Good Bye
The sun rose silently over the frozen ground. I gazed out the window, my old brown leather journal in my lap and a piece of charcoal from the kitchen fire in my hand eagerly sketching the quickly rising sun. I put the charcoal down on the stone window sill and took my prized possession out of my apron pocket, the red oil pastel my mama had gotten in an art set so many years ago. I had swiped it the night before papa died of the sickness. It was the most brilliant shade of red, scarlet, like the lips of a royal princess. Now the art set was gone and all that remained of it was that oil pastel, I only used small amounts of it in my drawings, careful not to waste the precious material. I drew a thin, but vivid, red line across the horizon of my drawing when I heard the door open behind me.
"Ferme la fenêtre, Celeste" my mama stood behind me, dressed, her black shall already draped around her shoulders. I stood up and pulled the dark purple curtains back over the glass of the window for the last time. Pulling on my own shall over my flowing white top I stuffed the bright red pastel into my pocket. I turned to look one more time at the room I had grown up in before picking up my bag.
Mama had told me about the job she had gotten about three months ago. We were moving to Germany. A wealthy family in a small farming town had need for our help. We had been moving from job to job around our little town in France, but now these kind people offered us a job in which we could spend our lives in peace. Mama had spoken with one of their other maids, she said they were very kind people; their only problem was their older son. The maid spoke of the son as if he was the devil himself. For this I was in no way excited to leave my home for a long two week trek to the boarder, and another three weeks till the little town. But it was what mama had wanted, and she needed me there with her. She did not speak any German, I did. If I did not go with her, then the job would not be her's. I had been teaching her for the past few months, basic fraises, "yes miss, no miss, yes mister, no mister" things like that. I was her translator, her key to a healthy job and life outside of France.
I stood and looked at my father's grave, cleared the foliage that had started to grow on the stone. I took the old dead dry flowers away from their place at the head of the grave and replaced them with fresh roses. I felt the tears welling in my eyes again as I kissed my father's grave and turned back to my mama who was standing by the coach. The horse that was tethered to the front of the coach tossed its black mane and neighed wanting to get out of the cold. I stepped into the coach and took one last look at the town; my town, my childhood, as the coach lurched forward propelling me towards my new life in Germany, serving the Rilow's.