The Widow

Chapter Twenty-One: The Prevalence is Honesty

Emelie fantasized about her childhood, every moment, every feelings, the long hours running around with her father's dogs, the boring lessons with mean teachers, being stuck sewing on buttons, and playing every instrument known to man for her father guest. Not once did she hold a friendship with children her age, nor formed any connection with the stable boy- mainly because they weren't one, and limit out the manor never reached the front door.

Oddly, Emelie was proud to know she was not forced into the high status of young woman, that force to gossip and not be the butt end of a joke; not that her existence in that group would save her from humiliation. Loneliness has always greeted her with a tight hug in the past, she felt warmth and comfort in that dark pit- it was the only assurance of her being safe, the only thing that never judged her.

"The storm washed away my lilies." Grais sighed heavily in disappointment, she peeled over her shoulder but weren't much success with a brush in her hair. They were stuck in her room, the walls were white, dolls in every corner, furniture the color of baby blue, and her dresses on display. It was dainty, quaint, it reminded them both of the young lady's innocence and elegance; that she must play the part of a lady and not the godless adventurer every little girl has threatened to be in order to piss off their parents.

The room was dark, only three candles light the room- causing more shadows than needed and made the dolls look like demons behind fire. Emelie kept her focus on Grais luscious hair, the natural golden curls with specks of brown; it's what cast Grais beauty, and to further such luck, her long eyelashes batted and hazel eyes became darker from the lack of light. "It's getting cold now, so we would have to wait for spring to plant more. Perhaps we can start harvesting pumpkins and squash, surly Miss Fringe would love to cook them for winter."

Grais pierced her lips in disgust. "I hate pumpkins."

"But you love squash."

"Sometimes, I do."

Emelie chuckled to herself, doing one more stroke of the hair brush, she sets it down on the vanity and fluffed Grais hair so it could fall behind her shoulders. "I believe that's one hundred. Now it's off to be."

Grais hesitated, rubbing her soft tiny fingers through her locks, she pouted. "Mother use to do this." The young lady whispered, her tone soft and delicate as if a haunting memory hit her upside the head. "She would come in at night before bed to brush it, even though I grew too old for such assistance. Do you miss your mother?"

The young widow wanted to pout, but there's nothing to pout over. "I do not think I can't answer that. I... my mother was not around when I were a little girl. I'm sure your mother misses you."

Grais did not question Emelie's past, even though she wanted to. The young lady wasn't naive with the patriarchy system regarding to class and race, she learned things from the outside world and read her grandfather journals. The word 'savages' and 'godless' scattered her mind, but she pushed it down. Grais ended the night on a lighter note, putting a smile upon her face, she jumped on the bed and buried herself under the thick covers. "Have a blessing night."

Emelie cracked a smile as well while tucking her in, she pinched Grais milky cheeks that turned red soon after. "Sweet dreams, love." Love... the word slipped past her lips without thought, however, Emelie did not regret her careless tongue. "I will make sure your uncle comes in to say good night."

"There's no need, I'm here." Jacob, the stealthy soldier, stepped through the open door- a small smile upon his handsome face and both hands clasped behind his back before he approached by Emelie's side to place a soft kiss upon his niece forehead. "Before you go off to bed, we must announce our trip."