A Mother's Love

by Marian Unn

  *****

  “Have you all had breakfast?” I asked, turning to the kids who had gathered around. They all shook their heads to the side and cried out “No!” “Excellent! I shall make some. Now, what ingredients do you have?” I asked, as we walked gleefully down the stairs.

  “We got a barn with hens!” said one of the children, hiding as he did. It was the first time he had spoken to me. “Could you please go gather me some eggs then?” He nodded. “I even know how to tell which ones got babies and which ones don’t, so I’ll be extra good at pickin’ them!”

  “That is marvelous! You must show me sometime so that I can be sure to pick the right ones when at the market.” He nodded with apple cheeks and a giggling voice, as he raced out the door. Shooting her hand up, Mary strained her arm to get my attention, and when she finally did she shouted, “I will go help Augustus!” and without another word she dashed out giggling after the little boy.

  Looking through the kitchen and the cellar I found the supplies to be low. There were only three loaves of bread in the cupboard and a few salted meats in the cellar. “Do we not have anything else?” I asked myself, not expecting a response or that one would come so quickly.

  “We got corn in the field, but Father says that’s only for dinner,” a little boy said sweetly. Clearly a loving and respectful child, his eyes were pleading to me for attention as he spoke. “We also have strawberries, grapes, apples, potatoes, and some other stuff, but I don’t know what it is. Father says some of it we aren’t supposed to eat.”

  “Why, how did you get such a wonderful assortment of food?” I asked in astonishment. Even my market at home was lacking in such delicacies as those that this boy claimed to reside here.

  “Father said he went to some great big place across the ocean, which is a lot of water he says.” The boy held up his head with a smile, proud that he knew such valuable information. “He said he brought them here so that we could all eat healthy and good tasting foods, and they are really good! But I don’t like potatoes!”

  Laughing at the little boy, I patted his head gently. You should just be grateful that there is even food to eat; others out there have nothing and are starving as we speak. Why, I remember poor Merek and I were once poor and hungry, and how I would sometimes not eat because we were so-” I paused. Shaking my head, I began to stutter, “N-No, th-that is no-not right… It may have been only a lit-little, but the tw-three of us have always had enough t-to eat, we all…” My words had trailed off. What in the world am I thinking? Saying Merek and I, Jobel is always there, is he not?

  “Miss Rosetta, are you okay?” the little boy’s fingers shook as they tugged my dress. “Y-yes, I am sorry, my head had began to hurt a bit for some reason.”

  “What can we do to make it better,” he voiced the question that all their little eyes mused. Forcing a painful smile, I mumbled softly, “You can go pick me a few of your strawberries.” As he ran off, the other children filed in, taking his place around me. “What can we do? What can we do?” they all asked resoundingly.

  Their big bright eyes helped to swell up the confidence within me. With an authoritative voice, I ordered them each to their own tasks, which they took on with joy and confidence, determined to accomplish whatever they were assigned.

  Two were to pick up the trash on the first floor, and three were to do the same on the second. I assigned more to the second since it was much dirtier than the first. Three of them gathered all the clothes and sheets they could find, and it was clear by their curious little faces that they had no idea of my intention to wash them later. I sent four pairs out, one with a damp rag and another with a dry one to do their best to scrub any stains they found in the house. And if it could not be cleaned, they were to remember the spot and point it out to me later. I would be sure to get it! Two were also sent to gather all the dishes and cups, while a set of three stood by to wash and dry, and wash and dry. The final task was the collecting of the handmade toys that littered the floors and placing them all in a chest I had conveniently found at the foot of the bed in the attic. I told the children that this was necessary so that all the toys could be organized and have a place of their own, other than the floor where people could step on and break them. I showed each person how to do their job once, and before I repeated it, they all grinned and showed me that they needed no repetition.

  When the little boy came back with a bucket full of strawberries, I patted his head. Each child brimmed as I did this to every single one as they each completed their tasks. The attention that these children so deserved was awarded: upon this boy, the children who brought the eggs, those that gathered the sheets, those that picked up the toys, and all the others who had worked so hard. Cleary God sent me here for this reason. It has not yet been a full day, but I can already see my purpose here unfolding according to His plan.

