Untitled Pt 1
Title:
Author: verite_knight
Part : 1 / x
Date Started: 11/01/08
Date Ended: 11/04/08
Words in Chapter: 2597
--Spell Checked Only--
[Title]
Chapter 1
The blonde haired, blue eyed female stared at the piece of paper that sealed her fate. Her thin fingers ran over the seal of the United States and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Her left hand released its grasp from the paper and moved to her hair and moved a few strands out of her vision. Her sky blue eyes stared at the seal before running her right hand over the words:
This is issued to Ilse Gottschalk on this date of March 16, 1924. Ilse Gottschalk immigrated from Germany to the United States of America at the age of 4. The immigrant was born on March 16, 1920.
Ilse put the piece of paper on the table before her eyes flicked towards the now open front door. Both of her parents walked into the house, not before taking off their shoes at the front door and then moving through the living room and into the kitchen.
“How was the market?” Ilse asked her parents, before moving into the kitchen and handing her parents the nonperishable items.
“The market was fine. I keep hearing talking around the town that banks are closing down.” Her mother responded before taking another can from her daughter’s hands. As the last can was put aside, Ilse’s father disappeared out of the room leaving mother and daughter alone.
“He is taking this rather hard, isn’t he? With the banks closing and everything.” Ilse muttered. She heard her mother sigh and then walk over towards the table. As her mother walked over to the table and picked up the document, the warm chocolate coloured eyes looked at her daughter and shook her head. As Julia started to walk out of the room, with Ilse’s piece of paper in hand, Ilse turned looked at her mother’s retreating back and blinked in surprise knowing that she would never get an answer.
As Ilse stepped out of the kitchen and out of the house to the porch and found her father sitting on a bench outside. As she moved to sit down next to him, she felt herself being moved and found his hand on her head, moving it to be on his chest. As she looked up at her father with her sky blue eyes, she found herself locked in the gaze of the the dark almond colour eyes.
“How are you?” His deep rich voice asked her.
“I am good, but worried. Why would the banks closing affect you?” His reaction was a simple smile and he ruffled her blonde bangs that swiped across her face.
“The banks closing affects us for when we go and buy food from the general store, the owner feels like he cannot accept our tabs. Since the banks are closing, he feels like we might be taking advantage of the tab system that we use here in Lexington.” Her father answered. As she sat up, she heard him moving about behind her, and eventually made his way into the house.
The thirteen year old stepped off of the porch and turned around to stare at the house. The house was large enough for the three of them, but it would suit at least another two children. As Ilse was the only child, she had to wondered about her own last name and how it was not related to her parents. She looked nothing like her parents, and at times, she had a different sounding voice in which she was teased about at school.
Ilse’s eyes widened as she realized today was Monday, not Sunday like she thought. As she dashed through the town she ran underneath scaffolds where construction workers were painting a building. As she ran she heard someone yell to her,
“You are not suppose to walk or run under a ladder, do you not know that? It is bad luck. You will be cursed for seven years.”
Ilse stopped to look around and she spotted the person who yelled that. As she walked up to the twenty-something man, her sky blue eyes hardened, as she just said, in a rather thick German accent, “I will not get seven years of bad luck. That thing about walking underneath a ladder is a fable.”
The man shook his head, smirked at him, and then replied to her, “You should be in school, girl. While you are on your way to school, you need to go back to where you came from.” Ilse gasped and turned on her heel and started to walk towards the school. As she walked away, she tried to wipe the tears away from eyes.
Ilse rounded another corner and saw the school come into view for her. When she turned the corner, she spotted a newspaper stand and caught the headlines: Foreigners coming into the United States . . . Should they be allowed?
Ilse walked over to the newspaper stand and tossed the newspaper boy a quarter before picking one up and kept on walking to school. Realising she was already late for school, she sighed as she could already hear her parent’s voices in her head and their disappointed tones knowing she was late again. As the blonde haired girl opened the big door, it was a break time for the students.
Ilse moved into her chair and quietly pulled out the newspaper she had tucked under her arm as she walked to school. The girl appeared to be engrossed in her reading as her teacher came behind her and placed a hand on the girl’s chair.
“Ilse, you are late again.” The teacher’s voice supplied. Ilse did not make any attempts to acknowledge her teacher instead she just heard snickers from the forty some odd classmates in the room. Ilse raised her head as her instructor moved to squatting in front of the girl whose blue eyes were staring into the green emerald coloured eyes.
“I will be on time tomorrow, I promise.” The girl answered in a timid voice.
