Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – One Hundred and Three

The Daimler ground up our rutted mountain track like a racehorse pulling a plough.

Father put down his axe and motioned us to his side.

As the car bounced to a halt, Mother wheeled herself out onto the wide planks of the balcony.

A woman threw herself from the back seat of the car.

“Clara,” she cried. “Clara my baby. It’s Mama.”

Mother lifted a thin shoulder.

“Go away.”

Then she took herself indoors.

The woman stood irresolute for a moment before slamming her way back into the vehicle.

Eleanor looked at Father.

“Who was that?”

He smiled grimly. “Nobody.”

©️jj 2018

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