  An older girl, older than most here at least, pointed out all the tools and ingredients for the kitchen. Before long, each child had two slices of bread, with some strawberry jam slathered on for flavor, and a side of half an egg, a quarter for the littlest ones. Like a large family, we crowded around three little round tables that had been stacked in the corner. Each child smiled brightly, even the burned child, who made it down the stairs after a while, with the help of a few friends, of course. He too shared in the radiance and joy of this little group of blissful children.

  There was one, however, who stood out from the group. Mitch had not come to me to ask if I needed help, though he had been tending to those who were sick upstairs, so I did not need to give him a job. I was bothered by how he continued to act standoffish to me, cold and unwilling to participate in the activities with the other children. However, he did stick closely to Jelb.

  He and Jelb seemed to have some type of connection, a very deep one that was difficult for the other children and even me, to understand. Whatever they had gone through must have been painful, and although Mitch showed no outward signs of wounds as Jelb did, I suspected there were just as many scars within him. Their pains may be different, but I think it is each of their pains that connects the two of them. I believe there is an intimate understanding between them for which no words are necessary to communicate. Nevertheless, this does not give them, or more specifically Mitch, the right to ignore his fellows and disregard anyone else besides Jelb. He does respect Father Quetell, that is clear, and he does help the other children as well. So, perhaps it is just me whom Mitch does not like.

  I hope one day we can get along. I wish I could see that boy truly smile from the bottom of his heart, and for Jelb it would be nice to simply see him cured, without his bandages and burns. Though the latter is more a miracle than a wish, I would still like to see it someday.

  After breakfast I taught the children how to properly wash their clothes and how dishes should be put away and organized. Father clearly had no sense of organization as the non-edible thing mentioned by the boy earlier as growing in the fields was cotton! And it was mixed in with the strawberries and grapes instead of having its own plot. Although it was difficult to harvest between the foods, I somehow acquired some of the cotton. Before long, I would teach them how to sew clothes and dolls. They would struggle, but each would make it through with their own bold will to succeed.

  “Now, how about we all take a break? Go play and do what children do,” I said as supper was ending and the day coming to a close. The house was clean, the clothes and dishes washed, the trash thrown away, and all the other miscellaneous objects were stowed. With resounding cheers, they all ran to different places, some outside, others upstairs, and some simply around me! Though they put up hard faces while working, they are children, and children will do what children will do.

  Suddenly little cheers came from the door. “Papa! Papa!” one cried, as another shouted “Father! Father!” running to the door to meet the priest. His jaw dropped when he saw the tidy room.

  “Well! Well! You have all been busy while I was away!” his big g
rin welcomed all the children to come and embrace him in hugs and kisses, their tiny arms stretching as wide as they could to grasp the priest. Although he smiled, his eyes were weary and showed that his travel was not an easy or a short one.

  Looking him over from a few steps away, I saw he was not dressed as a priest but as a common peasant. “May you not even wear an outer rosary or your collar?” I asked. He looked at me with a heavy stare, “No, it is a dangerous country now, not the same as when you last remember it.”

  He trudged over to a large green chair. Slouching in it, he sighed, “I’ve talked to someone. They can take you to your hometown; however, they must contact many others before that journey. I am afraid to say that I will have to hand you to strangers that even I have not met. I hear they are good people, though, so wait a few weeks, and we shall see how it goes.” Sliding his hand across his face, he shook his head and laughed, “I say a few weeks but it could take months. The King’s guards have for some reason increased their numbers in this region. The rate of priests’ arrests and the discovery of hidden religious factions have also increased. I just don’t know how we are going to get through these times.”

  “Why, I have never heard such a depressing thing, Father! Are you not a man of God? What have you to fear when He is always with you?”

  The priest laughed, “I suppose you are right, but a priest is still a mortal man, and even he fears death. Such is the fate that befalls any of the King’s opposers who are caught.”

  “Why does the King hate religion so much?” I asked.