“Ilse, each time you are late, you are missing important things that you need to be here for. Please see me at our next break after this subject.” The teacher raised herself and made her way back up to the front of the class. As she shuffled some papers, her attention was not on the children, but instead on the next lesson that they needed to learn. With the teacher’s attention distracted, Ilse’s classmates took the time to poke fun at the blonde haired girl.
“ . . . You know, I heard she was running around town again. . . “
“. . . I heard from my parents that she is not even born in the United States. . . “
“. . . . She needs to go back to where ever she came from; she does not even seem to want to be here in school. . . Besides, my parents said that her parents were struggling to pay for food.”
Ilse turned a page on the news paper, and finally found the article which she was interested in. She tried to tune out the voices of her classmates, but it seemed that the whispers kept getting louder around her.
“. . What is she doing thinking she can read that paper? She can barely write good English, and I think she is having Ashley help tutor her in reading.” The boy who sat two seats behind Ilse said. Ilse felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she tried to concentrate on the paper and the article. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and pulled out the few pieces of paper she had which pertained to the pervious days lesson on English writing and reading.
As she focused her concentration on the teacher she tried to block out the whispers from her classmates. It did not matter that she had a tutor for English. She understood the concepts, but she just was not the best student in the class. As her attention was pulled away from her teacher to the window, she let her mind wander for a minute before she heard her name being called by the teacher.
“Ilse!” Ilse’s eyes went back to the board, and her attention pulled back into the lecture.
“Yes?” She replied. She hoped that her teacher would not scold her too badly for what she had done.
“What are the noun and the verb in this sentence?” The teacher pointed to the board and her eyes focused on the board and in her head she read the sentence to herself. Before she answered, she re-read the board again, and nodded to herself. She knew this answer. This was her chance to show her classmates that she was not as stupid as they all thought she was.
“The noun in the sentence is ‘Amanda’ and the verb in the sentence is ‘was’.” She replied. As she answered the question, she heard snickers from many of her classmates and she stared at the paper, and completely missed the sympathic look on her teacher’s face.
“Joseph, can you identify the verb in this sentence?” Joseph’s hazel eyes looked at the board.
“The verb in that sentence is ‘helping’.” He supplied before he went back to staring at Ilse’s long blonde hair that fell at the middle of her back. The teacher smiled and returned back to her lesson. Ilse’s hand feverishly wrote down the notes, circling the word ‘helping’ and marking it as a verb in the sentence of ‘Amanda was helping her parents put away the groceries’. As she stared at the board, she raised her hand and waited on being called on.
“Ilse.” The teacher looked up from her notes to answer the question.
“Why is ‘helping’ the verb but ‘was’ is not considered a verb?” Everyone in the class looked at the blonde haired girl and snickered. The teacher took a breath of air before she answered the question.
“The word of ‘was’ is a verb, yes, but it is considered a helping verb. A helping verb just helps the verb give the readers more understanding of what is going on.” The teacher supplied for her. As the teacher looked out the window for a minute she saw the sun was high in the sky, and she dismissed the children out to lunch.
As Ilse stood up from her desk, she grabbed her lunch, stuffed the newspaper under her arm and headed outside. As she was two steps from the door, she heard her teacher call her name. Ilse turned on her heel and walked towards her teacher’s desk.
“Yes ma’am?” Ilse asked curiously.
“I need to speak to your parents about your lateness and your progress in some subjects.” She answered before handing Ilse a piece of paper. “Please give that to your parents and please ask them to meet me at that time on Wednesday, is that okay?” The teacher smiled at the young girl.
As Ilse put the paper on her desk, she walked outside and plopped herself down underneath a tree, opened up the paper and happily ate her lunch while attempting to read the article that had captivated her attention earlier in the day.
--
Joseph found himself staring at the young girl underneath the tree whose seemed to be lost in the article that she was reading. As he wandered towards her, he remembered what his parents kept telling him about her and her ‘family’.
Joseph stood next to his brother’s bedside, holding his brother’s hand as the boy’s body was wracked with another series of shaking and feverish symptoms of the sickness. As their parents walked into the room, with a glass of lukewarm water and a glass of ice cubes, their mother handed Joseph the glass of ice cubes and the glass of lukewarm water went into Robert. Joseph’s brother’s, hands.
As Robert pulled the glass of water close to his mouth, and eventually taking a sip of water, Joseph’s eyes looked at his parents. Robert put the glass of water on the nightstand next to him, and directed his attention towards his parents, and found all four of them looking at each other.
“What is it, dad?” Robert asked, his voice cracking while his throat was parched.
