Chapter 7
The next day I woke to the sun streaming through my open bedroom windows. With it came the smell of the honeysuckle vine my mother planted when my father first brought her to the house. The sweet fragrance made me think of my parents, of their love, how they cared for one another and how he mourned when she passed. I remember finding him one day lingering by the honeysuckle, his face pressed into the blooms, eyes closed and face full of pain. He loved her truly and honestly. I could only hope I would one day find such love.
But not today. Today I would retreat into another passion, my work and the making of Duir’s vest. The echo of Sylvain’s concerns lingered in my thoughts, but I could not let his worry overshadow my task.
Getting up, I made my way over to the window with the
