Sophia opened the door leading outside from their humble cabin and was instantly hit with the wonderment of an early summer morning. The gravel on the path beamed with otherwise unappreciated dirt, the trench beside allowed the fragile fog travel with ease. The forest opposite, accompanying the path all the way down towards the town, had its trees’ embraced with a peaceful ray of gold seeping through each gap. The air smelled of the different colored coneflowers which Sophia had successfully planted by the beginning of their front yard, their long yet thin petals purple, yellow, orange, white and a mixture of pink—large pillowy button in the middle which attracted the bees enough to make the wide patch of flowers their regular hangout spot. The air smelled of damp grass and twigs of the spruces and comfort.

  As Sophia carried the bucket from its intended handle and reached the path, she looked on her left and saw the old farmer’s field in the far distance now embosomed by the pleasant morning haze which hovered slowly with the almost unnoticeable breeze. Sophia’s lips twitched with the tranquility, sheathed with a hint of delicate longing.

  On her way to the common well by a small trail, she heard small familiar footsteps tapping the ground with fast switches. She did not have to look, nor really turn around to know but did so anyway. Just so she could capture little Marvy in her arms and twirl her around a few times and be gifted with one of the world’s most precious presents of all. Marvy’s laugh was contagious, just like the smile her mother had when Sophia first stood alone on the front yard of the woodcutter’s cabin those many years ago.

  ’’You little rascal.’’ Sophia laughed as Marvy giggled and held fistfuls of Sophia’s shirt by the shoulders, ’’Where is your mother? You ought to be scolded for leaving the yard on your own.’’ Sophia squinted her eyes playfully as Marvy covered her mouth not to laugh.

  ’’MARVY!’’ As expected, Marié would not lose the sight of her two year old explorer for long. Her hawk eyes too sharp, yet the hint of dread in the echo of the yell notable when her eyes could not find the tiny curly red hair nearby.

  ’’Here, Marié.’’ Sophia called out and saw her friend turn around, immediately locating them. The way her face lost all anxiety and dropped to its natural state in an instant amused Sophia.

  ’’You little runaway!’’ Marié came and hijacked the small bean in her tickling attack, dropping down crouching with Marvy in her embrace, ’’Where did you think you were going?! Alone like that.’’ The scolding came out as more of a whine than a stern lesson.

  ’’She can keep me company.’’ Sophia smiled and Marvy immediately jumped off her mother's lap, leaving it empty, ’’I’m getting water from the well this time, to wash Bruno’s stall. So we won’t go far.’’

  ’’Well then, be good little bird.’’ Marié agreed with a relieved sigh as she directed her words to Marvy and headed towards their cabin. No need to tell her twice. She figured she could enjoy a nice secret oat biscuit while the little one—with her inescapable sense of scent towards sugar and hearing towards the glass jar opening—was not around to detect her. Mother's were sneaky like that once in a while.

  On their way towards the well between the tall trees’ and a trail which kept getting thinner the further they followed, Marvy spotted a tiny frog jumping in front of her and over the other side of the path before disappearing in the thick grass, ’’Look! A fog!’’ Marvy jumped with tiny hops to mimic the small new friend.

  ’’Sure is, a frog. We need to be careful. They usually cross over the trail after a rainy night.’’ Sophia searched closely, ’’We don’t want to accidentally step on them.’’

