A Mother's Love

by Marian Unn

  Chapter 23

  The people did not cheer when they walked outside, though it was not surprising. It had been years since the royal family had moved from the town. They had not returned to the original capital, either. A new one was once again erected in an even stranger place than the little town.

  It was across from a beautiful valley where orphans played and lived, the huge castle sat towering across from the little orphanage’s cottage. All who lived round in the neighboring towns often saw the King himself playing with the orphans! He even invited them to stay in the castle, and so they did, but the cottage remained a home to the director of the orphanage who did not wish to move from it. His name was Mitch, a stubborn fellow. Most would call him unfriendly, but the children loved him all the more when they did. He and King Jobel were said to have become friends by a chance meeting during their childhoods, or so they say.

  The royal family had also reestablished the senate and created judges. Though the King had offered to create a republic and denounce his position, the people refused to let this happen. And so the royal family held its place, but it had little to do with politics now, a nice and sweet little life for them really.

  Through the streets, the little princess and the King walked, not a soul recognizing their beloved royals walking among them in commoners’ clothes. But they were indeed the talk of the town! The townsfolk had heard the King and his daughter had left their country home to come and visit their old home town. So, the people of the little town were keeping their eyes peeled for them, but who would have guessed such a casual looking man and his daughter could be the King and princess! Some had said to look for strangers because they were sure they would not make a large entrance. They were very humble, they said. But so many strangers had come to catch a glimpse that the crowded town had little luck picking them out from among the rest of the visitors.

  Coming to the open gate of the castle, Jobel nodded at two guards who stood outside it. Old veterans, they were no fools. They saluted their King and allowed him entrance. Walking up the long spindling stairs, he looked down at his nervous little daughter. “I used to love to run up and down these as a child. Father would get very angry, but it was just so much fun to run up these unending steps. One could run and run and it was as fun as…Well, I suppose there were many things funnier than that, but I still loved it.” He smiled at his daughter who was beginning to think her father a very strange man for having such a peculiar childhood, and for knowing such peculiar people like the deformed priest with the angelic voice.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, Jobel began an intense search for the room. Turning down the hallways one after the other, he wandered through the dizzying maze of doors. Finally, he found what he was looking for. “Ah-ha! This was my Grandmother’s old room.” His smile faded as he grasped the handle. Growing a serious expression, he looked down to his daughter, “Be aware, your Grandfather is not a friendly man, especially to children.” Nodding, the little girl held her father’s hand tight. Raising her head, she puffed out her chest, attempting to appear broad and brave like her father.

  Having knocked quietly on the door, Jobel waited, but no reply came. Without anymore hesitation, Jobel resolutely opened the door to his father’s room. Merek sat in the chair by the window, staring out at the courtyard just as his mother once had.

  Although one would think someone of his age would be fully gray in the head by then, the old King still had plenty of his dark hair left. Granted, that is not to say it was not faded a bit, for it was; nor that silver hairs did not indeed glitter among the dark strands, but it was to say that just as his mother, age was tender towards his features.

  When Jobel entered, he saw that his father’s most striking features had not changed. The old man’s frown was solemn as always, and his eyes contemplative as usual.

  “We are here, Father.” Jobel stood tall, looking around the unchanged room. The same books filled the shelves, the same furniture sat in its place, and the same air of solitude lingered about the room. The only thing missing was her.

  “I saw you coming from here.” He spoke softly, his voice having lost its authoritative tone, though not its pride. Turning his hardened features upon them, his eyes met the little princess’s.

  “Eek!” she cried, hiding behind her father. “It is a monster, Papa! A monster!”

  “Rosetta!” Jobel blushed at her name as he lectured her, “Do not be so rude to your Grandfather.” Shaking her head she clung tighter to him.

  “I-I’m sorry, Father,” Jobel went on without her. “She is not usually like this, I don’t know what-”

  “It is fine,” he said. “She is right. I am a monster.” He stared at the little trembling girl.

  “Father…”

  “She is very much like her. I can see why you named her after her.” He was captivated by the little girl. This old man, who had done so much wrong, found it difficult to stare into the eyes of his granddaughter. When he looked at her, young and innocent as she was, he found it hard not to remember how terrible he had been to his own mother. How terrible he had been to his family and others. And yet for most, besides his mother, he found it hard to feel anything, even for his own wife.

