Beginning
Symbolizing rebirth and new beginnings, the daffodil is virtually synonymous with spring.
"They should bloom in time for the wedding," Mrs. Hughes predicted as she placed the last daffodil bulb in the soil.
Mr. Carson had shook his head in dismay as he watched her kneeling on a folded blanket, her gloved hands patting down soil in the cold January morning air. "They won't grow, Mrs. Hughes. Nothing has been done to the beds to prepare them, and you plant them in the fall, not mid-winter."
"We'll see, Mr. Carson. You never know. Life has a way of surprising you." She hadn't looked at him when she said it. Had she, his admiration of the curve of her bottom would have been sadly interrupted.
She smiled at her own words. Life did have a way of surprising. Within the last few months, not only had the opportunity for a retirement she never thought possible presented itself, but at the age of almost sixty, she was engaged to be married to the man whom had long been the subject of her heart's desire.
"Finished." She arched her slightly aching back as Mr. Carson moved to assist her in standing. "Thank you," she smiled up at him as she rubbed the gloves together in an effort to remove clinging soil.
"Are you pleased with the house, Mrs. Hughes?" They looked up at the charming two story limestone structure.
"Quite pleased, Mr. Carson. I think I will be even more pleased when we are able to call it home."
"It will be strange to think of somewhere besides Downton as home." Mr. Carson's confession was tinged with a little melancholy.
"Downton has never been my home."
He was startled by her statement. "But you've lived there longer than you lived even in your childhood home, Mrs. Hughes. How can Downton not feel like your home?"
"I don't mean to sound contrary, Mr. Carson, but the fact is I didn't grow up here." She laughed as she added, "I don't know if you have noticed, but I don't exactly sound like the rest of you. And yes, I know I am no longer a Scottish farm girl, but I do still think of Argyll as my home."
Sensing his dismay, Mrs. Hughes pulled off a glove and slid her now bare hand into his. "Downton may be what you call home now, and Argyll may be what feels like home to me at the moment, but when we are married it will be a new beginning don't you think?" She squeezed his hand, "A new beginning in our home."
He couldn't help but smile as he looked down at her lovely face. "Yes. Our home."
And now, three months later, a warm April sun shines on them as they arrive at the house on Brouncker Road. Mr. Carson holds her left hand in his right, his finger brushing over the gold band she has worn for less than an hour. As they enter through the gate, a dazzling array of yellow catches both their eyes as they embark up the path to the front door.
"Look, Charles."
He smiles; delighted for once to have been wrong. "What a lovely welcome home."
Mrs. Carson steps in front of him, her arms sliding under his as she looks up at her husband, "A lovely welcome to our home."
