Eek!
Britta's eyes opened as the familiar-sounding shriek woke her up. She sluggishly sat up in the bed she shared with her husband, pulling back the brown and beige quilt as her small feet met the floor. She stood up, and Jimmy, who had been awoken by his wife's movements, sat up and looked over to see his wife making her way to the door to open it.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Nothing," Britta replied, focusing on her husband and his ability to sleep—she raised her hand with her palm facing down, concentrating effortlessly to make her husband go back to sleep as she lowered her hand down slowly. He laid back in his side of the bed, put the covers back over himself, and shut his eyes, going back to sleep as she ventured out of the room. She used her best instincts as she heard a faint whining sound—it sounded like it was coming from the bathroom.
"Ew." Britta heard a whine again, approaching the bathroom door as she knocked; the door was closed, and she glanced out toward the hallway window to see that sunrise had only just begun.
"Barna," she whispered gingerly through the bathroom door. "What is going on in there?"
"Mamma?" It was definitely Elina's voice.
"Ja, it's me," Britta replied in their Swedish dialogue. "Tell me what's wrong."
"I'm bleeding," her daughter replied.
"Can I please come in?" her mother asked.
"Well, I'm not going to get any help with the door closed," Elina snapped.
"Don't speak to me like that," Britta answered, rolling her eyes. "I'm coming in there, ready or not."
Sighing, Elina watched as the door opened and her mother stepped in; she never felt so embarrassed in all her life, and it showed in her flushed red face. The front of her nightgown was spotted with blood, and Britta looked down to notice it was near her pelvic region. Taking a breath, she walked closer to her daughter, looking as her long, wavy platinum white-blond hair was loose and framed her angelic, unearthly face—she was just incredibly beautiful; she had become a woman that night.
"My God," Britta muttered, a slight smile sweeping across her lips.
"What is it?" Elina asked. "Is it…"
"Ja," she replied with a slow nod. "God gave you the gift of womanhood."
"I…I can't believe it," the girl replied, her mother taking her in her arms to embrace. Her daughter felt so warm, perhaps from the fires within, and when Elina rested her small chin on her mother's shoulder, Britta let her hand run down the length of her daughter's beautiful, golden-white hair. However, the woman was ill-at-ease due to Elina's breasts, round and full, that were pressing against her smaller chest.
"It's nothing to be ashamed about," Britta said. "You're a woman, now. That's a good thing."
"I need a change of clothes," her daughter replied, letting her mother go.
The girl was very tense and nervous, and in an instant, she went to her daughter's drawers and took out a fresh pair of panties with a sanitary napkin, a bra to support her full bosom, and a plain brown overdress with a white button-up shirt to be put on beneath it. The skirt on the dress was quite modest, reaching to below the girl's knees; to Britta, that ideal was important for any woman even in the days of flower power and liberation. She, herself, dressed quite puritanical with plain colors except on special occasions, long sleeves, and the vast majority of the clothing she had were dresses, skirts, and blouses. During the lives of both her daughters, she made sure each of them only wore skirts and dresses; she found something wrong with a woman wearing pants.
When Elina was dressed and ready for the day, Britta took her back to her room and sat her down at her desk chair, taking a hair ribbon and her daughter's hairbrush. The sun had risen a bit more that morning as Britta gathered up all of her daughter's beautiful, wavy platinum hair to brush it and neaten it out. She did not rush; Elina just sat there quietly as her mother worked the bristles slowly through mixed strands of virgin snow and white gold. Britta's own hair had been golden blonde, yet it paled in comparison to the brilliance and intensity of her daughter's pearly-gold locks.
"Your hair is so beautiful," her mother whispered.
"Yours is better. Mine's too white," Elina said.
"I'm getting older," Britta giggled, beginning a braid.
"You don't look old, though," she replied.
"Well," the woman sighed, braiding the strands slowly. "Let's just say the cold preserved my face."