“You should not be talking, Robert.” His mother scolded her eldest son. She moved to his bedside and started to stroke his hair back. She swept his long brown hair out of his eyes, exposing a rather pale forehead.
“We lost another worker, late last night. Alan said that they saw Jack packing the truck up with the hay and the assorted items that they would need to go to Lexington so the grain could get processed and then get shipped out. It was Jack’s turn this week, and when we had to call to Lexington, they said that they did not receive any shipments from us this week. In fact, it has been near two weeks that we have not received anything.” Their father’s hardened eyes looked at his wife and eldest two sons before dropping his voice and saying, “It is going to be rough for us.”
Their father turned around and walked out of the room. As he stepped outside of the threshold into the hallway, he heard his youngest daughter release a blood curling scream of his name from her throat. As the younger daughter leaped into his arms, Robert picked up the glass of water that laid by his bedside and took another sip.
“What does he mean by ‘it is going to be rough for us’ Mother?” He asked his mother.
“You do not need to concern yourself with that, Robert. You need to concentrate on getting better.” His mother said before turning and walking out the room leaving her two oldest boys in the same room.
Joseph looked at his brother and caught the frown on the boy’s face. The older brother turned to his younger brother and said, “Will you find out from father and tell me?”
“Of course” the answer was known between the two of them. Even if Robert knew what was going on, there was no way he would be able to help his parents out.
“Will - Will - Will you help father out when he does not say anything of needing help?” Robert asked his younger brother.
“Of course.” Joseph’s curt responses were short and lacked emotion. His hazel eyes however revealed everything that Robert needed to know. It was showing that Joseph knew what his father was talking about, and he was not telling his older bedridden brother.
“What are you not telling me?” Robert’s eyes hardened as he gripped the sheets, making his knuckles turn white from the pressure that he was placing on them. His lips were pressed together forming a line, and the sweat beads matted his forehead from the amount of extrusion. The boy’s flushed cheeks stood out in stark contrast to his pale face.
Joseph looked at his brother and lowered his eyes to stare at the floor. “I know nothing, Robert.” He answered his brother before turning and walking out the room. His brother glared at the door before his body gave out. He was visibly shaking from the simple movement that he had done. As his younger brother disappeared out of the room, his mother re-appeared at the doorway and walked in. Joseph walked into the room next door and heard his mother’s gentle voice trying to calm his brother down.
.
To View the rest of the Chapters
Author: verite_knight
Part : 1 / x
Date Started: 11/01/08
Date Ended: 11/04/08
Words in Chapter: 2597
--Spell Checked Only--
[Title]
Chapter 1
The blonde haired, blue eyed female stared at the piece of paper that sealed her fate. Her thin fingers ran over the seal of the United States and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Her left hand released its grasp from the paper and moved to her hair and moved a few strands out of her vision. Her sky blue eyes stared at the seal before running her right hand over the words:
This is issued to Ilse Gottschalk on this date of March 16, 1924. Ilse Gottschalk immigrated from Germany to the United States of America at the age of 4. The immigrant was born on March 16, 1920.
Ilse put the piece of paper on the table before her eyes flicked towards the now open front door. Both of her parents walked into the house, not before taking off their shoes at the front door and then moving through the living room and into the kitchen.
“How was the market?” Ilse asked her parents, before moving into the kitchen and handing her parents the nonperishable items.
“The market was fine. I keep hearing talking around the town that banks are closing down.” Her mother responded before taking another can from her daughter’s hands. As the last can was put aside, Ilse’s father disappeared out of the room leaving mother and daughter alone.
“He is taking this rather hard, isn’t he? With the banks closing and everything.” Ilse muttered. She heard her mother sigh and then walk over towards the table. As her mother walked over to the table and picked up the document, the warm chocolate coloured eyes looked at her daughter and shook her head. As Julia started to walk out of the room, with Ilse’s piece of paper in hand, Ilse turned looked at her mother’s retreating back and blinked in surprise knowing that she would never get an answer.
As Ilse stepped out of the kitchen and out of the house to the porch and found her father sitting on a bench outside. As she moved to sit down next to him, she felt herself being moved and found his hand on her head, moving it to be on his chest. As she looked up at her father with her sky blue eyes, she found herself locked in the gaze of the the dark almond colour eyes.
“How are you?” His deep rich voice asked her.
“I am good, but worried. Why would the banks closing affect you?” His reaction was a simple smile and he ruffled her blonde bangs that swiped across her face.
“The banks closing affects us for when we go and buy food from the general store, the owner feels like he cannot accept our tabs. Since the banks are closing, he feels like we might be taking advantage of the tab system that we use here in Lexington.” Her father answered. As she sat up, she heard him moving about behind her, and eventually made his way into the house.
