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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
Weary from tending her feverish child, she sank into her rocking chair. The baby, who had howled with pain most of the night, finally calmed. Abigail Adams caressed her daughter’s silky head and kissed her cool cheek.
“Sleep, now, my sweet Suky.”
Suky’s four-year-old sister tiptoed into the room. Abigail stopped rocking and held out a hand to her. “Can you not sleep, Nabby?”
“I dreamt the angels plucked a rose from our garden.” Nabby patted the baby’s back. “Is she feeling better, Mother?”
“Yes, my darling. Our rose is feeling ever so much better.”
“Then why are you weeping?”
Although much has been written about Abigail Adams, wife of President John Adams, I could find precious little about Grace Susanna Adams who died when she was 13 months old. As a mother, I cannot imagine the agony of losing a child that young, but, my friend and fellow fictioneer, Dale Rogerson, can for she has “been there.”
One of life’s happy ‘accidents’ came while following the research trail came in learning that there is a rose named Abigail Adams. Who knew?