"Is it really cold in Sweden like they say it is?" Elian asked out of curiosity.
Britta sighed, remembering her homeland exactly how she had left it; well, it wasn't like she had a real family—her real parents had died, and her foster parents treated her terribly because of the powers she possessed; their son was so deviant that he made the devil himself look like an angel. She was later sent to a mental hospital at age fifteen, where bad treatment continued by the doctors and nurses who treated her for something that didn't exist. She didn't even want to think about it—she loved America so much better than Sweden. Her life had been so much better even if the only reason she had been brought there was to perform in Fraulein Elsa's Cabinet of Curiosities; she made many friends and became a part of their big "family". She had met Jimmy while performing in the same troupe, and Jimmy had cracked open her shell during the time they had been friends. He was the only one she had grown to trust, and he was the only one to fully know her as a person and not just a girl who had telekinesis; in turn, she had seen past his deformed hands and into a kind, warm heart buried within underneath a tough exterior. She eventually fell in love with him, bore her violated soul for him to heal up with his own love, and they married in March 1954. The show had been shut down the month before after a catastrophe of unparalleled proportions.
"Everything and everyone is cold," Britta muttered. "You are all my family now. That is all that matters to me." She finished her daughter's braid, tying it off with the hair ribbon. Elina's intense hazel-green eyes sparkled up at her mother, giving her a sad stare. Britta knew there was something else she had to do; she kissed her daughter's defined cheek.
"We need to talk," she said.
Their talk was not entirely long, however—it mostly consisted of the birds and the bees and whatever was between the knees. Elina was embarrassed as all hell to have such a conversation, but she felt fortunate that it wasn't her father giving her the "talk"—she would have gone pale and died right before him in the chair. The girl felt squeamish and bewildered at how her mother stuttered, trying to find the right words to describe physical acts between two lovers. Britta noticed her daughter's defined cheekbones showing some red the entire time, and once their discussion was over, the girl sighed of relief.
"Don't have sex until you are married," the woman warned. Ironically, she had made love to Jimmy before they had been wed—she sighed subtly at her own hypocrisy.
"Does it hurt?" Elina asked. Britta remembered the night she had been violated by her foster brother—it had hurt so terribly she wanted to die; she had her virginity torn away from her like it was nothing. She took a sad breath and held her daughter's hand.
"Yes, very much," the woman answered; she then corrected herself as not to scare the young girl. "Well, it is something you get over. It goes away."
"Good," Elina said, standing up and making her way toward her bedroom door. "I'm hungry, mamma. Let's make breakfast." Britta got up and followed her daughter down the stairs to the kitchen. Once they reached their destination, Elina got out pancake mix, eggs, and bread to make toast; Britta looked into her daughter's fiery eyes encouragingly.
"Stay pure for as long as you can," she told her daughter. "Cherish it."
Jimmy woke up at five past 8:00 to the sound of women singing in perfect harmony with their powerful, angelic soprano voices. The smell of apple-pecan pancakes filled the house and travelled up the stairwell so that it met his nose, making him get up to trace the origin of the aroma as well as the ethereal singing that caught his attention:
"En sjömans största nöje är
Rio-rio-rej
Att hålla vackra flickor kär
Håll an så god…"
The sound became more and more familiar as the repetitive verses continued to charm his ears, taking each step down the stairs slowly to further admire the beautiful tune sung by the soprano voices. It seemed to echo through the house, adding to the angelic feel of whatever they were singing. He stopped by the doorway of the kitchen, having finally traced its source, dumbfounded to realize that his wife and daughter were making breakfast, singing to pass the time with their voices in perfect harmony:
"När stormen viner och åskan går
Rio-rio-rej
Då måst en sjöman på däcket stå
Håll an så god
När åskan dundrar knall på knall
Rio-rio-rej
Då står en man vid varje fall
Håll an så god…"
The song ended with Elina holding out her hand to conjure a large lick of fire—she aimed it at the stove and started it, a flare-up occurring and startling the two. Jimmy laughed, seeing the two jump back from the flames Elina had summoned to light the stove.
