Chapter 9 #3
A smile beamed on the woman’s face. “My pleasure.” She stowed the brush in a worn wooden box, then walked over and stirred the stew. “I have one more task before we eat. Would you like to accompany me?”
“Yes,” Emma replied.
Golden rays wrapped by orange sank through a wash of purple as they stepped outside.
Marie sighed. “I so enjoy the long hours of the summer. There is something about the length of daylight that warms the soul.”
Emma scanned the color-filled sky. Never had she considered the length of the hours of the day, much less how they affected her. Now, she took in the sweep of fields dotted with heather and a myriad of wildflowers she had paid little attention to before.
“’Tis beautiful here,” Emma breathed.
“Aye, ’tis God’s land.”
The pad of running feet slapped behind them. “Mama, can I come?”
A warm, easy smile touched Marie’s face. “Aye.” She took her daughter’s hand, cradling the small fingers within hers as she walked toward the west.
Emma followed. Upon a small rise, sheltered beneath the twisted limbs of a massive oak, she made out three small white crosses. Unsure, she halted at the outer edge.
The woman paused before the crosses. Sadness touched her face. “These are my children. One died during childbirth, the other two from fever. Gauwyn—” A smile touched her mouth. “He had the biggest smile. And his laugh could steal your heart.” Her smile faltered.
Unsure what to say, to do, Emma walked to her side. “Do you come here often?”
“Aye. They are my children.” Marie knelt beside the graves. One by one, she tugged the tiny weeds creeping from the soil, leaving the wildflowers blooming to sway before the carved crosses like a promise of hope.
Emotion stormed Emma as Marie tended to those she’d given birth to, only to watch them die.
As if sensing her grief, Joneta walked over, reached up.
Emma clasped the young girl’s hand, her heart weeping inside.
The image of holding Patrik’s child flickered to mind.
A child she’d cherish. But what if she lost their babe?
If faced with such adversity, could she be as strong as Marie?
Would she have chosen to go on? Though she lived a life filled with danger, the challenges she faced made no demands on her heart.
On shaky knees, she released the girl’s hand, knelt beside the woman, pulled at a stubborn weed. “How can you come here and face such losses each day?”
“Losses? Aye, in a sense.” Tenderness warmed Marie’s face. “But for a time I was blessed with sharing their time on earth.”
Emma focused on her task, humbled by this woman’s faith.
Memories of her youth in the orphanage tumbled past. Over the years, few workers had cared about the children within.
Most often, those who ran the orphanage did so for the coin earned.
In their eyes, the death of a child made one less mouth to feed, one less order given, one less child’s cries to echo throughout the night.
“Here, Mommy.”
Emma glanced over.
Joneta held out a sprig of heather to her mother.
She drew her daughter into her arms, gave her a huge hug. “And a gift you are as well.”
The girl kissed her mother on her cheek, and then walked over to Emma. She brought her other hand from behind her back. A yellow flower lay within her palm. “For you.”
Tears misted Emma’s eyes as she stared at the delicate petals. To some it would seem a simple gift, but never had she received such a kind offering. “My thanks.”
Ignorant of her emotional struggle, Joneta knelt before her, her wide green eyes filled with delight. “Hold it up to your neck.”
Emma frowned. “Why?”
“It reflects yellow on your skin if you like the lads.”
“And what if there is no reflection?” she asked, charmed.
A frown tied the girl’s brow. “I am not sure, but I will ask my da. He is the one who told me about the flower.”
Her father? Never had she believed a man would hold thoughts of such whimsy. Neither had she met such a caring family. Was this what a true marriage wrought?
“Do it,” Joneta urged.
Her throat tight, Emma held up the flower to the curve of her throat.
“I knew it,” the child squealed. “’Tis yellow I see.”
Her mother shot Emma a wink. “I suppose she likes the man she came with.”
Delight sparkled in the little girl’s eyes. “Do you?”
“Yes,” Emma said with a laugh. Emotion swamped her at thoughts of Patrik, at the enormity of what he made her feel. The lighthearted moment shattered.
Ignorant of Emma’s panic, Marie chuckled. “As the lad is her husband, I would be agreeing.”
“Here.” The girl laid her doll within Emma’s hands.
Overwhelmed by thoughts of Patrik, of his growing importance in her life, she stared at the doll unseeing.
What exactly did she feel for Patrik? She could not feel love. She did not know how. Still, a hard pressure tightened in her chest, one she refused to study too deeply.
“You are not saying anything,” the girl said.
Fingers trembling, Emma gripped the doll, focused on it. Carved wood made the sturdy body. A ball of undyed cloth made the face, the eyes two black stones, their centers carved and secured with a tiny piece of hemp. Long, brown hair lay secured to the head. Emma touched a length.
“’Tis from our horse,” Joneta proclaimed.
Emma forced a smiled. “So it is. And a beautiful doll you have. Why did you share her with me?”
“You looked sad,” the child replied. “I wanted to make you smile.”
Her breath left her in a rush. She glanced at Marie, found the woman watching her with curiosity. “Here.” Emma returned the doll. “She misses you.”
A huge smile curved Joneta’s mouth. “She does.”
Somber, Emma watched as the girl skipped away, the child’s mind already immersed in her next mind’s inspiration.
“She is a thoughtful lass.”
The mother’s soft words had Emma glancing over. “Yes, as thoughtful as her mother. Your daughter is blessed to have you.”
A blush touched Marie’s weathered cheeks, but pride as well. “Come,” she said, standing. “The stew should be about done. We need to set the table; the men will be hungry.”
Joneta skipped at her side as Emma walked toward the solid cottage. What would it be like to live such a simple existence?
No, not simple, a life complicated by a man’s desires and a country at war. But against the foils of life, they’d carved out a home, and against all odds, had found love.