The Hermit & Heir | A Short Story

Part 1

The spring morning was cool, and the mist settled on top of the still wet grass. The full face of the sun had not yet made its appearance.  Vera enjoyed these kinds of mornings. It was a small pleasure she received before starting her long day of chores. The quiet of the early morning allowed her to slowly adjust before the heat of the day set in and therefore the bulk of her work. Vera took her morning glass of water outside and sat on her low porch. Her unbrushed hair still sat in its braid from last night and her shawl was wrapped around her shoulders to keep off the chill.

     Spring had recently arrived, and the mornings and evenings were still cold. In a few weeks, Vera thought, it would be time to start planting parts of her garden – at least the plants that would be ready. Vera had grown sick of eating the canned and pickled goods from the previous season. Her stomach growled thinking about the fresh produce she would harvest this planting season. She tossed back the final swallow of her water, and went back to the door.

Once inside her house, she dressed, fixed her hair back in its usual updo accompanied by the cloth that wrapped her head to keep stray hairs away. Her clothing was layered as she would slowly remove the layers once the heat of the day set in. She fixed some tea and toast with her fruit preserves she stored in the cellar. Quietly, she ate her food. This routine was sacred to her. It allowed her to start her day easily with no rush. Each day started like this, and she never grew tired of it. At one time, she had a mother who was a part of the routine. It was her mother's routine; Vera inherited it. Now that her mother had been gone for many years, Vera had claimed the calm mornings for herself. It was how she liked it.

Vera mustered up the courage to shed her shawl and put on her outdoor shoes and begin the day's work. She started in the barn where she collected eggs from the chickens and milk from the goat. All the animals were released outside to graze. Vera said hello to each of them and asked how they slept. She said good morning to her horse. Vera never named any of her animals, she simply called them as they were – chicken, goat, horse, duck, or cat. The animals were precious to her, and she regarded them as if they were people at times. She asked her ducks how their children were. She asked the chickens what they ate for lunch. She asked her horse if he had any good stories to share. Vera found it easier to talk to the animals like people rather than speak to real people. People didn't venture to her side of the world. Her small home and farm were exclusively surrounded by trees and there wasn't a town for many miles. The few times she rode or walked to town were brief visits to the shops and markets. She rarely spoke to anyone and yet everyone there regarded her the same. Most of the townspeople knew who she was because they knew her mother. Vera, however, did not mingle the way her mother had. She hardly would go to town unless she really needed something, and the trips were far in between. Vera was complacent with her interactions with others. She saw no reason to change this part of her life.

The animals were taken care of when Vera returned to her house. She drew water from the well and began cleaning the inside of her home. The floor needed sweeping. Dishes needed to be washed. Rugs needed to be beaten, and sheets needed to be folded. This was how Vera spent the rest of her morning.

While she hated to work in the heat of the day, the stack of wood she had been neglecting needed to be chopped. Vera went to get her axe. Sweat dripped down her back and forehead as she came down on each log with her axe. She did not stop until every log was split and stacked against the house. With the axe laid down, she headed once more to the barn to finish mucking the horse's stall. The barn was in far worse shape than the house was before it had been tidied. Vera wondered how her mother ever completed these chores herself at a much older age than Vera was presently. On top of the chores, her mother had a child to care for. Lucky for Vera, this was not the busiest time of the year for her, and she imagined she could finish her work after noon.

Vera had guessed accurately on her time. The sun was still high in the sky when she finished the outdoor chores. The warmth of the sun seeped onto her skin as she returned inside. Vera liked her home. It was decorated exactly how she wanted it. Nothing was out of place to her, and it was quiet. Occasionally she would hum to herself any tune she could recall or create. The rest of her day was spent quietly cooking, cleaning, bathing, and preparing for the next day.

Unlike the peaceful early morning, Vera disliked the evening. Yes, it gave her solitude same as the morning, but the evening solitude was when her thoughts liked to swim. She thought about all the things she put out of her mind all day. The thoughts were no longer of town, animals, farming, or cleaning. They were about her. She thought of her mother and how different her life would be if she were still alive. The thoughts about herself caused her to become uncomfortable in her skin. She wondered if she was lonely or if other people lived just like her. She imagined herself as an old woman who could no longer take care of herself. These thoughts and scenarios began to scare her.
    
     Vera looked at herself in the mirror after she bathed. Her wet hair clung to her back. Her body gazed back at her, and she contemplated how she appeared to others. Not that there were many people around to contemplate her, but she still felt the need to wonder. Each of her features were evaluated trying to find a flaw or piece that didn't seem to fit right. She couldn't help but ask if other women looked like her. Most women she met didn't have the broad shoulders and strong arms she had. Most women she met didn't have a long neck like her. Most women she met didn't tie their hair back all the way until none of it would attempt to escape. Most women she met didn't have the dark, still eyes she had.

Vera had grown tired of seeing herself in the mirror, yet she couldn't help but look. Just once she wished she would investigate it and see a slight change or something different altogether. She chalked it up to boredom at the end of her day. There was nothing else to do besides look at herself.

     Vera brushed and braided her still wet hair back. She replaced her work clothes for a comfortable, airy nightgown. Her shawl was placed around her shoulders once more as she started a fire in the fireplace. Vera watched as the flames began to lick the wood and she settled into her chair with a book. All was quiet once more. Her thoughts no longer swam as she focused on the words on the page and the sound of the fire crackling. The animals were back in the barn and the house was tidied. She could have fallen asleep in her chair if it hadn't been for the disturbance outside.