Strolling through the near-empty streets of the small development in which we’d rented a place over the holidays, one morning between Christmas and New Year. Save for the occasional burst of birdsong, the babbling of a stream and the occasional hum of distant traffic, all was silent.
Except in my imagination. House number 11? As I walked by in the sunshine, there came an unmistakable sound, of a cane cutting home and a young woman pleading for forgiveness and mercy. I glanced up: they’d not even closed the window.
See, in a small community like this, there’d be no secrets. That the lass was dealt with strictly by her guardian when she came to stay was known to all. Every time she was punished, she knew that the neighbours would hear. Knew she’d have to try to avoid their eyes the next time she saw them. Knew that her misbehaviour and correction were public knowledge locally. And knew that all around approved, most heartily, of the severity with which she was dealt – as an essential part of the loving support that he provided to her.
..great read..totally embarrassing….perfect.