Scarred Roses

Chapter two-an honest living

Here's chapter two everybody! A day in the life of our heroine, Hazel. I hope I've achieved some accuracy as to what rural life was like back in post-WW2. For your listening pleasure I've included Count Basie 'Swingin' the blues' as a bit of mood-music for a hard days' work. Have fun and happy reading!

Audrey was gone by the time I'd woken up again. This time to the shrill ring of my alarm clock, rather than an impromptu night terror. Stretching the tiredness out through my arms and legs, I sprung out of bed, pulling the cord of my lamp to illuminate the room. It was almost four AM, a time usually I'd usually reserved for sleeping was now the best time possible to get a fighting start on the farm jobs. Or in my case, the egg-stock and lamb-care. Audrey oversaw the milking of the cows; with her natural charm, she could convince any, farmhand youth to do her bidding for half the price. We made an odd team, her and I. Not the sturdy sort-of team mama and papa made, but it worked for us nonetheless.

Dressing in some worn, much older clothes, I padded to the bathroom where I went about making myself nice and tidy. Pulling my mass of raven locks into a severe chignon at the nape of my neck, scrubbing every inch and crevice of my pale face until my cheeks were rosy from the scratch of the washcloth, and scrubbing my teeth until all I could taste was the strong mint of the toothpaste. I was a fairly simple sort-of girl when it came to grooming; meaning I'd never waste valuable time in applying makeup, just to do farm-work. If I could just feel presentable enough, then that would do. Other than that, the only judges I really had for my face could only ever moo and bleat.

Once ready, I skipped downstairs for a cup of tea before I went out to feed the animals. The milk and tea-bags were just two of the few 'real' things we had in our pantry. The rest were cheap imitations, or 'Ersatz' as some called it. I hadn't been allowed to drink coffee before I was fifteen and even when I could have it, it was never the real thing. Papa was nearly convinced it was made from a small amount of left-over coffee beans and actual dirt! Of course, when you woke up as early as he had, and had nothing sufficient to keep you alive for the day, others would be inclined to think that too.

"You're up!" I'd almost forgotten he was here! He'd just about made me spill my tea when I saw him appearing in the doorway. "Your sister was in here just a few minutes ago-she said you're short of a farmhand today and that I ought to help, earning my keep and all that. She said you could show me what's to be done?"

"Oh-yes," I replied, feeling somewhat flustered. "Let me finish this, and I'll take you out to the milking shed."

"Thanks," he said, "Oh, and...I wanted to apologize-for last night I mean. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that, and I certainly shouldn't have said any of those things. I...I think I mistook you for someone-someone I knew a long time ago."

"Oh," I didn't really know how to feel about it. "I'd say I have a familiar sort of face, but I don't think that even I've met anyone who looks quite like me."

"You've got a rare face, that's for sure." He chuckled, "the person I knew had a rare face too-but, I've only ever seen it when we were children. I've got no idea what she looks like nowadays; I suppose when I saw you, I just thought- "

"That I was her?" It seemed all too obvious. "She must've done something bad to you, if that was how you felt."

"It's quite the opposite actually," he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. "Miss..."

"Hazel call me Hazel."

"Hazel, have you ever done something you regretted? Something that made everyone think less of you, no matter how much you've tried to prove you've changed?"

It was like he'd read my mind. Was it possible for him to guess that dream, just by looking at me?

"Yes, I can think of something."