  Marvy froze on the spot, her hands in tight fists on the sides, shoulders up and lips pressed together, so concentrated she barely moved a leg after scanning the ground with much diligence. Sophia couldn’t help but have tiny seeds of happiness glowing in her eyes as she walked behind Marvy. It was incredible how anyone could be so precious. Sophia wondered how her parents must’ve felt in these early years when she was young. Did she have all the expressions written on her cheeks just like Marvy? She wondered her mother must’ve worn her hair on a loose braid over one side, content with the peacefulness while father most likely came up with all sorts of games to entertain. Those years she could not remember, wiped out of her memory by the years of an avoidant heart. It became harder to remember anything that had once been before the age of ten. Was it her brain maturing, making room for new memories in the present to be stored for the future yet unfold? Or was it pain which kept pushing those years away. One thing was clear, and it was that scent carried more memories than our brains could even fathom. Each time Sophia smelled the cotton dress, the old book of medicine from their bookshelf or that one soap which Marié loved to buy with a hint of mint in it—or the flowers she kept hanging above her bedroom ceiling—pleasant glimpses from the past would flash as if right there in front of her eyes. Just like they did now. Marvy with her cute little shoes, puffy peachy colored dress and beige apron with a wavy hem, tied behind on a large bow. Her small hops, giggles, tiny hands reaching for the ever unreachable sky yet with much hope. Marvy, that sweet child. The joy she brought to anyone who came her way. And Sophia wanted to protect that innocence. Let it last as long as it should.

  And not be taken away by any means.

  As Sophia pulled the rope tied on the bucket up from the deep well filled with cold rainwater, she peeked on the side to make sure Marvy hadn’t drifted from her side. Much to her horror, the little child was not gathering rocks found the most gorgeous while crouching on her feet anymore, thus Sophia nearly let go of the rope when her head shot first on the right and then left—fast enough to give anyone a whiplash. There, she could sigh with relief as she noticed Marvy sitting on the side of the trail where the lovely scented large patch of oxeye daisies began. She appeared to be having a conversation with them, which brought a warm gentle smile on Sophia’s lips.

  ’’What is wrong?’’ Marvy asked with emphasis on each word separately, clearly wanting to make her point across. Sophia’s eyebrows drew together as she finally lifted the metal bucket over the edge of the well and brought it down so she could walk over and see what the little one was up to this time. As Sophia adjusted her lovely green summer dress under the crook of the knees and lowered down beside Marvy, she noticed a small bird lying there on the ground with its limp wings. A small goldcrest with its bright, yellow head resembling a crown of a Royal. Sophia pushed her lips together, for the first time having to debate how to word out the fate of this tiny creature to a two year old. It must've hit itself against the trees’ and fallen. But it wasn’t moving.

  ’’Marvy—’’ Sophia leaned closer as Marvy touched the wing of the bird ever so tenderly—and as if called for, or given a command, the goldcrest twitched and squeaked and rushed away first with a couple of awkward jumps and then spread its wings. As if it was only having a relaxing nap among the oxeye daisies until woken up with a gentle touch. Marvy giggled in excitement, pointing up towards the bird which now circled through the branches, showing the child the many enthusiastic talented moves it could muster. Sophia, instead, focused her glossed eyes down on the child and her bright, sharp glimmering gaze now filled with riddles.

  The scent of spring always began with the foul smell of dirty ditch, revealing the wet and slippery grass and soil trapped from beneath, marinated under the melting ice and snow after the past couple of months. But as the days got warmer, so did the scent of ever blooming nature as it emerged more lustrous and full of wonder. The summer had finally arrived. Even when spring changed to summer, Harry Ohara did not dare to approach Sophia with even a single glance. As a matter of fact, they did run into each other on their errands around the town, but each time their eyes met he’d rush to turn away. Shame was the emotion shaded on those eyelids. Sophia felt almost bad for him. Sure, she had told him no more times than any maiden hoping to marry him could count, wishing it was them he was after. And one should know to take no as a simple answer— yet still, Sophia hoped he’d see how infatuated Dorothy Ockerland had been for a good while now. She thought that they would make a good pair, actually.

  Although Sophia had not experienced that kind of love herself, she once read a rather thought provoking chapter where it said that humans, much like many other animals, fell in love with the scent of their partner, and in a way she could understand it to be the case. After all, scent of the dried flowers held in all the love for her parents close in those petals even after withering and losing their color. The scent changed, yet never let go of those cherished beloved emotions. Love could be just as cruel and lovely at the same time.

