The flames flicker solemnly in the corners. The colors radiating blue, purple and red. The candles are all lit before the kneelers and there are silent people venerating the white smooth face of the Virgin. Their hands stroking the feet and murmurings of intercession.

Lyllian and Michael are seated in the front pew of St. Mark Catholic church. Frankie is beside her with Vivienne perched on her lap. They are wearing matching red dresses. Frankie’s is knee length and simple, a satin ribbon cinched just at her hips, her caramel hair falling in waves down her back. Vivienne’s is long, covering her scabby knees and she too has a ribbon of silk tied in a bright bow. It is this bow that she is pulling at and her grimace causes those nearby to stifle chuckles. It is a lump in her back, Lyllian knows. Her youngest hates the lump. Vivienne at three years old is as certain of her ways as Vivienne at birth. Thirteen-year old Frankie ignores her easily enough though her mouth is tight in annoyance.

Lyllian lowers her head in prayer. When she raises her head again not a moment later it’s as if the candles have all been snuffed out suddenly. The church is shadowed and dark and it’s a moment before she realizes her husband is not beside her and nor are her daughters. But she is not alone.

There are voices to her left and dim figures in front of her near the Altar. And long shapes cover the ground, lumpy and unrecognizable.

She can feel a sense of panic rising in her throat. There is a glow of candles in view now and she is rising and walking toward it. She cannot make out anything in front of her except the candle flame. Her hand reaches unsteadily towards it.

It is not registering that the shadows that line the steps leading up to the Altar are bodies. Their shapes all different, their faces obscured. She is still moving towards the flames. Inky blackness is moving around her. A rough hand grabs her arm and all she can think of is the flame, so close. The heat of its small tip making her fingers hot and discolored. The flame fills her vision.

Suddenly Michael is beside her holding her arm. His eyes are worried and there is an echoing crash as a long red tapered candle in a carved stand goes crashing to the floor. The hot wax has landed on her arm and hand and it stings eerily peeling away like skin.

There is a stunned silence and she is walking with Michael unsteadily toward the side door away from the sanctuary. “Lyllian. Lyll love”. Michael is brushing the red wax from her arm hastily.

She smiles unsteadily, “I’m sorry. I think I just got dizzy a moment. The incense maybe”

Michael seems unconvinced. There was no incense. But he does not say this. They sit down just outside on a damp bench under the bright Pines. The December air is very cold.

He seems to be having a hard time saying something and this fact rankles and worries her.

Then Frankie is there, holding Vivienne’s hand. “Mom are you ok?” she is casts worried eyes towards her father. Vivienne asks about doughnuts and the Vega family makes their way to the parking lot.

Next Chapter: Anya, Volgograd Russia, 1922