Sianna fidgeted beneath the layers of covering heaped on the bed. The turn in the weather, as the world seemed quick to hunker down for the approaching winter, and the absence of her husband's body heat made their bed a cold retreat. Edging closer towards the middle of the bed, she rolled to her side, her arm splayed out against the spot where Johnny would normally be. Lashes fluttered against her cheeks as sleep stole upon her fitfully.
It was the kitchen of the family house. There were the notches against the doorframe leading outside to the water pump where the lads had kept track of which was tallest. Sunlight poured in through the windows, brilliant beech leaves not yet fallen to the ground filtering the rays into an ethereal pattern of shine and shadow. Before her sat the tray she had been preparing, waiting on the counter patiently for the teakettle to whistle. She spun slowly to soak in the quiet reprieve. Something felt odd, but she couldn't place her finger on it. As if on instinct, the kettle was claimed from the burner before it could utter a squeak. Tray toted comfortably, she exited the kitchen using her hip to nudge the door ajar and moved towards the parlor. There sat Gran, seeming so frail and thin beneath the coverlets, her eyes soaking in the sight of Beathan chopping wood in the barnyard from her perch near the window.
Sensing her granddaughter, the woman turned her face to greet her, the soft wrinkled cheeks lifting in a gentle smile.
"I brought ye th' tea ye asked, Gran. Now be a good lass an' drink it up for me, aye?" Sianna couldn't resist grinning with the last as she poured a cup to suit and held it out. Janneth Fraiser had been quite a beauty in her day, yet time could not drain it from her entirely. Her eyes still twinkled like pale sapphires, thick white curls swaying with the bob of her head, floating about her like a cloud of cotton batting.
Gnarled fingers, with a lifetime of work in them, patted hers in thanks and motioned for Sianna to take a seat on the hassock nearby."Aye, dinna fash. I'll sit and share a cup o' tea wi' ye, seanmhair." Doing as bid, Sianna poured her own cup of tea and took a healthy sip before resting comfortably upon the upholstered stool.
They both knew what would be coming. The Beaton had been more than plain. Blinking from her reverie, Sianna's gaze refocused when she realized Gran was saying something, thin lips forming a rapid stream of words.
"Gran, I canna hear ye." Shaking her head, Sianna tried to force a yawn so that her ears would pop. Surely that was the problem. Yet no relief for the problem, and Gran continued on, the expression on her face one of an urgent need to impart.... something.
"I canna hear ye, Gran. Speak up louder if ye can, aye?" The teacup fell to the floor with a crash like a gunshot as the dying woman reached forward to place her hands on Sianna's cheeks. Heartache and panic mingled together.
Even in sleep, Sianna strained to hear the silence.
It was the kitchen of the family house. There were the notches against the doorframe leading outside to the water pump where the lads had kept track of which was tallest. Sunlight poured in through the windows, brilliant beech leaves not yet fallen to the ground filtering the rays into an ethereal pattern of shine and shadow. Before her sat the tray she had been preparing, waiting on the counter patiently for the teakettle to whistle. She spun slowly to soak in the quiet reprieve. Something felt odd, but she couldn't place her finger on it. As if on instinct, the kettle was claimed from the burner before it could utter a squeak. Tray toted comfortably, she exited the kitchen using her hip to nudge the door ajar and moved towards the parlor. There sat Gran, seeming so frail and thin beneath the coverlets, her eyes soaking in the sight of Beathan chopping wood in the barnyard from her perch near the window.
Sensing her granddaughter, the woman turned her face to greet her, the soft wrinkled cheeks lifting in a gentle smile.
"I brought ye th' tea ye asked, Gran. Now be a good lass an' drink it up for me, aye?" Sianna couldn't resist grinning with the last as she poured a cup to suit and held it out. Janneth Fraiser had been quite a beauty in her day, yet time could not drain it from her entirely. Her eyes still twinkled like pale sapphires, thick white curls swaying with the bob of her head, floating about her like a cloud of cotton batting.
Gnarled fingers, with a lifetime of work in them, patted hers in thanks and motioned for Sianna to take a seat on the hassock nearby."Aye, dinna fash. I'll sit and share a cup o' tea wi' ye, seanmhair." Doing as bid, Sianna poured her own cup of tea and took a healthy sip before resting comfortably upon the upholstered stool.
They both knew what would be coming. The Beaton had been more than plain. Blinking from her reverie, Sianna's gaze refocused when she realized Gran was saying something, thin lips forming a rapid stream of words.
"Gran, I canna hear ye." Shaking her head, Sianna tried to force a yawn so that her ears would pop. Surely that was the problem. Yet no relief for the problem, and Gran continued on, the expression on her face one of an urgent need to impart.... something.
"I canna hear ye, Gran. Speak up louder if ye can, aye?" The teacup fell to the floor with a crash like a gunshot as the dying woman reached forward to place her hands on Sianna's cheeks. Heartache and panic mingled together.
Even in sleep, Sianna strained to hear the silence.