Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Hosted each week by Denise, it is a time for imagination and craft-development, as we take a prompt word and build a story of six, (and only six), sentences.
(The photo? A very real place in West Greenwich, Rhode Island, USA)
New to our serial story, ‘the Whitechapel Interlude’? Click here.
Prompt word:
JUICE
“The Master and the femeie tânără have gone for a walk,”
I’d asked the right member of the castle staff, seeing how none of the other women in the kitchen and adjacent scullery so much as looked up from their work; answering my question as to the whereabouts of Cyrus St. Loreto and Sarah, her voice had the controlled formality of a physician informing a family of a terminal diagnosis, behind her, several of the older women crossed themselves with an automatic precision that spoke of an upbringing in a world far from my own.
“Well, then I suppose I would be something of an ungrateful guest if I didn’t go and join them,” my raised eyebrow was promptly rewarded, “I believe I heard the Count say something about the chapel;” not risking the sight of more warding-off gestures, I turned and headed towards the main entrance, where an age-bent man held my cloak.
Following the trail left by my friend and my host was not the slightest of challenges, the cold of the night turned the lawn into a carpet of glass, while the bushes that lined the path into the woods, transparent figurines and, soon, I came to a clearing in the center of which was a most curious building.
The balance of roofline with the deliberate simplicity of features implied a church, despite being devoid of cross or other religious emblem, two doors were barred with rough-hewn timbers supported by wrought iron brackets; the cross bar was lighter than it had any right to be, almost floating, as soon as I began to raise the one on the right hand door.
“Given the price Mankind paid for taking a bite of the fruit of the knowledge of Good and Evil, I do not fault your caution, however,” as a boy spending hours alone reading works of fiction, a character’s voice would, on occasion, be described as having an ‘arch tone’, I was quite certain, standing in the candle-dark vestibule what that sounds like, as Count St. Loreto continued, “At risk of sounding condescending, given the comprehensive education provided by the Order, were you aware that God forbade Eve and Adam from partaking of the fruit of two trees in the Garden?”
The candles in the sacristy, in ranks and rows like conscripted soldiers at parade rest, filled the far end of the church with as much shadow as light, where the Count and Sarah stood; to this day it bothers me to no end that I could not be sure whether it was the Count or Sarah who responded, “Surely, Eden being long in the past, there can be little risk and great reward in a sip of the juice of the second tree?”