SHACKLES

CHAPTER SIX

Aunt departed after a few days’ stay. Mama resumed her gentle humming as she attended to the household accounts, oversaw the affairs of the kitchen, and bestowed her presence upon me with quiet devotion. Something within her had altered. She smiled—oh, how she smiled. Her smile was as the golden sun breaking through the veil of dawn: it sent a subtle chill, yet its beauty stirred the heart and awakened the soul for the day. It was a smile most refreshing and delightfully contagious, often ending in a soft, musical chortle.

That day, Mama and I clad ourselves in the garments of the common folk. She took to my hair with tender hands, braiding it carefully and adorning it with garlands of wildflowers. The air was sweet and mild. Mr. Hemsworth, ever courteous, accompanied us to the field. Mama sang my favourite ballad as we wandered through the tall grass, laughing and playing beneath the open sky. We dined with the peasantry, and Mama, gracious as always, shared among them the simple gifts she had brought.

“It hath been a long day, my dear,” Mama said as the sun began to dip beyond the hills, “yet a most pleasant one.”

I looked at her and said, “Wish that every day could be so.”

She replied with a soft sigh, “Ah, my sweet Zoe, I do wish it were so, yet not all days may pass in ease and joy. Life is often uneven in its rhythm. Now, away with thee—go and make thyself clean, and return anon for supper, will you?”