Scotland, 1952.
The eight years that followed that time so sad were the happiest. The biggest concerns during this time were the diseases unimportant of the girl, as, indeed, happened with all children, rich or poor.
Moreover, past what were the first six months, she grew visibly and learned to walk and talk in her own way.
She was the ray of sunshine that shone brighter than ever in a saddened house: A beautiful face with the pretty eyes of Gold, but with clear skin, delicate features and curly brown hair as Isabelle. A living spirit, but without harshness, crowned by a heart sensitive and warm showed on her features. In this way her deep affections, she looked like her mother. Similarly, resembled her mother because she was able to be tender and soft, and her voice was sweet, but the expression was wistful; unlike her father, her anger was never exaggerated, and unlike her mother, her love was not devastating. It was tender and deep.
It must, however, recognize some defects among the qualities: one of them was a certain boldness; the other was a perverse stubbornness that spoiled children will invariably shows, don't matter if they have good or bad temper.
And if her father scolded her, even if only with a look, she was offended, looked like they had done her harm.
It was he alone who took charge of the education of the child, making it his entertainment: fortunately, her curiosity and keen intelligence made her an excellent student, learned quickly and with ease, doing justice to her mentor.
Rose arrived at eight years and was at this age she showed to have a dreamy mind, and longed for adventure. Sometimes, however, by the window of her room, her eyes peering through the fields, she asked:
"Papa, when can I climb to the top of those hills? Much like to know what extends beyond them. It is the sea?"
"No, my dear," he replied. "There are other hills equal to these".
His little girl sought for adventure and waited for the hours of night, when father and daughter lay on the couch facing the fireplace, with blankets and books that she chose for him to read. During these eight years, she always asked about her mother, but she never cried.
Except that day, when the fields were hidden by a thick fog, and only a few rays of sunshine could seep through it. That day, his Rose cried.
Adrian Gold was sitting in his usual chair in the library, taking notes on some papers and documents, when the door burst open, and a little girl with tousled brown hair entered the room.
She did not stop in front of his desk, but went straight to her father and threw herself into his arms, burying her face against his chest and wept.
"Hey... Little sunshine" He dropped the papers on the table and hugged his daughter, startled. "What is it dear? What happened?".
Rose remained with her face hidden, and Adrian did not press her, waiting patiently until she calmed down. He didn't like seeing his daughter crying; it scared him.
After a few moments, she looked up at her father. "What happened, sweetheart?" Gold asked again, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his fingertips.
"Is that... Oh Papa..." She took a deep breath, trying to be brave. "I'm sorry, but I went up to the attic..." Rose said afraid, as if she had committed a crime. Gold sighed; it was in the attic that he kept some of his belongings that he had used during the war. "And... I found a picture...". She spoke in a whisper.
Adrian didn't need to ask which photo was, because he knew exactly what she was talking about. It was a small and blurry photo, yellowish because of the time, which was taken at the home of Bougton, in the first night that Isabelle had come to Paris and they had met. And although the picture was black and white, he remembered perfectly the color of the dress and the eyes of Isabelle: both a piercing blue.
"How was she like?" At that time, Gold understood why Rose wept; she missed her mother.
Rose had done that question several times, but he knew his daughter wanted to know who really was her mother. Gold reflected for a moment, remembering his beloved. "Isabelle was a brave woman. Extremely brave and kind..." He smiled. "She was a beautiful woman, who was not afraid to help her people. A beautiful woman who loved a man that himself believed to be a monster. Your mother could see goodness in others, and when it was not there... She created it" Rose looked at him intently, and the tears in her eyes had ceased. "Your mother was the most wonderful person I've met...".
Rose sighed sadly, hugging her father again, and muttered:
"I miss her...".
He hugged her tightly, trying to comfort her. "Me too, my dear... Me too."
Adrian Gold always feared having to live the rest of his life having to hear in his thoughts the memories of the battles faced in the field, of bombs falling on their heads and on the towns, and the agonized screams of people who died around him. But these were not memories that haunted him. What haunted him was the smiling look, a shy smile, the warmth of a hug, the soft melody of that voice that lived with him and that would never return. After all, this was the sound of war.
The last chapter. I want to thank you to all the people who read this story, who share your thoughts and support me during these 23 chapters. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I. Thank you very much 3