Today was a busy day. Margot was up before dawn to bury her dolls in the garden after all died gruesome deaths in a shipwreck off the coast of Africa. (Jobena was the sole survivor but wouldn’t live long, poor thing, as she had a whopping case of Scarlet Fever). She had just gotten to the best bit when the widows and orphans were wailing and throwing flowers, when Nanny discovered her and made her go-into-the-house-and-change-your-frock-for-heaven’s-sake-you-heathen-child. After a fidgety luncheon and a fidgetier hour listening to Father read the Bible (all “begats” and no “smite”), she spent the afternoon in a tree spying on the neighbor boy and dropping marbles into Mr. Fitzwilliam’s koi pond. She eventually came down for tea, and was now waiting until the coast was clear to hide her crumpets in the piano.
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Lavender Trimble, age 7. Father came running to the backyard when he heard a commotion made by mother. Photograph is of Lavender reclining in one of the many 'souvenirs' she acquired on the recent family trip on an ocean liner.
ReplyDeleteLavender was helping the driver unpack her chair along with a chandelier, several dolls she "won" from other passenger children, Lord Montmercy's prize golden retriever, and a pair of binoculars from the Captain's cabin. "This is the last time I allow the baggage to be shipped after us," sighed her mother in distress.
Lavender would continue to develop these skills of acquiring before finally being caught and sentenced when attempting to acquire a stuffed moose head from the Roosevelt hunting lodge during a Forth of July celebration.
She writes from the women's prison often.
"Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh," Vivian snickered. "Just wait til they find out. Wait til they all find out." Then grape juice shot out her nose.
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