The Wind in Our Words

VI: 1941

I found out that father had deemed Hilda a witch for not giving him any more children. It had to have been a problem of hers given that my father had two children of his own. 

"I just don't know who he is anymore!" Hilda had never been vulnerable, nor had she been kind. She had never been one of my favorite people, but we could bond over our problems with my father. 

Obviously due to my absence I had missed much of the "behind the scenes" that came with the marriage. I still believe it was rushed, even unnecessary. I felt bad for Hilda, and everything she may have endured. However, I could see both sides, and I didn't know my father's. 

Charlie and I went down to the meadow. I wasn't in the greatest mood after seeing Hilda in such a disfigured state. 

"I don't believe anything anymore."

"I'm highly confused, what do you mean?"

"Hilda's a wreck, Frank's given up on his passion, and my father wont speak about his marriage."

"What was Franks passion?"

"Inventing! He loved inventing with every segment of his being! He made cases for things, put gears together, you name it!"

"Why isn't he pursuing it?"

"That I don't know. All he talks about is Ruth and his muscles. It's so unlike him. He was always someone who kept more to himself. I don't know whats changed."

"Let's not worry about Frank. If he's happy, let him continue, right?"

"I guess that's a way to look at it." I still was concerned for my brother. Though I listened, Charlies words were wind. 

Changing the subject, he picked a flower from the field. "Daisy, this one looks like you."

"A  Daisy? I've never imagined that I looked like a Daisy."

"Alright, think as you wish, but I think this one reminds me of you."

The next day he showed up to my door with a bouquet of daisies. It wasn't my front door, because he knew my father would disapprove. It was my bedroom window. 

He threw pebbles up at the window. I had been pleasantly reading, and heard the pounding at the windowpane.

"Charlie Burrow what do you think you're doing?" I unwinded the window and saw him smiling below. 

"I got you daisies!"

"You're out of your head!"

"So be it!"

I ran downstairs and out the back door. "Charlie, why have you done this? I'm not into grand gestures."

"This isn't a grand gesture, this is simply an act of love, my daisy."

So there I was. I was a daisy, a flower, a girl, a woman, a lover, an unloved. When it rained, he kissed me, he held onto me tighter than a rope knotted fourteen times. When the ground was still wet he carried me, shoes off, because forbid that I get my shoes dirty. 

"Ah! The rain!"

"Isn't it lovely!"

Then I was in his arms, my flower dress soaked and practically ruined. It was absolutely worth it, for one singular moment in his arms. His arms were strong, and when his eyes met my gaze, everything I had done was worth it. My smile could be genuine for once. Sixteen, sixteen, sixteen. 

The other thing that concerned me was the war. Everyone had heard two years ago when Germany had invaded Poland. I felt that I was uneducated on the status of the war, but I knew that America had tried to remain neutral.