15. we reap what we sow

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"DEAR LORD, MAKE THIS DAY PASS WELL."

Clara sat on a wooden chair in the betting den, her head buried in a red bound book she'd stolen from beneath Tommy's bed. She'd woken up significantly earlier than usual, opting to wake with the sun as it poured into her room in unusual streams of pure white. Something about today felt off. Clara knew it. Her feelings were confirmed once Pol appeared in the betting den with her rosary beads, standing at the top of the table, praying.

"Dear Lord, make this day pass well. Let none get hurt, and make them that do, not Shelbys." Polly recited, Clara mouthed the words mockingly as her eyes remained on her page.

She was out of the sight of her aunt so she held no mercy in her mimicking. As a child, she'd been forced to repeat the prayer each morning at breakfast when her brothers were at war. The words were practically etched into her brain. In fact, over the years she grew to resent the prayer, resorting to creating her own. Don't get her wrong, she wished for her brothers' safety on the daily but something about this prayer bugged her relentlessly.

"Watch John, 'cause he has so many depending on him," Polly spoke.

Watch John because his fat head is too big, Clara mentally mocked, her eyes scanning over the words on the page. That was the only rebuttal that had stayed the same over the years.

"Watch Arthur, because he's as likely to hurt himself as anyone else." Polly continued.

Watch Arthur because he has uncontrollable anger issues. (That mock had been changed and adapted several times.)

"Watch Thomas. I know how he is. But he does what he does for us." Polly said as if trying to convince herself. "I think..."

Watch Thomas, because he's a dick with control issues. Clara smugly smiled to herself, her lips curling up into an amused expression. She'd thought of that one just then.

"Amen." Polly finished, blessing herself as Clara raised her brows. The girl curled up closer, her ears pricking as a pair of quiet footsteps walked across the creaky floor.

"I used to do that every morning during the war," Polly quietly said, turning to face Tommy who stood in the door of the kitchen, looking out at Pol, his hands in his pockets. "I'd hoped I'd done it for the last time.

"Today will be the last time, Pol." Tommy nonchalantly reassured, his eyes flickering over to his sister who had re-submerged her head in the book. "After today, there'll be no need for prayers. We'll be set. Family meeting, half-ten."

"Clara, that means you too." He added, watching the girl raise her brows. "Up...come with me." Clara huffed, shutting the book with a moderately loud slam. She pushed herself to her feet, her sock ladened toes quickly slipping across the wooden floor in order to catch up with her brother.

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