THE BEAUTIFUL ONE~Volume One

Day Three (cont.)

Although curious to learn more about the individuals who'd behaved in an

unfriendly manner toward Michael, I once again sensed this was a subject that

was painful to Michael, and decided-as with the subject of his late mother, and

the man he referred to as "Joseph"-to not be nosy, and let Michael initiate the

conversation when he felt ready and willing to do so.

"Oh, Michael...I'm so sorry." I heard myself whisper as I felt myself reach for

and gently wrap my fingers around Michael's nearest hand as an expression of the

compassion, love, and empathy I now felt while in my mind I heard myself

thinking: "I have never understood unkind words...these words make no sense to

me.", thoughts which led me to lean in and gently brush my lips against

Michael's cheek as we continued walking at a leisurely pace back to my flat

where upon arrival we returned the bushel baskets and the wagon back to their

rightful places in the storage area near one side of my vegetable garden, and

re-entered my flat where, after politely excusing myself-and inviting Michael to

help himself to a drink of something including any of the assorted beverages in

my refrigerator-all of them non-alcoholic-I went quickly to my closet, selected

a clean skirt and blouse, and crossed to my bathroom to freshen up and change

out of my work clothes into clothing more suitable for running errands-clothing

I was confident a certain someone-a someone with a beautiful spirit, body and

soul that matched his beautiful eyes and smile-would find more attractive on me

and appealing than a pair of denim jeans and an over-sized, now grubby work

shirt. I also made a point to redo my long tresses into a style in which only

the top layer was secured neatly at the back of my head with a barret, and the

other layers of hair were allowed to fall loosely down my back-; and to apply

make-up to my eyes and mouth-makeup which included concealer to cover the

now-healing bruise under my eye-a bruise I hadn't realized was still noticeable

until my boss, Yuri Prost, had made mention of it earlier...Yuri Prost, the big

old Russian teddy bear of a man who, along with his wife, had been-as I

mentioned earlier-not only my employers for the past several years but who also

had come to think of me as the daughter they were never able to have, due

largely in part to a disease which had rendered Helena Prost infertile-an

occurrence which reminded me of the story of Abraham and Sarah in the Bible, and

had made Yuri comment philosophically: "If God had meant for all women to be

mothers, he wouldn't have created infertility and the diseases that cause it."

"Good old Papa Prost", I found myself thinking to myself with a grin as I