  Sophia made her way home while carrying fresh new ingredients from the Town’s Market in a thick wooden basket. Even though it had been many weeks since that incident at Madam Heredina's Pub, and Sophia had successfully avoided any gossip-hungry folks as well as the man himself, apparently it was still the topic of the town, and Sophia knew it would stay as such until something better or bigger came along. People liked to awe how a twenty-year-old could reject the marriage proposal from a man with good background and wealth. And do it in front of everyone at a pub, from all places. Other people sided with Sophia, knowing Harry's ego and temper all too well.

  Sophia, however, could not care less about whose side any of them stood. In her opinion they made the whole situation into something unnecessarily large, out of boredom of course. Luckily, people knew better not to come to her directly. Gossip she could handle, but having to deal with the curious town's people face to face she would not.

  ’’I’m home.’’ Sophia yelled from the entrance as she took off her shoes and carried the basket by the kitchen counter near the hatch on the floor leading underground. She took out the chicken breasts wrapped tightly in paper and opened the hatch with a crinkled nose from the heavy weight of it. The door needed to be tightly sealed to keep the cold in and the cellar had wooden ladders with only five steps on them. The storage was narrow, the walls covered with many wooden shelf boards with glass jars of jam made by Marié to last a few seasons, mustard, a couple of bottles of wine, vegetables, eggs among other ingredients. Some of them kept in cold only because they tasted better that way in both Sophia’s and Bill’s opinion. They looked very much different appearance wise, except for their hazel green eyes, but the two shared the same tastebuds for sure.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Sophia went down the few steps carefully and placed some of the new ingredients on the vacant spots on otherwise packed shelves and quickly hurried up to close the hatch, not wanting to waste any more of the chilly air under.

  ’’What we having today?’’ Bill appeared behind her as she had closed the cellar hatch and helped her up by gently tucking her elbow.

  ’’The old granny sold chicken today.’’ Sophia said while Bill nodded approvingly.

  ’’Ready to go, then?’’ Bill got his belt which held a sheath for his trusty knife, came in handy in the woods many times. Sophia got ready as well while Bill went behind the cabin to get Bruno and the carriage ready. She ran upstairs and fetched the crossbody bag, dropped the notebook still having the unique ink pen linked to it, and also wore her belt on the waist with a knife resting attached on the front of it, over the dark brown sleeveless dress and a white lightweight shirt underneath with lovely puffy sleeves reaching under the elbows. She tied her hair with a ribbon on a simple ponytail falling behind and rushed downstairs, then outside barely wearing the boots fully. Her favorite time of the day.

  Bill had already brought Bruno with the horse carriage at front and facing the road, sitting on the long wooden seat with the halter ready in both hands. Sophia rushed through the yard and heaved herself high up beside him. By the light blue sky it seemed to become a splendid day, Bill said so himself. Sophia hummed a cheerful melody while closing her eyes with a pleased smile, letting the warm early breeze brush her cheeks with delight. They left Bruno with the carriage on the side of the road with plenty of hay, apples and a metal bucket of water as they began to go a little higher on the side of the hill surrounded by trees’. Sophia sat on a rock and read through the already filled early pages while Bill continued working on the chopped tree from the days prior. While wiping away sweat from the top of his forehead, Bill glanced towards Sophia—her serious and determined eyes shining the most precious jade, deep red lips puckered from the concentration—and for a moment he could see Gregory as a young boy on her spot instead. The sudden image made his heart clench with unforeseen misery, yet eased just as abruptly, for he knew the person sitting on that round rock sticking from the ground was the child part of his son. Part of his legacy.

  ’’You know—’’ Bill hit the axe hard against the tree with one hand, leaving it stuck there, ’’You’re more like your father than the color of your eyes.’’ He continued, those unlikely words from between his usually silent lips forced Sophia to wonder if she had heard him right after all. Even after Sophia grew older, they still had no conversations about her parents. Not even when it was time to honor their passing on the anniversary of the tragedy, they’d sit beside one another by a candle and whisper their silent thoughts deep beneath their own private minds. And those moments held just as much sentimentality. Their silence expressing all which deemed necessary.

