the art of loving ; lord tewksbury

one

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i'll plant a row of daisy seeds,
in the space below each eye,
so they'll remind you of your beauty,
when they bloom each time you cry.

–e.h.

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Chapter One

  Daisy Winters shut her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. There was a slight breeze that morning, the coolness of the air fanning her cheeks and blowing her hair across her face. The sun was peeking over the horizon, the sky a beautiful mix of orange, red and yellow hues all around her. The birds, which nestled in the comfort of the trees at night were beginning to come out to play, singing a melodious tune as they soared across the sky.

  Daisy kept her eyes closed for a few minutes longer, allowing herself to relish in nature's beauty. It was her way of calming her mind, her route to escape the harsh reality she lived in. And though she tried to block out any other sound, her eardrums still managed to capture the sound of footsteps slowly approaching her. Her moment of peace was disrupted when the same person let out a soft cough.

  "Father is going to be looking for you," the voice of a man said. "You better head back before he wakes."

  A defeated sigh left Daisy's lips as she opened one eye, then the other. Her brother, Grant, inched forward to stand next to her as he admired the scenery before them. For a while, they watched the sun rise in silence.

  "Do you think father remembers?" Daisy asked, turning to her older brother. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his worn out trousers as he stared ahead at the vast field of wild flowers, beyond the fence that enclosed them in the cemetery. He shook his head slightly in response.

  "With the drunken state he's always in, I doubt he even remembers what he had for dinner last night. What makes you think he would remember the anniversary of Mother's death?" Grant said a little bitterly.

  "He loves her," Daisy told him.

  "Which gives him more of a reason to forget about her passing," Grant said. Then he nudged his head in the direction of his sister's hands. "Come on, change the flowers and we'll head home."

  The young girl had forgotten about the flowers she had been holding onto. Daisies, her mother's favourite, the inspiration for her very own name. Her fingers were curled around the stems, and she loosened her tight grip on them as she crouched down to rest them against the headstone of their mother's grave. After mumbling a little prayer and collecting the dried remains of the bouquet she had left a month earlier, Daisy followed her brother on their walk back home.

  Since they lived a few minutes outside of town, the atmosphere was calm compared to the more chaotic mornings in the busier settlement. The siblings didn't utter a word on their journey home, both choosing to delve in the serenity instead. When they finally arrived at the small, slightly run down house, Daisy felt her heart pound rapidly in her chest.

  If her father had woken early, she was sure to be in trouble for sneaking out of the house even though she had a good reason to. But then again, it didn't matter. He despised her with his whole heart, after all, so whatever explanation she could offer didn't mean a thing to him.

  Thankfully, the lights were still turned off as Grant and her crept into the quiet house. Their father was probably still passed out upstairs after a long night of drowning in a pool of beer and ignoring the well-being of his children.