I didn't know what to expect. England had sounded dull and dreary with the constant bad humoured weather and illnesses sweeping away half the population every so often. But mother would often wistfully recall her happy childhood days that went by there. She would wouldn't she? She was the only reason I had been bundled off into this foreign land, destined to live with strange people while she was mourning for my father, following the call of God.
Yet I've never been so glad to be proved wrong. Sitting in the wobbly train that constantly lurched back and forth, greased with oil to maximise the shininess of the cheap plastic that the seats were made from (it looked ancient and was falling apart despite all the efforts anyway). I peered out of my half shut window. The sight of beautiful, healthy trees and open meadows with cows and sheep grazing on the empty land- was the sight that met my eyes. Everything was cloaked in a magical cloud of mist that made my heart settle in peace. Maybe this trip won't be so bad after all, I consoled myself.
Yet, I was particularly depressed by the whole idea of shifting from home, but what choice did I have? Especially when my own mother chose to selfishly abandon me. My stomach sank as I relived the accounts of that day.
It had been quite an ordinary day- except for the fact that the following events would throw our world into turmoil. I was perched in front of my typewriting, enthusiastically typing away a letter addressed to our local High Council to complain out the service that we need to replace the leaky taps in the kitchen. I was utterly wrapped up in the solace of clack-clack of my keyboard, letting the keys fill up the comfortably quiet room. Mother was knitting away a scarf- an early gift for the oncoming winter which at that time, seemed ages away. She looked at peace, concentrating in the sunny light in the front porch. Our whole life was inundated with the bright golden glow of the sun. It was a warm afternoon; just like any other time.
Except, it was the day after my father's death.
A flustered young man hastily clambered the gate open and bounded up the stairs leading to to porch. My mother gently placed her pointed needles on the nearby teapoy and after smoothing the creases on her powdered-blue skirt, she stood up and enquired after him. I continued to type away my letter, my back facing mother but as I leaned back to see what the young man had to tell her, I saw her face slacken and she collapsed onto the floor.
"Mama!" I cried, rushing out of my chair as quickly as I could- ignoring the scraping on the wooden leg against the marble floor. I couldn't catch her, neither could the alarmed young man, but I sat by her and cradled her head on my lap.
"Mama? Mama! Wake up!" Submerged in panic and concern, I repeatedly called out to her in some vain hope she would wake up. Mother had always been faint-hearted and soft, but never had she fainted at anything. Apart from when father left her.
"Who are you? What did you tell her?" I snapped at the young man.
He looked even more awkward and alarmed and I felt a momentary sense of pity towards him. "I ...I am a messenger from ..the Brotherhood ma'am," he stuttered. My face must have darkened because fear flittered across his face. Mentally cursing my father for always being the one to inflict pain on mother, I braced myself for news of his latest selfish deeds.
"Well, pray to The Lord, what has Tobias Beckenwood done for us to deserve a Brotherhood messenger on our doorstep?" I was rather certain that the Brotherhood would not waste the services of a messenger if it didn't have something to do with their loyal disciple: my runaway father.
I occupied my hands by emptying a nearby vase, dumping fresh lilies onto the floor, pouring the water inside the vase into my cupped hands, then sprinkling it onto my mother's face. Her eyebrows stirred and eyelids fluttered as I called out, "Mama! Mama wake up. It's Fiona, mama."
Mother passively opened her eyes, it was obvious that the simple act required a lot of effort. Quickly, tears filled up and her voice wavered as she moaned, "Fiona, my dear child, oh Fiona." Breaking down into chopped up sobs, she lay her head on my chest and I wrapped my arms around her.
"Hush mama, you must rest, I'll see you to your bed chamber." I tried to heave mother up, giving the messenger a glare to say 'help me then, considering this is partially your fault.'
Thankfully, he caught onto the pragmatic message and wordlessly, he helped mother up by her arm. Together, we lead her to her large room and lay her down on her simple cot. Tucking mother inside who was still muttering incoherently, we excused ourselves and stepped outside into the living room.
I once again, rekindled my previous question, "What brings you here?" Although I remained complacent, my heart was beating rapidly against my ribcage. He remained mute, too afraid to meet my eyes.
"I beg you to release the burden of your message, whatever it may be, just tell me," I spat out irritably. I knew it was hardly un-ladylike but I'd long shed that personality when I was forced to take upon different roles after my father's betrayal.
"Please don't faint," he pleased naïvely, I almost smiled.
"I assure you, I won't. Now tell me," I said gently.
He inhaled deeply, as if he were mustering up all of his courage; I waited patiently, unable to take of my eyes him.
"I bring you the sad news of his death, ma'am,"
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