Blue Umbrella Official Feb Mar 2019 issue | Page 20

The Knave of Hearts
By Erica L. and Nathan V.
It?s no coincidence that both my father
and I are named Jack. After all, it?s family
tradition. I?m named after my father just like
he was named after his father Jackson, who
was named after his mother Jacky, who was
named after her father Jacob. This tradition
goes on as far as anyone can remember.
But naming our children after
ourselves is not the only family tradition we
have. My father is the Knave of Spades, just
like his forefathers were before him. Ever
since I?d been old enough to talk, my father
had trained me to take his place. When I
was sixteen, my father had said that my
preparation was complete. The only step left
was my presentation to the royalty to take
over from my father.
Even though I was eagerly waiting to
be Knave of Spades like my father, I also
enjoyed being with my mother, Jam. She
was the royal baker for the King of Spades,
and she made the best tarts in all the
Kingdom. My mother would often tell me, ?A
baker?s dozen is the only way to bake,?
before picking up a tart and saying,
?Because then, you can have a tart as well!?
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Needless to say, her tarts were always my
favorite treats.
For my sixteenth birthday, my parents
gave me a locket with a large spade on the
cover. Inside, it held a picture of my mother
and father. Below the picture, the words
?Family sticks close? were engraved in silver
letters. I instantly held that phrase deep in
my heart as my father told me, ?Remember
those words, sweetheart. It doesn?t matter
how far away you are?those words always
hold true.?
Little did I know how important that gift
would be to me in the coming years.
It was the day after my sixteenth
birthday. My mother, the baker for the castle,
had taken the previous day off so that she
could spend it with me. However, that
decision caused her to fall horribly behind.
She would not allow me to help lest I
burn myself. Her brother Smith insisted he
should help. Even though he was the land?s
most distinguished blacksmith, he was not a
great cook. Yet, too flustered to make good
judgment, she accepted his offer. This
meant she also accepted three dozen burnt
tarts and a tray of melted icing.