  ’’How so?’’ Sophia lowered the dark brown leather notebook gently on her lap with a tilted head, curious from the sudden initiation and brushed a stubborn strand of hair behind the ear which seemed to keep wanting to dance with the wind.

  Bill placed his large hands on the hips and sighed deeply, raising the chin up to admire the nature around. The scuffling of the green leaves and birds singing somewhere high, used to the loud sound of metal cutting through the trees’. Bill’s stubble had grown into a beard of an old man. His hair still uncut yet kept swept underneath a checkered ivy cap, ’’Your interests and talents. Some of the small habits. Facial expressions even. But mostly your connection with the nature.’’

  ’’Well, it is your speciality too, is it not? So perhaps father had it from you originally.’’ Sophia leaned the palms of her hands against the cool surface of the rock being sheltered from the sun by a huge stem of a tree. Bill huffed out a lopsided laugh, shaking his head.

  ’’No, definitely from my son. He was the one who got me to see beyond the roots and stems and branches which I cut and ripped from mother nature. He is the one who taught me, first.’’ It was just as rare to see a shooting star on a midnight blue sky, or colorful aurora over the frosted Tempe Deur, as it was to see a faint smile on Bill’s lips accompanied by loose hooded eyebrows which normally would stick irritated.

  ’’He did?’’ Sophia made sure.

  ’’Gregory—my son—was a brilliant young boy. He cared about what these forests had to say. Their stories and lessons. And he listened. He taught me a whole new appreciation to my own surroundings. Even though our time together seemed to expire prematurely, I still cherish every moment left with me.’’ He did not look straight towards Sophia, would not dare. But she kept silent for as long as he spoke and even after to make sure he had said all there was to, for she would not waste a moment to have a piece of his heart and mind for safekeeping.

  ’’Then.. Why did you disapprove?’’ Sophia hesitated to ask. She chose her tone carefully not to come off as blaming nor accusing, but with a desire to understand.

  ’’What the hell are you talking about?’’ There it was, Bill’s usual irritated tone of voice, ’’Him and Harriett? Not once have I disapproved. And it’s insulting for you to assume I did.’’

  ’’I— No! I never assumed.’’ A lie. As it turned out, Sophia had done just that. Assumed. Had she ever asked if he disapproved of their marriage? Had mother and father ever directly said it was the Dilamor’s that were against it along with the family Cornelia from Town of Wrethn?

  ’’No, i did assume.’’ Sophia felt a sudden sting of shame run through her chest, ’’Mother’s side of the family were clear with their oppose. Even young ten year old me could see once I travelled from one door to another before coming here. And I love this town so dearly, I see my father in every inch of there forests. I see my mother in each flower this land has gifted. It aches me to think they would leave here, leave you, voluntarily. Thus I assumed. I apologize.’’

  Bill took in a deep breath. He could’ve admitted how it made him feel a sense of disappointment having his only granddaughter, the only other person with the same blood running through their veins think he had pushed his own son away, ’’No, I never did. I could see my son hurt, yet unrelenting with the choice which he had made. Nor could I truly oppose, even if I wanted to. I asked them to stay here in Brifena, the upstairs more than enough to create a beginning for their marriage. He refused. He explained he felt a sense of quilt by taking the Cornelia’s their daughter without their consent. Those uptight ignorant pieces of shh—’’ Bill had to grit his teeth even reminded of the other side of their union, gathering his composure, ’’Gregory said they couldn’t come under my roof if Harriett’s side of the family disapproved of their union. Found it disrespectful towards the Cornelia’s. He did not tell me this, but I knew he was thinking about me as well, in a foolish way. A kind man to the last bone of his body. Just like his mother. He sent me a couple of letters on the early years. Though, I wish he had told me about you.’’ Bill remembered standing in the kitchen which seemed to lose it’s color as he watched the young Gregory in his early twenties for the last time turn towards the door by the entrance. Wondering what expression he had made as the door shut behind him for the final time. Over time, perhaps their distance grew naturally. Although Bill never truly stopped entertaining the thought of one day his son, with his own family, would appear through the low stone fence. The day Sophia did, he had seen the unusual carriage and rushed outside from the shabby shed, only to find a lone child who so much reminded him of his own. Only arriving with heavy news.