"Good morning, my angels," he said with a dimply smile.
After Britta poured wet pancake batter into an ignited skillet, she watched as her husband entered the kitchen, and he focused on the faces of his wife and daughter. Britta, at age forty-four, looked as though she hadn't aged a day; no wrinkles marred her youthful visage, nor were the gray strands of hair that she had noticeable because of her rich, golden hair color. The vibrant hue of her lush, green eyes had not faded with age, yet her body shape had definitely undergone some adjustments. She had given birth to five children, nursed every one of them with swollen, lactating breasts, and her hips had gotten wider. Jimmy always admired his wife greatly and the changes that happened in her body over the years. She had been a wonderful mother to their children but an even better wife to him; there were times where she was cold and distant, but she still tried her hardest to make sure that the entire household was happy. It was a wonder how after all those years, he still loved her. He walked toward his wife and gave her a peck on the lips.
"God morgon," Britta replied, looking up into her husband's dark brown eyes. He definitely had some age on him, being forty-eight years old, with graying auburn-brown hair and slight wrinkling near his eyes and in his forehead. She resumed with preparing breakfast while his eyes shifted to the true light in the room.
He looked at Elina, his beloved youngest daughter, whose extreme beauty and radiance lit up the room like the sun itself. Her platinum, white-blonde hair was braided with a few stray strands that had snuck out of the plait to hang over her forehead and near her ears. Her skin was fair and smooth, and her face was sculpted much like a marble statue from antiquity with her prominent cheekbones perfectly contrasting her small, heart-shaped jawline and her soft, pink lips. She had a straight, perfect nose without any distinctive ridges or bumps, and her thick, black eyelashes framed her passionate verdant hazel gaze gracefully. Even wearing modest clothing selected for her by her mother didn't stop people from noticing her blossoming, curvy frame; her breasts were rather full for a girl her age, and her waist was wasp and small—she definitely was more beautiful than Britta. Even within, she had a fire in a literal sense; her mother had special abilities that had been passed down to her. Elina had the power to conjure and manipulate fire, and if she did have other powers, she had yet to discover and use them to their full potential. Her lips smiled slightly at him, and he held out his arms for a hug.
"Good morning, sweetie," he said softly. Elina reached for a towel, cleaning her hands off before accepting his hug. Jimmy held his dear daughter close, feeling her excessive warmth as one of his deformed hands rubbed her upper back gently; Elina was a couple of inches taller than her mother. He let her go, looking down at her beautiful face and moving a few stray white strands away from her face.
"Hello, dad," she replied. He kissed her on the forehead gently.
"You sing just as beautifully as your mother," Jimmy said, letting his daughter go. No, that was an understatement—she sang better than her mother. Elina cracked a few eggs and added milk and a bit of butter to a bowl, whisking them to make scrambled eggs as Christopher and Toby came in, their hair messy and unkempt from a rough night's sleep.
"Morning, boys," Jimmy said, a quick glance to his sons before looking back at Elina.
"Mornin'," Christopher answered, ruffling his messy brown hair. "Sleep well?"
"Yes," Jimmy replied, smiling as if in a daze. "The sound of two angels singing woke me up."
"I could've sworn we was at church," Toby wise-cracked, provoking a surprisingly subtle reaction from his father.
"Well, it is Sunday," he said, raising his eyebrows.
"Well, then, Mamma," Christopher said, looking at Britta as she finished up the pancakes. "We has to be at church in an hour or so. Pastor's gon' be mad if we late."
"We will need to hurry, then," Britta replied, bringing the pancakes to the dining room where Jules waited quietly at his usual seat. He saw his mother and smiled, giving her a polite wave.
"Mornin',mamma," he said, ruffling his chestnut hair.
