Dirt
A little dirt never hurt anyone. That's what she always reminded herself. And usually, she believed it. Usually she could think and feel like a rational human being and know that a little dirt never hurt anyone.
Jean lived all her life on a farm, surrounded by dirt. Dirt let things grow and flourish. Dirt was the home to their food and their livelihood and everything that was green and beautiful.
But sometimes she resented the dirt, even then. When she didn't clean well enough under her fingernails and the teachers at school would frown at her in class. When she went to church with mud on her dress. The dirt was a constant reminder that she didn't ever belong very far away from it.
The fight against the dirt became more desperate when her children came along. Keeping them clean. Keeping them safe. But all the while, the constant reminder that the dirt on the farm was their life.
The real trouble didn't start until she was faced with the reality of having to leave the farm. All she could see in the red-brown clay mud was blood. In her mind's eye, this was what her Christopher had seen in his last moments. Blood and dirt.
Suddenly, nothing was clean enough. No amount of scrubbing or bleaching or washing could make it go away. Nothing could provide a reprieve from the dirt. It was almost a blessing, being forced to sell the farm when she found she couldn't manage it on her own as a widow. Maybe she could finally escape the dirt.
When she left, things became easier. The panic didn't come nearly as often. The dirt was far enough removed from Thomas Blake's house that she began to welcome her soft forays into it. Planting her flowers in the sunroom, tending to the garden outside. A kind reminder of the life she grew from the dirt.
Even so, the fear returned sometimes. When Lucien was too drunk or when he got hurt. The panic led her back to the frantic scrubbing that seemed to be the only way to ease her soul. If there was a problem, getting rid of the dirt sometimes seemed the only answer.
When he pricked his finger on a rose thorn and a drop of blood fell into the brown dirt in the garden, Jean swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. She reminded herself to breathe. She forced a smile when he kissed her cheek. Yes. A little dirt never hurt anyone.