Title: A Hero's Sin

Author: Buttons

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Drama/General

Chapter 2: Cold Sundays

Peter was Mr. Hunter's son. He was sixteen year old, one year younger than me and one year older than Alana. Pidge and I were in the twelfth grade. The year before I had wanted to drop out, but Mama made me stay.

"Maybe your father would have stayed around if he had some responsibility and a sense of commitment. And school is a commitment."

We rarely talked about my father, so when we did I knew it was serious. I didn't argue.

0o0o0o0o0

The Hunters' flat was large. It had impressive gilded mirrors and rich colours and textures everywhere. Mr. Hunter owned a leather tanning company. He proudly flaunted it about that his workers were paid ten cents above minimum wage per month.

Peter's room was a comfortable size. It was what I suppose a boy's room should look like. He had a plain bed on one wall and an oak desk on another. He had a tall wardrobe and an expensive record player resting on a table, records strewn about the floor. Very plain. Very Peter.

He had blonde-brown curls. Mr. Hunter was always bothering him to cut it, but Peter said that he was on the verge of a new trend and refused to do so.

Peter was lying on his bed, listening to a vicious trumpet solo.

Alana was beaming, beginning a spirited waltz about the room.

"You all come to crash my rub°?" asked Peter with a grin.

We ignored him.

"Nichole!" shrieked Alana, "dance with me!"

I sighed and dropped my coat to the floor.

"Why of course Miss Higgins." I feigned a bow. Alana giggled and I took her hand. We danced; Peter did a jig in the background and Pidge turned up the volume. Outside a baby was crying.

0o0o0o0o0

It was late when the three of us emerged from Peter's room. It was dark out and Mrs. Ashleigh Hunter, Peter's mother and Mr. Hunter's wife, had left the oil lamps burning low.

"Bless her," breathed Pidge, tiptoeing to the door. She and Alana were afraid of the dark. I did my heavy coat up to my chin.

Outside the air was still but alive with harsh city sounds and soft jazz music. Out shoes clicked on the ground as we hurried home.

"So," said Alana, her breath growing in front of her. "I'm bugging my Papa to take me to Sheepshead with him! I think he's considering it." Her face was full of hope.

Click, click. Click, click.

"You can't go to Sheepshead!" protested Pidge. "All those foul men. You're only fifteen!"

She was always the mothering one.

Alana scowled.

Click, click. Click, click.

I shoved my hands into my pockets. Pidge's fishnets and suede heels flashed as she walked. She must have been cold.

"I'm not only fifteen," Alana was saying. She pulled a loose curl from her face. "I'm sixteen early in the New Year!"

Pidge didn't argue and, as always, neither did I.

We rushed past shop fronts, lit by soft candlelight. There was only a week until Christmas. One week.

Click, click. Click, click.

Strands of tinsel hung lifeless from doorways. The pub on the corner was dead because of prohibition, but the smell of beer and sweat still hung in the crisp air.

I stopped in front of my door.

"See you in the morning," I said, pulling open a heavy door.

Alana and Pidge gave a wave and continued down the street. I climbed the stairs to our apartment and opened the door with the key I had tucked into my sock. The lights were all off. Only the pale blue moonlight shone through the window. I knelt by my bedside and crossed myself.

Bless Mama, the Hunters, the Higgins', the McBrides, Uncle David and Aunt Emily, Mr. Conlon and Miss Banning, the Meyers', and…

I paused in mid-prayer. My eyes flicked out to the solitary moon.

…and please bless Papa.

I dressed in the dark and crawled into bed.

0o0o0o0o0

In the morning Mama woke me for early mass. I pleaded not to go, but she said:

"Nichole, it is obvious that humanity will not save us, so maybe God will."

I carelessly changed into my Sunday clothes and pulled my hair up.

Mama made oatmeal on the stovetop and by nine o'clock we were out the door. Mass hadn't begun yet when we entered the church. We took out seats. Mama clutched her purse in her hands. Her knuckles were turning white and china-like. Uncle David arrived and sat down on the end of the pew. He kissed Mama on the cheek and gave me a hug. Aunt Emily slid in next to me. She smelt like rose water and her dark, wavy hair was held up with a delicate-looking jade clip.

The church was filling and the bells rung powerfully. Mama glanced around, her soft lashes jerking back and forth with each movement. She drew her breath in shortly and leaned over me.

"Can you believe her?" she asked in a hushed voice. "The nerve of her; showing up like this."