"God morgon," she replied. Elina shuffled the plates and made sure there was silverware at every place setting while getting out the maple syrup and other necessities. Soon, Bette and Dot and Legless Suzy joined them at the table, but then as they sat down and greeted the family, Jimmy noticed Annika was not at the table. Sighing with worry, he looked at his beloved daughter Elina, and she gazed back at him.
"Elina, sweetie? Can you go out to Annika's camper and ask if she's going to come in here?" Jimmy asked. She nodded, getting up out of her seat and out of the dining room the front door. Bette and Dot glanced every which way, but the kinder twin smiled.
"Annika grew up so much," she said.
"I'll say," Dot said cynically. Jimmy looked at them both and smiled, taking the first bite of his food.
"Was she supposed to join us?" Suzy asked.
"Well, yeah. She's family, too. It don't mean she ain't anymore because she left. She'll always have a home here," Jimmy said.
When Elina spotted the blue Volkswagen camper parked a little further from their house, she walked to it and stepped up on the mini steps that led to the side door. She hesitated for a moment, believing her sister to be asleep or otherwise busy. She sighed, knocking three times before hearing a familiar voice and something that sounded like strumming.
"Come in."
Elina breathed softly and slowly opened the door, moving the wooden doorbeads that hung down in front of her to see a small, but comfortable interior with a bright maroon rug positioned over the bare, cold floor. There were two sectionals on each side to sit, and the one on the side were the door was had a disheveled blanket and pillow on it from the night before. The smell of sweet incense, which was about to go out at any time, filled the interior of the Volkswagen with a pleasing aroma. A large, tie-dye tapestry hung behind Annika, whose shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde frizz hung over her face sloppily as she turned a tuning peg on her plain acoustic guitar, strumming it repeatedly and listening closely to hear if it was in tune.
"Annika? Uh…" Elina looked at the lava lamp on the surface next to the sectional across from her bed space. "Dad sent me in here to ask if you were hungry. We just made breakfast." She ignored her, repeatedly striking the string until it was crystal clear and in tune; then, her dark eyes met Elina's fiery ones as she strummed all of the strings at once.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, so if you want something to eat, you can join us," the girl said. "Or, I can take a plate to you in here, if you're busy." The woman shook her head, taking a deep sigh.
"I…I can't eat, Elina," Annika said directly. "I have too much on my mind."
"Oh," the girl said. "Like what?" She took a seat across from her sister, who stared back at her sadly, an anguished expression on her face.
"You wouldn't understand," the woman replied quietly in her low-pitched voice, preparing her fingers on the fretboard as if to play a chord.
"I'm thirteen now, Annika," Elian reminded her calmly. "I think I can handle it."
"No, no," the woman answered, glancing over at the notebook in which she had been composing a song with lyrics. "If I did tell you, you'd probably be a fart about it. So, don't push your luck."
"I'm not trying to push my luck. I'm just concerned," her little sister said. "You know, dad says you will always have a home here, and—"
"And mamma don't give a shit about me," Annika said.
"You sound ridiculous," Elina sneered, crossing her arms as fire built up inside her. Annika chuckled cynically, rolling her eyes as she began to strum a few chords and corresponding archipeggios, blocking out whatever could distract her from her music.
"What exactly are you doing anyway that's so important?" the girl asked.
"Writing a song. It ain't finished so don't be asking me to play it," Annika replied, ending the strumming on a soft note. She came off as anguished, and Elina wanted to get to the bottom of it even if she had to pry her open like a geode.
"I never knew you played at all," Elina said, crossing her legs at the ankles.
"You were a baby when I started. I'm older, remember?" Annika asked, her tone having calmed a bit.
"I don't remember that, though." Elina stood up from her place on the opposing sectional and made her way to the door, coming out; Anikka stopped her with a few words.
"Elina," she began. The girl looked back at her.
"Yeah?"
"I'll be in there in a couple minutes," she said. Elina smiled; that's the spirit, she thought.