The thirteen year old stepped off of the porch and turned around to stare at the house. The house was large enough for the three of them, but it would suit at least another two children. As Ilse was the only child, she had to wondered about her own last name and how it was not related to her parents. She looked nothing like her parents, and at times, she had a different sounding voice in which she was teased about at school.
Ilse’s eyes widened as she realized today was Monday, not Sunday like she thought. As she dashed through the town she ran underneath scaffolds where construction workers were painting a building. As she ran she heard someone yell to her,
“You are not suppose to walk or run under a ladder, do you not know that? It is bad luck. You will be cursed for seven years.”
Ilse stopped to look around and she spotted the person who yelled that. As she walked up to the twenty-something man, her sky blue eyes hardened, as she just said, in a rather thick German accent, “I will not get seven years of bad luck. That thing about walking underneath a ladder is a fable.”
The man shook his head, smirked at him, and then replied to her, “You should be in school, girl. While you are on your way to school, you need to go back to where you came from.” Ilse gasped and turned on her heel and started to walk towards the school. As she walked away, she tried to wipe the tears away from eyes.
Ilse rounded another corner and saw the school come into view for her. When she turned the corner, she spotted a newspaper stand and caught the headlines: Foreigners coming into the United States . . . Should they be allowed?
Ilse walked over to the newspaper stand and tossed the newspaper boy a quarter before picking one up and kept on walking to school. Realising she was already late for school, she sighed as she could already hear her parent’s voices in her head and their disappointed tones knowing she was late again. As the blonde haired girl opened the big door, it was a break time for the students.
Ilse moved into her chair and quietly pulled out the newspaper she had tucked under her arm as she walked to school. The girl appeared to be engrossed in her reading as her teacher came behind her and placed a hand on the girl’s chair.
“Ilse, you are late again.” The teacher’s voice supplied. Ilse did not make any attempts to acknowledge her teacher instead she just heard snickers from the forty some odd classmates in the room. Ilse raised her head as her instructor moved to squatting in front of the girl whose blue eyes were staring into the green emerald coloured eyes.
“I will be on time tomorrow, I promise.” The girl answered in a timid voice.
“Ilse, each time you are late, you are missing important things that you need to be here for. Please see me at our next break after this subject.” The teacher raised herself and made her way back up to the front of the class. As she shuffled some papers, her attention was not on the children, but instead on the next lesson that they needed to learn. With the teacher’s attention distracted, Ilse’s classmates took the time to poke fun at the blonde haired girl.
“ . . . You know, I heard she was running around town again. . . “
“. . . I heard from my parents that she is not even born in the United States. . . “
“. . . . She needs to go back to where ever she came from; she does not even seem to want to be here in school. . . Besides, my parents said that her parents were struggling to pay for food.”
Ilse turned a page on the news paper, and finally found the article which she was interested in. She tried to tune out the voices of her classmates, but it seemed that the whispers kept getting louder around her.
“. . What is she doing thinking she can read that paper? She can barely write good English, and I think she is having Ashley help tutor her in reading.” The boy who sat two seats behind Ilse said. Ilse felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she tried to concentrate on the paper and the article. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand and pulled out the few pieces of paper she had which pertained to the pervious days lesson on English writing and reading.
As she focused her concentration on the teacher she tried to block out the whispers from her classmates. It did not matter that she had a tutor for English. She understood the concepts, but she just was not the best student in the class. As her attention was pulled away from her teacher to the window, she let her mind wander for a minute before she heard her name being called by the teacher.
“Ilse!” Ilse’s eyes went back to the board, and her attention pulled back into the lecture.
“Yes?” She replied. She hoped that her teacher would not scold her too badly for what she had done.
“What are the noun and the verb in this sentence?” The teacher pointed to the board and her eyes focused on the board and in her head she read the sentence to herself. Before she answered, she re-read the board again, and nodded to herself. She knew this answer. This was her chance to show her classmates that she was not as stupid as they all thought she was.
“The noun in the sentence is ‘Amanda’ and the verb in the sentence is ‘was’.” She replied. As she answered the question, she heard snickers from many of her classmates and she stared at the paper, and completely missed the sympathic look on her teacher’s face.
“Joseph, can you identify the verb in this sentence?” Joseph’s hazel eyes looked at the board.
“The verb in that sentence is ‘helping’.” He supplied before he went back to staring at Ilse’s long blonde hair that fell at the middle of her back. The teacher smiled and returned back to her lesson. Ilse’s hand feverishly wrote down the notes, circling the word ‘helping’ and marking it as a verb in the sentence of ‘Amanda was helping her parents put away the groceries’. As she stared at the board, she raised her hand and waited on being called on.
