Little Miss Emma, the daughter of the master and mistress of the house, was delivered to the world two years after Henry and immediately conquered every heart in the household. She was a picture of perfection. She looked like an angel with her golden curls, chubby cheeks and big blue eyes. Everyone adored her every smile and laugh; each new word of hers was welcomed with amazement. Little Emma was like a sweet doll that happened to move and talk. What a wonderful toy she was.
But like every toy, she was sweet and lovely only when being amusing. When she refused to sing a song or recite a poem in front of guests, or when she cried like mad because she didn't get what she wanted, she just annoyed her parents. Years later, after many failures and wrong choices, she'd understand that her family loved only that perfect image of her. But now, she was just a child who needed a little bit more understanding.
Her situation was so different from Henry's, and yet so alike. Emma had everything she could ask for; Henry had lost everything he had when his mother died. Emma was always the center of everyones's attention, while Henry was always a problem they didn't want to notice. But both were lonely children in a great need of a friend.
It was almost impossible for them to meet each other. They lived in one house but in two different worlds. Sometimes Henry saw little Miss Emma walking in the garden with her nurse or heard her playing piano in her room, but he only observed her from far away. He never even tried to talk to her. She was an ordinary child, just like him, but to Henry, Emma appeared as some fairy princess - beautiful but distant.
One day, though, when Henry was ten years old, those two worlds came together and Henry met Emma.
It was one of those hard days for Henry when his father was more occupied than usual with his work and even less patient with him and his clumsiness. On days like this the memories of his mother were much stronger and made him cry harder and louder. So it was quite understandable that on this very day James Cogsworth lost his temper for the first time. He shouted at his son as he never had before.
"All you can do is sob and ruin everything, you useless creature! Get out! Get out right now!"
A moment later he was shocked at the way he had treated his own son. He couldn't believe he could say such cruel things to him. But it was too late now - Henry had run out. Because of James' duties he had no time to go look for him. He could only wish the boy wouldn't do anything silly or harmful.
A moment later Henry was running through the house door and made his way to the garden. He carefully opened the garden gate and looked for some peaceful place where he could just sit and cry, undisturbed by anyone's questions or requests. When he finally found a bench to sit on he heard a noise somewhere close by.
Henry looked around, a little frightened. Who could have made those noises? Maybe someone had come to shout at him again? But what he saw was not anyone scary who might harm him, but a lovely little girl. Across from Henry stood Emma.
At first the boy was surprised and a little shocked to see the young miss walking in the garden all alone, but when she spoke, all those feelings vanished out of his head.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Henry took off his hat and replied nervously, staring at the ground.
"Good morning, Miss Emma. I'm Henry Cogsworth. It's so very nice to see you."
In response Miss Emma asked him "Can you make wreaths?" When she didn't get an answer, she tried again. "Wreaths. With flowers. Veronique knows how to make them but she isn't free today."
Henry almost choked on his words but he forced himself to answer.
"Yes, I... I know how, Miss Emma."
"That's wonderful!" Emma's eyes suddenly looked brighter than ever. She took Henry's hand, forcing him to walk with her. The boy didn't protest in any way, feeling that he would be happy to go wherever she wated him to. All the way to the place where the wild flowers grew, Emma was talking to Henry as well as to herself.
"It's so good you are here to help me with those wreaths. I've been planning to make them since this morning, but if not for you I wouldn't have been able to make them so the whole day would be ruined and Marian and Guinevere would be so disappointed. They are my favourite dolls. My papa bought them for me but I don't remember when. The wreaths are for them, actually. I hope you're good at making them because I want them to be very beautiful. Are you sure you're good at it?"
"Yes," he answered slowly and quietly, adding after a moment, "Miss Emma."
"Ooh, I'm so glad! Look, this is the place. Aren't the flowers lovely? I expecially love those yellow ones."
"They're...they're marigolds," Henry told her, looking at the flower, although he would have preferred to be watching Miss Emma's reaction to what he had just said.
"And this one. Do you know what this one is?" Emma asked, showing him blue flowers shaped like little bells.
"Those are bluebells, Miss Emma."
Then she showed him one flower after another, asking their names and watching him making little doll-sized wreaths out of them. Now it was Emma who watched, amazed, while Henry was the one who talked. He named all the flowers that grew around them, described step by step how to make wreaths, and explained that it wasn't difficult if you focused on what you were doing. He told her the names of all the bugs she had found among the flowers and showed her birds' nests hidden in the trees. All this he did with patience and care.
Suddenly he realized that he wasn't frightened anymore and could speak very easily. He was even quite proud of himself and what he knew. As far as he could remember, he could talk this way only with his mother. Only she truly listened to him, interested in everything he was saying. And Emma's face when she litened was so much like his mother's.
"You really know a lot," said Emma to Henry when the wreaths were ready. "Veronique, my nurse, knows a lot, but not such good and useful things."
"My mama told me all this. She really loved nature." Henry couldn't believe he was speaking about his mother so easily. Talking to Emma felt so comfortable.
"Your mama must be very smart," said Emma.
"She was. She's not here any more."
"Why? Did she move somewhere?"
"To... to heaven."
For the first time Emma looked awkward, not knowing what to say. And for the first time their eyes met.
"Please don't be sad. I didn't want to make you sad!"
"I'm not sad, Miss Emma,"said Henry, smiling, but the tears that flowed down his cheek said differently.
When Emma saw how hurt the boy was, a great compassion started to grow in her young heart. although it was so inexperienced, it already had its own pains. She felt that somehow she was the one who could understand him, even if she didn't know how to express it. After a long period of silence, broken by Henry's single sob, her feelings formed into words. suddenly she cried, "My mother doesn't love me."
Henry stopped his sobbing immediately and looked in shock at the girl who had been acting so confident just an hour ago and now was crying just like him. When the first shock passed he understood what she had just said, and that scared him even more. He forced himself to stop crying and tried to comfort her as gently as he could.
"You must be wrong. I'm sure you are wrong. All mothers love their children."
"Not mine!" Emma almost shouted. "Sometimes she likes me. Sometimes when I'm dressed nicely and play piano when guests are around she likes me. When I behave and stay with Veronique she likes me. But when I ask her something, when I want to play with her or just be with her, she doesn't like me at all. At all! She always says I annoy her..."
Hery didn't know how it happend, but a moment later he found himself embracing Emma warmly. Slowly her sobs quieted. Finally she stopped crying and hugged him in return.
"I like you, Miss Emma. I promise I will always like you."
When James Cogsworth walked to the garden some time later to look for his son and Miss Emma, he found the children wandering together hand in hand, watching the nature around them and sometimes speaking to each other. He stopped for a little while to look at the picture they made. There was something beautiful and innocent in it, but also very improper. Two children from different classes, different worlds. James' first thought was to make it stop immediately to avoid all the consequences. But then he looked at the scene once more and, smiling to himself, he thought, "Henry looks so happy. I can't remember him being happy since Harriet's been gone. And it's only children playing together. Soon they will realise how different they are and it will all end. It wouldn't do any harm to anyone if they are friends for a while. I'm sure I am right."
But the truth was James couldn't be more wrong.