Snippet #1821587

Arms pulled up around her and irritable, Vi came out of the house into the cold Montana morning. Out of habit, she peered into the small mail-box beside the door and saw instead of the bare metal at the back of the box, a large dark mass. She reached inside and pulled out a hard, angular package which appeared to have undergone several mistreatments on it's journey to her and with a small smile she recognised her father's handwriting. In one corner, partially obscured by deep creases, was the name Ludwig van Beethoven. Gone were the days when she had resented the soft-edged, perpetually smiling contentedness shared by her parents and the limited correspondence they kept left her feeling warm.
But at the same time, her shoulders drooped and her breath escaped her in one great sigh. Every year she spent in Montana, her trepidation in the days leading up to the Callings grew worse, like someone who frets so much about a medical procedure that they make themselves physically sick. She tucked the parcel into her coat and hurried to work.