  It is a terrible thing to try and destroy one’s own emotions, because one may just succeed, and for a few of them he did. It was ironic really, because the ones he could not destroy were the ones he had been trying to rid himself of all of his youth. “She is indeed very much like her.”

  “That was just a pleasant surprise,” Jobel whispered, petting his daughter’s head. “I loved Grandmother so much that I could not help but name my daughter after her, no matter what she looked like. This child was named after her to honor my Grandmother, whose memory I know neither you nor I nor anyone else who has ever met her, will ever forget.”

  The old king mused for a moment, his eyes growing oh the more painful the longer he stared at the little girl. He did not care to respond to his son. It took all the old king had not to overflow with sorrow, and finally, he even gave way to that.

  Shocked by his father’s tears, Jobel did not know how to respond. It had been years since he had seen his father. And although his father had established many new policies and went about his whole life differently after Rosetta had died, the way he acted toward Jobel had changed very little. He was no longer abusive, but he struggled to be kind. Because of this, he acted very standoffish towards him, and Jobel could not react properly when his father acted out of the rhythm he had known for so long.

  Rosetta, the second, hesitantly walked up to the tearing man, who had turned his head back towards the window.

  “Grandpa?” she asked meekly. Although still terrified of him, she knew that she could not just let him cry. The sweet darling, she could not bear the sight of tears, and this strange old man was no exception to that.

  “Grandpa, why are you crying?”

  Not smiling to comfort his granddaughter, who had so trustingly crawled into his lap, he lifted his hand slowly to her face in the same motion his mother had once done to him, “I cry because in seeing you I see my mother whom I loved very much.”

  “I think everyone loved her very much. I only wish I got to meet her, she sounds like a really great person.” She was so innocent and lighthearted in her speech and way of thinking. The little girl had no idea how strong her words were, or how they struck both the men’s hearts.

  A low laugh, kind and gentle, eased from Merek’s lips, “You are right. She was a great woman, and an even greater mother.” The little girl peered up at her grandfather with growing curiosity and wondrously beautiful eyes. “My mother was a great woman, too! She died giving birth to me, but I am sure she must have been very like your mother, Grandpa!”

  He hinted at a smile and gently squeezed the little girl’s hand, “I bet you she was.” He no longer held his smile back, and it lit his now apparent, handsome old face. “And do you know, my dear, what makes a mother?” The little girl shook
her head. Kicking her little feet in the air, she smiled back at Merek who took in her little smile for a moment.

  Then he saw it.

  On top of her gown and around her neck, there lay a little golden necklace, and at the end of it, a little golden cross.

  She played with it, wrapping the chain around her fingers for a moment then setting it back in its place.

  He had seen it.

  He saw her rosy cheeks. He saw her caring eyes. He remembered those same cheeks, those same eyes, turned from him. They were in pain. Her hand grasped at her chest. She begged to leave, she begged and begged and suffered. But no matter what she went through, she still loved, she was still patient. But both of those things were only because she had-

  Yes, he now understood what that was, what his mother had meant by her last words. For years, he had tried to find the answer. He did good works and helped others. He loved. He searched within himself and tried to be kinder and gentler. He was patient. He changed his ways and everything about himself, simply to find what it was his mother had tried to tell him. But he had never found it. Not until just now. Here in his little granddaughter who looked so like his mother, who surely had a heart just as big. Here in this little girl’s sweet little voice and caring little actions he had found it. He was experiencing it now. This is what he had been searching for, here in this little girl, it was there. This beautiful and wonderful thing was finally revealed to him. This is what she had meant. This is what she had wanted him to have all along!

  This was-

  “Well?” she whispered, “What makes a mother, Grandpa?”

  Smiling broadly and prouder than ever before, he hugged the little girl tight. Staring deeply into her sparkling eyes, he saw the same light of faith that his mother had once held. And in a soft, yet proud voice, he said to her, “What makes a mother?” He coughed, almost unable to speak the words. He smiled with all he had left into the eyes of his little granddaughter, as one last tear rolled down his old worn cheeks, “What makes a mother is love, patience, and above all else, faith.”

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