  He shook his head in a hopeless motion. Rubbing his temples he sighed, “I do not know. Perhaps he blames God for something painful in his life. That would be the simple answer. Some say the man is just evil, hateful; they say he takes pleasure in the crushing of dreams and the destruction of all forms of hope. However, I still pray that these things are not true, that there is some superficial reason why he does the things he does. If it is for such a reason, than there is hope for the future, hope that he will change.” He sighed once more. “But I know such prayers are for naught. The King appears to be truly hateful. His laws are precise and unflawed. The government has never been so well organized than under his rule! He is a clear thinker, if only he hadn’t such a clouded mind.”

  I mulled on the Father’s words. His name was Merek, just as my son, and it has been years since my last memory of him, most likely over a decade. I traced the lines on my face. Could he be my son? No, Merek was a name of more children than just mine. There are probably a few hundred of them out there.

  And yet…

  Sitting on a blanket at the foot of the chair I leaned back on a propped up pillow, “I know there is probably very little likelihood of the King being my son, for we were poor people as I said before, but my heart still hurts when you speak of him. I mourn for the mother who must have watched her son become such a hateful person as you tell me he is, and in the end, I mourn for myself.” The children gathered round, resting their heads around me. They were silent, but their big weary eyes looked up at me in pity, consoling me with their tight little hugs.

  I smiled at them, “Go, children, go and play now.” I held back my tears.

  “But-” a boy named Verdan quickly mumbled. “Verdan,” I said gently, combing my fingers through his hair, “Please allow me to speak to Father Quetell alone.” I tried my best to appear calm. Reluctantly, the children detached their little arms from me and ran out the door to play in the fields.

  Father Quetell grinned, “You are much better with the children than I,” he said. Lifting himself from the chair, he walked over to the kitchen, inspecting it for some scrap of food to hold him over for a while.

  “Oh, no, they love you much better!” I shook my head. Lifting myself up, I walked towards the kitchen area. Slathering some strawberry jam on a piece of bread, I handed it to him. A gentle grin crossed his face, “But I cannot do this.” He shook the piece of bread and jam. “It is very simple. I can show you if you like.” I began to reach for the leftover strawberries, but the Father laughed, and so I stopped.

  “That is not what I mean.” He sat back down in the chair. Chewing the bread slowly, he muttered something which I thought to be a compliment. “You yourself are a mother. You not only know the skills of how to raise a family, but you have the love to do so.”

  “W-Well, I-I know of no more loving people than priests!” I quickly stuttered. Blushing at the compliment, his honest eyes peered at me in wonder. They shined with wisdom beyond the young man’s years.

  “And I know of no more loving a person than a mother. A mother’s love is the greatest gift a child can receive. And as you can see here, these sweet children, they have no mother, which they all so deserve. I cannot give them the love of a mother, and a substitute father’s love cannot even come close to a mother’s.” He paused for a moment. With a look of conviction, he set his jaw tight. “Please,” he whispered, hesitant to speak his mind. Reaching out for me, he held my hands with his, “Please, tell me you will stay.”

  I smiled softly, “Oh, Father, I wish I could, but I must eventually find what has become of my husband and boy. How did I come out here? Who am I now to be having such fine garments? I fear that perhaps I may not wish to know these answers, and that it would be a good and right thing to stay here forever. But, I really don’t know.” I smiled softly, looking out the window at the laughing children running about in the grass, the bright sun beaming down on them.

  “I understand,” he whispered under his breath, “It is only right that you be with your family, just as it is only right for them to someday have families of their own.” He sighed with defeat, “But promise me, please, while you are here, will you please care for them as if they were your own? Would you, if only for a short while, teach them the love of a mother?”

  “It is only just that I do so. As a woman, a Christian, a mother, and as one who has been saved by these children, I have a duty to do just that. I will give to them what my mother gave to me, and my grandmother to her. I will give them love, patience, and of course faith in a way that only a mother can give to her child. Although I am sure you are more capable than I in teaching them the last.”

  He nodded reassuringly to me, and we smiled at each other then. “Thank you” was all he said, and he retired to his room. It was on the first floor.

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