  ’’So their unblessed marriage wouldn’t bring you down along with them.’’ Sophia let out all the air with a heavy heart. It would not look good for one family to set their foot down, while the other proceeded with a marriage. Thus Gregory and Harriett had decided to carry on alone in a sense, ’’I never knew, but it does sound like father, indeed. So that’s what it was. Because mother’s family pushed her away, he felt the obligation to pull himself away as well.’’

  ’’That’s him, ’aight. Of course, the opinions of other people I did not care about. But they had made up their mind by the time I tried talking them into staying. It is my one regret in life amongst other—seeing that expression on his face as the final one. If I only knew..’’ Bill opened his heart and held it out with arms stretched towards Sophia. Vulnerable as such Sophia had never seen him before, and made answering an enormous task. But even still, Sophia decided not to overanalyze. She was handed the deepest thoughts of her one and only family, and she would gladly share those scars with arms just as open.

  ’’Their faces are growing hazy in my memories.’’ Sophia said with a softening smile, ’’At first I felt frightened, apprehensive with the thought of having to forget. But it was the sound of their voices which I forgot first. Then little by little, I could not see them once I closed my eyes anymore.’’ She let her eyelids shut heavy, seeing through the twinkling light of the sun emit from the opening of the branches, ’’But once I realized that the feeling which those memories left me with never went away, I felt my soul set with ease.’’

  Bill came beside Sophia and leaned against the rock while crossing his arms. He avoided any eye contact, not that Sophia tried to gain any, but kept his ear towards her as a sign to go on for as long as she needed, ’’We’ve never talked about them, but did you know? At first when I arrived I could not see the resemblance between you two. Did not take long, though. After all, you are more like him as well than you think.’’

  ’’Baloney.’’ Bill growled, clearing out his throat and with a sniff of a nose. Hay allergies, of course.

  ’’No it is the truth, I do not lie. You ruffle my hair as he once did. You make me plates of food filled overflowing just like he used to. He might’ve been more vocal with his affection, but you let it show just as bright. I never told you how I appreciate all you’ve done for me.’’ Sophia smiled.

  ’’Silly squid..’’ Bill hid away with gritted teeth. The conversation was almost physically hurting him, but it deemed necessary. Even for him.

  ’’You started it.’’ Sophia laughed disbelieved, ’’Thank you, grandpa Bill.’’ She added, wanting to tease the old man a bit further while she had a chance, ’’They were happy, truly. You can let go of the worry in your heart.’’

  As they listened and took in all the silent whispers of comfort offered in their serene surroundings, Sophia stole a glance of Bill and each grey hair on his beard. The wrinkles between the eyebrows resulted from many years of effortless sulking. The spots of melisma on his skin resulted from many years working outside. She wanted to save it in her memory. If she made a conscious effort early, maybe she’d never forget. Even if one day the unavoidable happened, she would not forget. Sophia did not want to think about the future and the gap in their age nor the possible separation no matter who left first. But a certain fear always loomed in the back of her mind. A danger which was not time itself at all, but something even more worrying. Had she ever noticed anything different on the day when her parents died in that devastating disaster? Were there any clues? Any signs, feelings, bad foreseeing dreams or a tiny seed of a hunch?

  No.

  Nothing.

  At all.

  And because of that she learned the fact that no matter how normal the beginning of the day seemed, in the morning one could be kissed and hugged goodbye by loving, doting parents, while excitedly wishing them a good day ahead. And by the evening you’d be sitting in an empty, cold and sad and weeping corridor with nothing left except and empty, hollow heart.

  And that is what terrified her.

  The easiness of the enchanting morning, and the uncertainty of the darkened evening.

  ─?~???~?─