Dear Mother
The kingdom of Marebello awoke under a sky streaked with the hues of dawn. The golden light spilled into the busy slums where Francesca lived. As she completed her daily household chores, the warm morning sun touched her pale skin and her icy blue eyes sparkled with every splash of water as she stomped on the fabrics soaking in the wooden basin.
Despite her humble beginnings, Francesca embraced her life with gratitude, which was a fruition to the lessons her mother had imparted. Although Francesca was uneducated, she was wise enough to find joy in the simple things and never grumbled about their status in society's hierarchy. Her appreciation for her mother's sacrifices was boundless that she often expressed it in songs of love and gratitude during times of scarcity.
Her father was a subject shrouded in silence. A past her mother, Zita, never spoke of, and Francesca never pressed. She understood enough to harbor a deep, personal hatred for the pain her existence had caused her mother. Yet, in her mother's eyes, there was no hint of resentment but only endless love and devotion for her daughter.
"Francesca, dear?" Zita's sweet voice broke through her thoughts, bringing a smile to her face.
"Yes, Mother?" Francesca responded, looking up from her task.
Zita approached, holding a bundle of blankets. "I thought you were almost done. I need these washed as well. Winter is coming."
Francesca nodded as her hands immediately moved efficiently. "I shall take care of it forthwith. Are you heading to work now?"
"Yes, dear. The pub shall be busy today," Zita replied.
"Indeed? Is there a celebration of which I am unaware?" Francesca asked as her curiosity piqued.
Zita chuckled, patting her daughter's shoulder. "One of the soldiers who frequents the pub is to be wed. The men are celebrating."
"That is wonderful news," Francesca said with a smile, kneeling to pick up a clothespin.
Zita watched her daughter fondly. "One day, when you marry, your ceremony will be grander than all."
Caught off guard, Francesca stumbled, earning a laugh from her mother. "Mother, please. I do not wish to marry. I desire only to remain by your side."
"Goodness, Francesca. Life is lonely without a family of your own. You are my gift, the reason I rise no matter how many times I fall. Do the same when you are a mother," Zita said, her voice filled with affection.
Francesca nodded although her heart resisted the idea. All she desired was a peaceful life with her mother, to give her the happiness she deserved, even if it meant sacrificing her own.
"Nevertheless, it is your life to decide," Zita added playfully. "Though I do need someone to boss around."
"Mother!" Francesca retorted with a laugh.
"I shall be off then. Take care," Zita said, kissing her daughter's forehead before leaving.
Francesca watched her mother go and took a deep breath before returning to her chores. The courtyard where she worked was alive with the sounds of the slums-children playing, vendors shouting, carts clattering on cobblestone streets.
By mid-day, Francesca had finished the laundry and moved on to other tasks. She swept their small living space, tidied up the sparse furniture, and prepared a simple meal for her mother's return. As she mended a tear in one of Zita's old dresses, a knock at the door startled her.
She immediately stood up and opened the door to find Mrs. Hawthorne, their kind elderly neighbor, holding a loaf of fresh bread.
"Good afternoon, Francesca," Mrs. Hawthorne greeted warmly. "I baked too much this morning and thought you might like some."
"Thank you, Mrs. Hawthorne," Francesca replied gratefully, inviting her in.
As Mrs. Hawthorne stepped inside, she glanced around the tidy room. "You have been busy. How fares your mother?"
"She is at work, putting in extra hours," Francesca explained, setting the bread on the table.
Mrs. Hawthorne nodded with understanding in her eyes. "Your mother is a strong woman. And you, Francesca, are growing into a capable young lady."
Francesca blushed at the compliment. "I do what I can."
The afternoon wore on with Francesca and Mrs. Hawthorne conversing through various topics, from the latest news in the kingdom to tips on managing a household. The elderly woman's presence was comforting which reminded Francesca that even in the midst of hardship, there were still moments of kindness and community.
Eventually, Mrs. Hawthorne took her leave, and Francesca returned to her mending. The rhythm of the needle and thread was soothing and it allowed her mind to drift. She thought about her mother's words earlier that day. The notion of marriage was foreign to her desires, yet the conviction in her mother's voice made her wonder if there was more to life than the simple existence she cherished.
As the sun began its descent and casted long shadows across the courtyard, Francesca rose to prepare for her mother's return to ensure the small meal she had prepared was ready.
Just then, the door creaked open and Zita stepped inside with her face weary but lit with a smile at the sight of her daughter.
"Welcome home, Mother," Francesca greeted warmly, taking her mother's cloak and hanging it by the door.
"Thank you, dear. The pub was indeed busy today," Zita said, sinking into a chair with a sigh of relief.
"I have prepared a meal for us," Francesca announced, bringing the simple fare to the table. The two ate together and shared stories of their day.
As they finished their meal and made sure nothing was left on their plates, Francesca hesitated before speaking. "Mother, you spoke of marriage this morning. Do you truly wish for me to marry?"
Zita looked at her daughter thoughtfully. "Francesca, I wish for you to have a life full of love and companionship. Marriage is one path to that. However, what I desire most is your happiness. If remaining by my side brings you joy, then that is enough for me."
Francesca nodded as her heart swelled with affection. "Your happiness is my greatest concern, Mother. I will think on your words."