Snow Lilies

by Kristy Buller, age 15, from the US

In a small cottage home that rested upon a mountain on the outskirts of Switzerland, lived two little girls and their mother. The woman was magnificently attractive and her daughters mirrored in her radiant beauty. Golden curls framed their round faces and each strand of hair was unrealistically shiny and smooth. Their appearance would suggest nothing short of royalty. The family, however, was not even remotely majestic but simply filled with grace and charm.

The three abided alone rather contentedly. The girls' father had passed away when they were much younger. Neither of them remembered one single detail about his death but they never mentioned the event in a conversation or asked their mother questions about it. They knew better than to do that. The sisters could sense the constant pain that their mother still felt all those years after losing her husband.

The girls awoke one morning and slipped their chic, cotton dresses over each of their heads. They adored no other article of clothing quite as much as they did these. Perhaps this was so because their mother had made them each one for Christmas. At the time when they received the presents, the fabric was stiff from not yet being washed and to the girls, this was wonderful. Their mother rarely made the journey into town to buy such things as new cloth, ribbons, and threads. Christmas was an exception to this when she carried them home goodies of all sorts. Naturally, the girls were ecstatic with the gifts.

They continued piling on the layers of clothing and slid each boot, placed each hat, and positioned each mitten on in unison without saying a word to each other. Karin and Ariane spent more time together than with anyone else in the entire world. They were hardly into the petty fights most other siblings their age had and for ages seven and nine they were both mature and sophisticated.

Ariane held out her younger sister's coat in front of her body and waited for Karin to squirm and wiggle her way in. She did so and as Ariane reached for her own coat Karin asked, "Ari, do you believe in angels?"

An innocent look crossed her rosy face and her blue eyes gazed into her sister's. Ariane took a moment to consider the possible answers of the question and before any other thoughts could contradict, she said "yes," almost as if on impulse. She stared at the child, waiting for her to do or say something; she was not exactly sure what to do or say herself. Karin bit her bottom lip and in that moment of silence, you could just about hear the wheels turning in the young girl's head. Ariane looked away when a response was lacking, but was forced to turn again at the sound of Karin's voice.

"Well, do you think Daddy is an angel?"

Ariane took her by the hand. She led her to a wooden bench against one wall in the kitchen. Karin sat down. She waited squeamishly for her answer. Finally, it came and Ariane looked down at the sweet girl and smiled.

"Yes, I really do believe that Daddy is an angel. He has wings now, I'm sure of it."

Karin too grinned and the conversation was over.

The air was bitter cold and snowflakes peacefully fell. Karin held out her tiny gloved hand and tried to catch one, but it melted instantly into a droplet of water after it landed. They trudged through the fresh blanket, giggling and sharing secrets that only each other knew. They paused at the bottom of the first hill and Ariane leaned up against a tree to catch her breadth. She could distinguish the smoke coming out from their chimney as she examined the scenery from down below their peak.