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The quiet dining room of the Sun's Rise and Rest bed and breakfest stood
still in the quiet, New England morning. Mrs. Sturbridge swept the room
free of dust, just in case any visitors came. With no boarders, there
was no food on wait. Mrs. Sturbridge enjoyed the simple things in life:
the smell of the dew on the grass, the sunlight streaming in through the
windows, the sound of a passing horse, a smile on the familiar face.
These were the things that Mrs. Sturbridge cherished.
Hence her strong concern over the odd group that enterred the dining
room of the Sun Rise and Rest inn. Five adults walked in, all looking
very disheveled and tired. A tall man with a militaristic edge leads
them inside. A scar mars the skin above his right eye as he looks about
for the proprietor, most likely.
A gaunt man stands slightly behind him. Dusky, the Sturbridges gray on
white tiger cat, seems to watch him keenly for whatever reason. He helps
support another man with mousy auburn hair in a black business suit and
carrying a briefcase, when the latter seems to sway or stumble. The
woman to his right, a slight woman in a dirty green and blue dress,
looking almost like a porcelain doll, also moves to support the man in a
business suit when he seems to weaken. A rather disheveled man joins
them, almost stooped, though already short.
While scanning these faces, Mrs. Sturbridge almost misses the bright and
happy child with them. Raven black hair falls from her head onto her
shoulders. Looking like a gypsy princess, her smile alone shines through
out the entire room. It is she that sees Mrs. Sturbridge and runs up to
her.
"Madame! Madame! Pardone moi, but do you have anything to eat?"
Mrs. Sturbridge smiles warmly at the child. So she is French, or
possibly Canadian, thinks Mrs. Sturbridge.
She turns to the tall man, and looks at the group.
"Right this way, sir. I have a table for six."
They seat and make their orders. Mrs. Sturbridge watches them with
curiousity from the kitchen. Halfway through the french toast, the man
in the black suit says something to the woman. All conversation stops.
Watching interestingly, Mrs. Sturbridge sneaks to the door to listen.
"It is your destiny, Amelia," speaks the man in the black suit, his
voice carrying a heavy Irish accent. "It is your birthright. You may
choose your own actions, but you cannot choose your own destiny. When
you realize this, I will be there to teach you."
With that, the man in black turns, picks up his briefcase, and leaves,
barely making a noise. Mrs. Sturbridge watches their reactions to his
words. None of them seem too happy about this. The little girl says
something, and they laugh; except for the woman (presumably Amelia) and
the short man. They draw closer and the short man holds Amelia as she
seems on the verge of tears.
Mrs. Sturbridge smells smoke, and suddenly remembers the french toast.
She rushes back, but not in time. They are ruined, and Dusky has made
off with two strips of bacon. Glaring at the triumphant cat licking his
paws, Mrs. Sturbridge goes about finishing the order of the strange
group, noting that the man in the black suit had ordered nothing.
Shrugging, she puts down two strips of bacon back on the grill and
prepares another two pieces of french toast.
Outside, the steps of a man in the black suit led to a small rise,
overlooking the valley town below, and then vanish with the dew.
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