“Ilse.” The teacher looked up from her notes to answer the question.
“Why is ‘helping’ the verb but ‘was’ is not considered a verb?” Everyone in the class looked at the blonde haired girl and snickered. The teacher took a breath of air before she answered the question.
“The word of ‘was’ is a verb, yes, but it is considered a helping verb. A helping verb just helps the verb give the readers more understanding of what is going on.” The teacher supplied for her. As the teacher looked out the window for a minute she saw the sun was high in the sky, and she dismissed the children out to lunch.
As Ilse stood up from her desk, she grabbed her lunch, stuffed the newspaper under her arm and headed outside. As she was two steps from the door, she heard her teacher call her name. Ilse turned on her heel and walked towards her teacher’s desk.
“Yes ma’am?” Ilse asked curiously.
“I need to speak to your parents about your lateness and your progress in some subjects.” She answered before handing Ilse a piece of paper. “Please give that to your parents and please ask them to meet me at that time on Wednesday, is that okay?” The teacher smiled at the young girl.
As Ilse put the paper on her desk, she walked outside and plopped herself down underneath a tree, opened up the paper and happily ate her lunch while attempting to read the article that had captivated her attention earlier in the day.
--
Joseph found himself staring at the young girl underneath the tree whose seemed to be lost in the article that she was reading. As he wandered towards her, he remembered what his parents kept telling him about her and her ‘family’.
Joseph stood next to his brother’s bedside, holding his brother’s hand as the boy’s body was wracked with another series of shaking and feverish symptoms of the sickness. As their parents walked into the room, with a glass of lukewarm water and a glass of ice cubes, their mother handed Joseph the glass of ice cubes and the glass of lukewarm water went into Robert. Joseph’s brother’s, hands.
As Robert pulled the glass of water close to his mouth, and eventually taking a sip of water, Joseph’s eyes looked at his parents. Robert put the glass of water on the nightstand next to him, and directed his attention towards his parents, and found all four of them looking at each other.
“What is it, dad?” Robert asked, his voice cracking while his throat was parched.
“You should not be talking, Robert.” His mother scolded her eldest son. She moved to his bedside and started to stroke his hair back. She swept his long brown hair out of his eyes, exposing a rather pale forehead.
“We lost another worker, late last night. Alan said that they saw Jack packing the truck up with the hay and the assorted items that they would need to go to Lexington so the grain could get processed and then get shipped out. It was Jack’s turn this week, and when we had to call to Lexington, they said that they did not receive any shipments from us this week. In fact, it has been near two weeks that we have not received anything.” Their father’s hardened eyes looked at his wife and eldest two sons before dropping his voice and saying, “It is going to be rough for us.”
Their father turned around and walked out of the room. As he stepped outside of the threshold into the hallway, he heard his youngest daughter release a blood curling scream of his name from her throat. As the younger daughter leaped into his arms, Robert picked up the glass of water that laid by his bedside and took another sip.
“What does he mean by ‘it is going to be rough for us’ Mother?” He asked his mother.
“You do not need to concern yourself with that, Robert. You need to concentrate on getting better.” His mother said before turning and walking out the room leaving her two oldest boys in the same room.
Joseph looked at his brother and caught the frown on the boy’s face. The older brother turned to his younger brother and said, “Will you find out from father and tell me?”
“Of course” the answer was known between the two of them. Even if Robert knew what was going on, there was no way he would be able to help his parents out.
“Will - Will - Will you help father out when he does not say anything of needing help?” Robert asked his younger brother.
“Of course.” Joseph’s curt responses were short and lacked emotion. His hazel eyes however revealed everything that Robert needed to know. It was showing that Joseph knew what his father was talking about, and he was not telling his older bedridden brother.
“What are you not telling me?” Robert’s eyes hardened as he gripped the sheets, making his knuckles turn white from the pressure that he was placing on them. His lips were pressed together forming a line, and the sweat beads matted his forehead from the amount of extrusion. The boy’s flushed cheeks stood out in stark contrast to his pale face.
Joseph looked at his brother and lowered his eyes to stare at the floor. “I know nothing, Robert.” He answered his brother before turning and walking out the room. His brother glared at the door before his body gave out. He was visibly shaking from the simple movement that he had done. As his younger brother disappeared out of the room, his mother re-appeared at the doorway and walked in. Joseph walked into the room next door and heard his mother’s gentle voice trying to calm his brother down.
.
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