Sunday's Child
By Stephen Signor
It looked like a field painted by Van Gogh. Pastels as far as the eye could see. Ten year old Priscilla had just
emerged from picking flowers. Her golden hair glistening in the sun. If not for her height she would surely disappear
among the goldenrod that grew abundantly on her parents’ farm. Wearing a long pretty Sunday yellow dress she
emerged. A delicate white apron full of flowers would not keep her from running.
Her mother was noticeably upset to see she had used it for such things. She was also upset as it was time to go to
church. No time to change now. Fortunately church was not far away. Just up the road a piece it could be walked. It
was preferred, as this was a small community and vehicles were considered more of a nuisance than a necessity.
Emergency vehicles were an exception to the rule.
Several months ago the church had burned to the ground so services were being held in a small ballpark used
year round by the children and the nearby school. Complete with bleachers it took on the appearance of a coliseum.
How appropriate. So much drama had unfolded over the years and more was sure to follow.
As Priscilla sat in the second row her feet began to swing. A nervous reaction to religion altogether. She never
liked going but it was traditional and it pleased her mother. Besides, she always counted the number of times her
legs moved. It made the time pass. She was in the
middle of counting when something caught her eye as she was looking down. On the ground, just beneath her, was
a small purse. She managed a glance at her mother. Had she also seen what lay below?
But her head was turned, looking at the neighbors as they began to file into the stands. So distracted she was that
Priscilla’s movement to lower herself to retrieve it went unnoticed.
Her mother looked over just in time to miss it disappear under her leg.
Smiling she said, “My goodness Prissy, can’t you sit still for one minute?”
Prissy just smiled back, her silence hiding the many words that fought the impulse to even form on her lips. Soon
a small congregation would form and services would begin. Attendance was down for good reason and if not for
outsiders and their support there would be no services at all.
She was dying to see the contents of her new found prize. This was much better than those gifts she always
extracted from the goldenrod. Regardless, she wished she was back there now.
As services began she devised a plan in which she would secretly open the purse. It was so small, she thought. At
ten years old she was very bright for her age. She did the math. It couldn’t have been there for long. They always
sat in the same spot every week and with school
out the bleachers were not in use for anything else. Another consideration she pondered was the fact that it had
rained at least two of those days but the soft brown leathery feel told her it had somehow managed to escape the
elements.
Time was running out. Wisely she leaned forward and looked pass her mother as though she had spotted
someone or something perhaps in the distance. It worked as mom instinctively looked to see what could have her
daughters’ undivided attention. It was at that moment
Priscilla quickly removed the purse from under her leg and began to open the clasp. Inside something shinny was
looking back at her. As quickly as it was opened she closed it.
Although her mother was still looking the other way she knew a closer look couldn’t be chanced without rousing
suspicion.
It was time for drastic measures. She removed her apron as she often did during services and placed it next to her
leg. With careful precision and speed she removed the purse once again and hid it under the apron. Thankfully her
mother was devout. She was now captivated by the preacher’s delivery and was clueless of her daughter’s
movements; and her disappearance.
Prissy had no longer been able to contain her curiosity. Aware of her mothers’ focus and acting on her own
impatience she had removed the purse from the apron and opened it up completely. The golden disk within had
called to her. And now she was responding. She was unafraid. Smiling she reached in to take it in her grasp. It was
so bright. So warm to the touch. She never felt anything like it.
Priscilla continued to smile. Familiar voices called out to her as she became one with the golden glow. Like the
goldenrod it consumed her. She was being transported to a magical place. A grandeur place. She was now among
friends she had lost in the fire at the church that awful day; a day she would have avoided had not illness overtaken
her. The church had been close to capacity. No one survived. But that’s okay now. No more Mourning. I’m where I
belong, she thought. Never again to leave.
Her mother heard the sound of the empty purse as it fell to the ground below. Slowly she turned to where her
daughter had once sat. Only her apron remained. Looking down the purse lay open. She retrieved it and slowly
closing the clasp put it back in her pocket. A smile ran across her face.
