“I say,
Mara, the fields are just full of wildflowers. In fact, they are trying to take
over the whole wheat field, and Father and Mr. Rhames are fighting hard to keep
them out,” Jesse said breathlessly one afternoon as he appeared during their
lessons. He had been busily working on his own that morning but had taken a
break to bring lunch to the laborers.
“What
kind?” Sienna was first to speak, and everyone was surprised.
“Foxglove,
daisy, ferns, and all sorts of them. I brought you all some since you are stuck
up here,” Jesse replied and held out his little bouquet with some pride.
Mara took
the flowers appreciatively and arranged them in a vase he had fetched for her from
the kitchen. “There, that’s lovely. Thank you, Jesse.”
The little
boy smiled and ducked inside the house to finish his own work. Mara watched him
go then turned back to Sienna who was idly stroking one of the foxglove petals.
“These
flowers are just like the ones that grow in mother’s flower boxes. People said
she was strange to grow wildflowers, but she always replied that they reminded
her of the mountains she came from.” There was a faraway look in the girl’s
eyes, and a small smile played about her lips making her face look almost
beautiful. “Should we press those?”
Mara looked
up awakened from her musing. “Sure, if you step inside into the dining room and
ask Jesse for the flower press, he’ll get it for you. He is a gentleman even if
he doesn’t look like one.”
Sienna
laughed and turned to go into the house. She emerged a little while later with
the flower press, and they set to work pressing the tiny blossoms. After a
time, they both fell silent before Mara ventured to say, “What was your mother
like?”
“She was
beautiful. Her hair was just as dark as mine, but her skin was as light as yours—no,
lighter. Her eyes were always sparkling and snapping, and she used to laugh
merrily whenever Father made a joke. They would ask me to play the piano--that
was back when we had one, but I couldn’t play very well anyway--and they would
dance together all about our little house. She was always singing it seemed.
She was no lightweight either but was right there to help Father when he lost
his job. She even took in washing and stayed up into the hours of the next
morning.” Sienna spoke with as much reverence of her mother as others would talk
about a queen.
“She sounds
wonderful,” Mara replied after a while, not daring to break the happy, wistful
mood that had come upon the girl. Something in Sienna’s face changed suddenly,
and Mara knew that she was thinking about her mother’s untimely death.
“Yes, she
was,” the younger girl said in a hard, even voice that signified she was
unwilling to say anymore.
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