Free Daughter of the Winds by Jo Bunt

Seconds, as marked by the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, ticked loudly by. Before today, she had never noticed how slow seconds were when you stopped to count them. Pru raised the hot cup to her dry lips so that she had an excuse to break eye contact with the clerical man. His watery eyes were blinking too often and made her own start to twitch.
    “ I’m afraid I have some distressing news for you,” Reverend Joy continued with a well-practiced frown of concern etched between his overgrown brows. “Your father has passed away.” The ticking of the clock faded away. “I am very sorry for your loss.”
    Pru felt the world tilt on its axis and the force of cold air rushing into her ears. Her cup of tea left her fingers as if they were no longer made of anything substantial. She watched as the rosebud patterned cup twisted towards the floor and bounced off the carpet in front of her. Pru felt oddly removed from the scene as she watched amber beads of tea arcing through the air in impossibly slow motion. As the scalding liquid splattered on her bare toes, Pru abruptly came back to her senses.
    “ Oh God! I’m so sorry. Let me clean that up. Where can I get a cloth? I don’t know what happened then. One minute I was holding it and then...”
    Sturdy arms stopped her mid-bend as she stooped for the cup with arm outstretched.
    “Prudence. Leave it, pet. Are you okay?” Soft tones soothed in her ear and Pru turned with puzzlement to the woman she’d forgotten was there.
    “ It was the shock, that’s all, it doesn’t really burn at all now.” Pru’s voice faded out as the two women locked eyes and Pru saw the dumfounded look on the other woman’s round face.
    “ It’s nothing but a bit of spilt tea. Pay no mind. I’m talking about your dad, love. Why don’t you sit down?”
    “ Of course.” Pru knitted her brows together. She was still wondering how she should react to this news.
    “ I need to pack though. Again. I’ll need to go home for the funeral and what have you.” She looked quizzically at her trembling hands. When she looked up, Reverend Joy was pursing his lips into a thin, grim line.
    “ Your mother wishes me to inform you that the errr... The, erm, funeral was last week and that there is no need for you to make the trip, especially in your condition.”
    “ Right,” spat Pru, balling her hands into fists at her side and feeling her strength rush back through her veins. “ In my conditio n ? Did she really say that?”
    “ Well, it was implied in her missive, I think. I’m sure she was only thinking of your safety and that of your child.”
    “ Then you don’t know my mother, Reverend.” She suddenly felt nothing but hate for the woman who had given birth to her, though the fire soon dissipated and Pru sank to the chair in defeat.
    Silence expanded between them until Pru spoke, quieter this time. “Did the letter say how he died?”
    “ Yes,” Joy said, pleased to be able to impart some important information. “She did. I’m afraid he finally lost his battle with cancer.”
    Pru began to laugh mirthlessly and it was only the shocked look on the Reverend ’s face that stopped her.
    “ That doesn’t happen overnight, does it? Cancer? I mean, she knew didn’t she? And she didn’t tell me? Well, that just about says it all.”
    “ Well...” the reverend began, flustered and blinking rapidly.
    “ Right. If that’s all then, I think I’ll lie down for an hour or two. It’s been quite a day.”
     
    Pru didn’t actually remember getting to bed. The two large brandies she had swallowed without tasting had helped round the edges of her grief. She sat up in the bed stiffly and looked about her through puffy, half-closed eyes. It reminded her a bit of Eddie’s parents’ house, but even friendlier somehow. There was a scallop-edged crocheted mat under the figurine on the drawers. The figurine itself was of a woman in a bonnet holding a basket over one arm and in her other hand she