By Stephen Signor
It looked like a field painted by Van Gogh. Pastels as far as the eye could see. Ten year old Priscilla had just
emerged from picking flowers. Her golden hair glistening in the sun. If not for her height she would surely disappear
among the goldenrod that grew abundantly on her parents’ farm. Wearing a long pretty Sunday yellow dress she
emerged. A delicate white apron full of flowers would not keep her from running.
Her mother was noticeably upset to see she had used it for such things. She was also upset as it was time to go to
church. No time to change now. Fortunately church was not far away. Just up the road a piece it could be walked. It
was preferred, as this was a small community and vehicles were considered more of a nuisance than a necessity.
Emergency vehicles were an exception to the rule.
Several months ago the church had burned to the ground so services were being held in a small ballpark used
year round by the children and the nearby school. Complete with bleachers it took on the appearance of a coliseum.
How appropriate. So much drama had unfolded over the years and more was sure to follow.
As Priscilla sat in the second row her feet began to swing. A nervous reaction to religion altogether. She never
liked going but it was traditional and it pleased her mother. Besides, she always counted the number of times her
legs moved. It made the time pass. She was in the
middle of counting when something caught her eye as she was looking down. On the ground, just beneath her, was
a small purse. She managed a glance at her mother. Had she also seen what lay below?
But her head was turned, looking at the neighbors as they began to file into the stands. So distracted she was that
Priscilla’s movement to lower herself to retrieve it went unnoticed.
Her mother looked over just in time to miss it disappear under her leg.
Smiling she said, “My goodness Prissy, can’t you sit still for one minute?”
Prissy just smiled back, her silence hiding the many words that fought the impulse to even form on her lips. Soon
a small congregation would form and services would begin. Attendance was down for good reason and if not for
outsiders and their support there would be no services at all.
She was dying to see the contents of her new found prize. This was much better than those gifts she always
extracted from the goldenrod. Regardless, she wished she was back there now.
As services began she devised a plan in which she would secretly open the purse. It was so small, she thought. At
ten years old she was very bright for her age. She did the math. It couldn’t have been there for long. They always
sat in the same spot every week and with school
out the bleachers were not in use for anything else. Another consideration she pondered was the fact that it had
rained at least two of those days but the soft brown leathery feel told her it had somehow managed to escape the
elements.
Time was running out. Wisely she leaned forward and looked pass her mother as though she had spotted
someone or something perhaps in the distance. It worked as mom instinctively looked to see what could have her
daughters’ undivided attention. It was at that moment
Priscilla quickly removed the purse from under her leg and began to open the clasp. Inside something shinny was
looking back at her. As quickly as it was opened she closed it.
Although her mother was still looking the other way she knew a closer look couldn’t be chanced without rousing
suspicion.
It was time for drastic measures. She removed her apron as she often did during services and placed it next to her
leg. With careful precision and speed she removed the purse once again and hid it under the apron. Thankfully her
mother was devout. She was now captivated by the preacher’s delivery and was clueless of her daughter’s
movements; and her disappearance.
Prissy had no longer been able to contain her curiosity. Aware of her mothers’ focus and acting on her own
impatience she had removed the purse from the apron and opened it up completely. The golden disk within had
called to her. And now she was responding. She was unafraid. Smiling she reached in to take it in her grasp. It was
so bright. So warm to the touch. She never felt anything like it.
Priscilla continued to smile. Familiar voices called out to her as she became one with the golden glow. Like the
goldenrod it consumed her. She was being transported to a magical place. A grandeur place. She was now among
friends she had lost in the fire at the church that awful day; a day she would have avoided had not illness overtaken
her. The church had been close to capacity. No one survived. But that’s okay now. No more Mourning. I’m where I
belong, she thought. Never again to leave.
Her mother heard the sound of the empty purse as it fell to the ground below. Slowly she turned to where her
daughter had once sat. Only her apron remained. Looking down the purse lay open. She retrieved it and slowly
closing the clasp put it back in her pocket. A smile ran across her face.
New Hampshire Writers Dark Tales
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