama said. “Will you check on that, dear?”
Eliska stood and hastily put her coat back on. She glanced out the frosted window pane for the culprit. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Granmama just hummed and continued her knitting.
Braving the cold once again, Eliska strode around the side of the cottage, her booted feet crunching through the glaze of ice. A small boy, almost blue from the cold, was hunched behind a bare bush, nibbling on a piece of the gingerbread eaves.
Eliska smiled at him and held out her hand. “Come inside, little one. You’ll catch your death out here.”
The boy blinked a few times, then stood. He was barely more than skin and bones under his thin jacket, and could use some fattening up. Granmama would see to that.
She gripped his hand tightly as they went back inside. The little boy made a beeline for the plate of cookies.
Granmama’s steely gray eyes met hers, and Eliska could tell from the change in the resonance of her hum that she was pleased indeed.
In the end, that’s what truly mattered.
She shouldered open the heavy wooden door and stepped quickly inside. It took a mere moment for Eliska to pivot around and shut it again, to prevent any more frigid winter air from whistling in behind her.
Granmama sat where she always did, in her overstuffed chair by the large fireplace. The chair was covered with a sturdy, utilitarian gray fabric, but brightly colored handmade afghans in shades of red and yellow were draped warmly over the back and one arm of the chair. Next to her grandmother sat a plate of freshly-baked cookies, still warm from the oven, and the scent lured her gaze away from her grandmother’s kind, wrinkled face and beatific gap-toothed smile.
The cookies were impossible to resist.
“Good evening, Granmama,” Eliska said politely. She removed her coat and planted a kiss on her grandmother’s powdery-soft cheek, then grabbed a cookie from the plate.
Granmama took up her knitting. “How has your week been, little one? Have you been doing well with your lessons?”
Eliska settled onto the ottoman at her grandmother’s feet and rested her forearm on the ample lap. Years ago she used to cuddle up on her grandmother’s lap, but sadly she wasn’t quite so little any more.
“Of course, Granmama. The headmistress is very pleased with my progress. She says I’m a natural baker,” Eliska reported, taking a large bite of the delicious cookie.
One day soon, she was confident Granmama would share all of her mouthwatering recipes with her.
Outside, the wind whistled through the tree branches, and a loud crack and thud sounded from the nearby edge of the roof.
“Tstch,” Granmama said. “Will you check on that, dear?”
Eliska stood and hastily put her coat back on. She glanced out the frosted window pane for the culprit. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Granmama just hummed and continued her knitting.
Braving the cold once again, Eliska strode around the side of the cottage, her booted feet crunching through the glaze of ice. A small boy, almost blue from the cold, was hunched behind a bare bush, nibbling on a piece of the gingerbread eaves.
Eliska smiled at him and held out her hand. “Come inside, little one. You’ll catch your death out here.”
The boy blinked a few times, then stood. He was barely more than skin and bones under his thin jacket, and could use some fattening up. Granmama would see to that.
She gripped his hand tightly as they went back inside. The little boy made a beeline for the plate of cookies.
Granmama’s steely gray eyes met hers, and Eliska could tell from the change in the resonance of her hum that she was pleased indeed.
In the end, that’s what truly mattered.