Aunt Emily looked around. She made a clicking sound and shook her head at Mama. "Sarah, this is God's house."

I kept my head tilted towards my lap, but I snuck a look out of the corner of my eye.

Eva Grace worked her way down the aisle. She was dressed in all of her dancing hall glory. Her auburn hair was piled on top of her head. Her dress was tight at the waist, her skirt floated above the ground. In her hand she clutched a shiny black bible. Her laced boots clicked steadily on the polished ground.

"Probably just like Medda," hissed Mama, glaring at Eva.

Aunt Emily didn't say anything.

Medda Larkson was the woman who lived over the infamous Irving Hall. She used to be a showgirl. Miss Medda Larkson: The Swedish Meadowlark; a 'role model', an independent woman. But all the young ladies from her reign had grown up into respectable women who found her activities offensive and crude. She retired from her 'duties' and granted all future responsibilities to her beautiful, but slightly hard-headed niece, Eva Grace.

When mass began Mama fell quiet, shooting glances towards Eva.

We sang a hymn, said an Our Father, a Hail Mary. We had communion and the collection plate was passed around. Eva pulled a whole nickel from her corset at let it land in the plate with a tinny clink.

Mama looked away. We didn't have that kind of money. Not even for God, who Mama had become a firm believer in during the last fifteen years.

0o0o0o0o0

One of Mama's good friends is Miss Avelina Banning. She lives across the hall from us with Mr. Conlon. Mama likes Miss Banning because she is soft spoken and old fashioned. She has a British accent and tends to blur her words together when she gets excited, but this is very rare. Miss Banning is very calm most of the time. She is very young, closer in age to me than Mr. Conlon or Mama. Her hair is a very dark brown, almost black colour and her eyes are green, glinting when she tells a story.

She and Mama sit at the kitchen table with cups of coffee, talking about how they're going to have to work hard to pay the rent this month or how cold it has gotten outside.

Miss Banning has a second-hand record player that she lets me use. She brought it with her from England, where she left her family. She says she misses them and that her smallest sister would be around my age by now.

When she comes over I lie on Mama's bed, on my back with my head upside down over the side. I play Miss Banning's records; Mozart, Bach and Beethoven. They are lively, sad and emotional. I close my eyes and imagine colours.

I hate the colour yellow. It reminds me of warmth and sand. And I always thought that New Mexico would be full of sand.

End Chapter

Vocabulary: °rub—a dance party

((Hi everyone! I hope you liked that! Tomorrow is my birthday! I will cry if you don't all review!)) ((Well…maybe...))

Shoutouts:

XBeLLaViTaX—Yeah, I like that they travel with the time too. I had to do a lot of research about the period to get the information! (the slang, styles, important info, etc.) Thanks so much for noticing. And yes. The pope is dead.

Erin Go Bragh—I made it a girl because I figured most of the other characters would be girls and that would be easier to write in.

Cyanne 76—Aw! I love you! It was so nice of you to say that you can relate to Sarah because of how you wrote her (not in those words, but that's what you meant, right?). And Jack has always been a bit of a…erm….shifty chap.

Lady of Tir Na Nog—I'm Roman-Catholic/Buddhist. My mom is Roman-Catholic and I've been confirmed and all that jazz, but my dad is Buddhist, so….iunno…I realized that I included a lot of religion in this chapter. It's kind of strange.

Ccat—Thanks! The ear and mouth thing sounded weird to me, but people seemed to like it, so I guess weird is good.

Nakaia Aidan-Sun—I wouldn't know about the work/guys thing. But juggling school, soccer and….more soccer (I now play on two teams! That means up to to practices per day!) is tough. I guess it's kind of the same thing.

C.M. Higgins—(panics) Oh my God! You live off of these! I'm so sorry! I hope you didn't die while I wasn't updating!

Charlie!Muse: Sarcasm is so lost on you.
Buttons: Shut up…uh…fatty!
Charlie!Muse: huh?

Cross—Yes ma'am (salutes)

Gypsyruth1899—Everyone is saying that and I totally agree! It is really rare that Jack is portrayed in an unflattering way. I was kind of afraid of being super-flamed by all the Jack-lovers out there.

Pidge—Huh?

Lida Rose—Thanks! I'm glad that it's believable!

NOTE: I am now going to watch The Amnityville Horror and I am so scared. Some birthday present everyone. I'm going to have nightmares forever! AND COOKIES TO ANYONE WHO CAN GUESS MY AGE SINCE IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

PS. Pidge, you don't count.