The Summer of 1916

25 August, 2000

Haley sat wrapped in a fleece blanket. Trembling, she bundled the blanket into a thick nest around her shoulders. She inched closer to the crackling fire, allowing the warmth to wash over her. Averting her gaze from the dancing flames, she turned, casting her view to her great-grandmother. She sat motionless like she usually did; her eyes boring into a distant memory.

"Grandma Cat," Haley began. Catherine slowly lifted her head, forcing the folds of skin under her neck to sway gently. Catherine's thin lips twitched into a reminiscent smile as she watched her beautiful grandchild return a blissful grin. She remembered the days when her fingers were not as frail, when her legs permitted movement, when her face was not battered with age.

Catherine's smile lingered in the hollow air. "Yes, m'dear?" Haley could tell it was difficult to talk. Every single word was corrosive; a challenge to express. She was aware Catherine had long passed her hundred-year milestone and, as disheartening as it was, her near death was inevitable.

There were so many things Haley wanted to know: how her mother was like as a child; how her grandmother was like as a child. She was a treasure trove of memories, bound by experience and sustained by life.

But, there was something more important Haley wanted to know about—something that surpassed the trivial details of her mother's upbringing. Inhaling sooty air, Haley prepped herself for a silent response. "Tell me about him."

Catherine was taken aback by Haley's sudden interest. She did not need any prompting: she knew just who she was referring to. In the corner of the cozy little cottage was a small desk, clothed in fine tapestry and peppered with elaborate candlesticks.

A single framed photograph of a square-jawed man was placed in the middle of all this. There was no need for the photograph, for his face was permanently embedded in Catherine's mind. She did not need any reminding of his frosted stubble, or his royal eyes.

Clutching her mahogany cane, the smile on Catherine's face slowly dissipated. It had been a long time since she had forcibly recalled her past. She did not need to search very far, for every colour was still vivid and fresh; every scent still strong and distinct. She hadn't forgotten at all: she had just chosen to not remember.

Much to Haley's surprise, Catherine parted her lips. "It all started... in the summer of 1916."