The woman’s smile widened. “There is no need for such. Take a seat and I will fix your hair for your husband.”
Her husband? She believed Patrik her husband? Emma should correct the woman, but she allowed the claim to linger, to sift through her mind as if a wish as the woman deftly combed and braided her hair.
A short while later Marie stepped back, a satisfied expression on her face. “Your man will be pleased.”
Heat stroked Emma’s face. However wrong, for this night, she would live the dream that Patrik was hers. “My thanks.”
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.”
