Cold as the Crown

Jessa

Waking up on days like today, when the sun isn't shining and everything is bleak, makes me want to roll back over and go to sleep again. But I can't. Not when my mother is dying and I have to run the store.

"Jessa!" my father called, his voice angry. I sat up in bed, my curling reddish brown hair swinging around my face. A knock banged on my door and my father's head poked in.

"Jessa!" he snapped. "What are you still doing in bed? You should have been up twenty minutes ago!" he bellowed. Flushing, I stood up.

"I'm so sorry, Father. It won't happen again. I just did not sleep very well last night." I answered my eyes towards the ground at his dust-covered boots. He walked over to me, his boots creaking the old floorboards. I felt him sit down next to me and swing an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close.

"Jessa, sweetheart. Were you worrying about your mother again?" He asked, his voice portraying no anger anymore, just grief and sympathy. I turned my head away from him and nodded. He pulled my chin towards him, forcing me to look at him. His grey eyes, lined from the long years, met mine and I felt tears prickle the corners of my eyes. "Jessa, sweet heart, it is no use worrying about your mother. She is dying and there is nothing we can do but make her more comfortable." He kissed my forehead tenderly. "Now, get up and ready. Your brother will walk you to the store today. I have some things to take care of with your mother." He kissed me again and stood up, groaning as he did.

"Father?" I asked, the tears falling down my cheeks. He turned to look at me. "Kiss Mother for me." I whispered. He smiled sadly and nodded.

"Of course." He answered. "Have a good day, my Jessa." He said and turned away, creaking out the door. Sighing, I stood up and changed out of my threadbare nightdress and into the scratchy, woolen gown that my mother's close friend, Jane, had made for me to keep me warm. I went to the small mirror on my desk that my brother, Anthony, had made for me. I ran the horsehair brush through my tangled hair, tied it in the low braid my mother had taught me to make, and twisted it behind my head. I used a couple pins to pin the loose hairs, but one stubborn strand would not stay. I sighed and left it to frame my face, making me look slightly younger and healthier. I pinched my cheeks make them look less sallow and tied my worn boots on my feet. I cocked my head to the side and decided I looked suitable to sell things to people. I opened my door and walked out, tiptoeing past my parent's door, so I would not wake up my mother. Two months ago, she had collapsed after doing her usual routine and the town physician had declared she had a bad heart. She had a few months to live and my father, Anthony, and I wanted to make her last months with us as comfortable as possible. Tony was sitting at the table, eating the usual breakfast of bread and eggs. He looked up and smiled at me, his brown eyes framed with black circles.

"Good morning, Jessa. Your breakfast is waiting for you on the table." He said, nodding at it.

"Thank you, Tony. You look tired this morning." I observed. He looked down at the table and sighed.

"I couldn't sleep last night. I was worrying about...well you know." He said, looking at me. Money, food, mother. The list was endless. I nodded and sat down at the table, the old wooden chair groaning in protest. I cut a slice of bread and took a few eggs.

"Fresh eggs?" I asked, biting into one of them. He nodded.

"Father said we could make them this morning. This morning's batch was not as good. We couldn't sell them." He explained, taking a bit of the eggs. I didn't answer to that because my mouth was full of eggs. He smiled tiredly. "We should get going soon. The sun will be up and we have several things to bring with us. Father is letting us use the wagon today. He isn't leaving today." He said. I met his eyes, which were as pained as I felt.