Dearest Ismenia

Chapter 2

Summer of 1603

"Papa, where is my Mama?"

As we walked hand in hand, I looked into the young blue eyes of my daughter and felt pain in my heart.

I knelt down to her level and tucked a soft strand of hair behind her ear, staring into those blue eyes that were so much like my own. "Ismenia... your Mama passed when you were just an infant. I'm sorry, little one, but you don't have a Mama like some of the other children in the village."

She frowned deeply at my explanation. "But Papa... aren't you sad that Mama is gone? Did you not love her?"

I sighed and pulled her down into my lap. Ismenia was of 5 summers, but had a mature soul for her age. I felt I could tell her some about her lost Mama.

"You see, Ismenia... Grown men and women sometimes spend special time together. During this time, sometimes infants like yourself are made and the Mama and Papa are very happy. Usually this special time is spent with one other man or woman that a person loves, but your Mama was different. She loved many different men, so she spent special time with all these men, and I was one of those men that she loved. When she and I spent special time together, we became very blessed with a beautiful little infant girl and named her Ismenia."

Ismenia's eyebrows furrowed as she thought hard. "So if Mama loved a lot of men and spent special time with them, does that mean she had a lot of other little infant girls named Ismenia too?"

I laughed and shook my head. "No, she only had one infant, and that was you. She loved you very much, Ismenia."

She nodded her understanding.

After a few moments of silence, she voiced another question. "So if Mama loved me, why did she pass? Why didn't she stay to be my Mama like you stayed to be my Papa?"

Her question wrenched my heart. Her mother had been a whore, a harlot, and she found her housing and meals through sleeping with men. Being with so many men had been sore on her health, and shortly after giving birth to Ismenia she caught a terrible illness that wasted her away to her death. Though her death made me sad as I would raise a motherless daughter, I did not grieve her death. I did not love the woman as I was making Ismenia believe. Six years ago her Mother was my whore, using my house as shelter for the Winter, and ultimately became the Mother of my child. To me, she was no more than that.

I tried to explain Ismenia's mother's death to her as best I could, ridding my story of my lack of love for her Mother and keeping the pretense that I was devastated for her death. Of course, as any child would, Ismenia believed every word.

We continued walking and after a short time reached the shallow pond just on the outskirts of the village. Ismenia took from her back the small bag that held the plates, cups, and cutlery and I took the quilt and food from my pack. I flattened the quilt on the ground and we finished setting up for our meal by the water.

Every Monday and Thursday Ismenia and I would go to this pond to have our lunch by the water. She'd loved this pond since she was a very young child, and she especially loved the magic and tricks I could perform with the water.

After we'd finished our sandwiches and fruit, Ismenia cast her plate aside and skipped to the water's edge.

"Papa!" She yelled, waving me over. "Come here! You must show me your magic again!"

I laughed and walked to her side. "Again? But I've shown you every week since you were an infant, are you not tired of it?"

She rolled her eyes and splashed me lightly with the water at her feet. "No, I could never get tired of your magic." She ran her fingers over the surface of the water and watched it ripple out into the pond. "I love the water."