Aunt Betty, full of warmth

To the east of Cervantes, a beautiful manor wrapped in a forest of maples nestled quietly by the curve of a small lake, resembling a gentle lady in quiet repose. The gates, fashioned from pure white wrought iron, were entwined with fresh green vines. It was late autumn, and clusters of purple-red blossoms dotted the vines, their colors interlacing with the green to set off the elegance and refinement of the white gates.

Afternoon was usually the most tranquil time in the manor, but today, an unusual liveliness pervaded—the mistress of the house had been bustling about since early morning, calling out orders here and there, urging the kitchen staff, checking the bedrooms, peering anxiously out the front gate… She was like a spinning top, restless and ceaseless, as if hoping that her busyness would ease the anxiety of waiting.

So the hours passed in a flurry of activity, and by around four o’clock, a dust-laden two-horse carriage trotted around the lovely lake and came to a stop before the main house. The attentive servants hurriedly set up the steps, but before the carriage door was fully open, the mistress—lifting her skirt—ran ahead and collided directly with the man alighting.

“Careful,” said Amos, steadying his nearly-falling wife, his expression a mixture of helplessness and amusement.

“Oh, it’s you?” Betty complained, pushing her husband aside impatiently. “Where’s little Tess? Where’s our darling Tess?” Amos could only step back, revealing the small girl behind him.

Theresa looked up at Betty from beneath her lashes, recalling her mother’s description of this dear friend—passionate and exuberant, open-hearted and lively, and even at her age, retaining a touch of childlike candor. With these thoughts, Theresa’s heart naturally warmed to Betty, and her small lips curved into a timid, sweet smile.

Theresa’s features were so like her mother’s—delicate and picturesque—and with that shy, gentle smile just blooming, she seemed like a lotus newly opened in the morning light, stirring a tender affection in anyone who saw her. At once, Betty’s heart melted. She crouched down, swept the little girl into her arms, showered her with kisses and caresses, exclaiming endearments with such enthusiasm that Theresa was utterly taken aback!

Still a little stunned, Theresa managed only to murmur, “Aunt Betty,” and stood there, not knowing how to respond. She had been told Betty was warm, but never imagined such fervor…

At last, when she’d exhausted her affection, Betty released Theresa, cupped her small face, gazed at her lovingly from left and right, and said with heartfelt concern, “You must be tired from the journey, Tess. Come, Auntie will take you to rest.”

With that, Betty took Theresa’s small hand and led her toward the main house, chattering all the while. “I didn’t know what style you’d like, so I haven’t done much with your room yet. In a few days, when we have time, we’ll design it together…”

The pair—one tall, one small—walked off, lost in their own world, leaving Amos abandoned on the steps, shaking his head with a rueful smile.

☆☆☆

That night, Theresa slept soundly. Before dawn’s first light crept into the room, she awoke. Blinking in the soft gloom, she looked up at the layered gauze canopy above her. It reminded her she was not in the sturdy wooden bed that had been her companion for four or five years, but in a splendid and ornate four-poster. Sitting up, she gazed around: the elegant dressing table, the luxurious settees, the delicate little fireplace—all reminders that this was a foreign place, not home.

With a faint sigh, she slipped from the bed, barefoot on the soft carpet, and walked to the window. Peeking through the curtains, she saw the newly risen sun just cresting the treetops—barely six or seven in the morning, a good two hours earlier than her usual waking time.

For a while, she gazed at the gentle, not-yet-harsh sunlight, until the chill in the air made her close the curtain and turn back. Her eyes fell on the four-poster bed swathed in pale pink drapery, and for a moment, a wave of memory washed over her. The bed merged with scenes from her past—

A laboring woman, pale as death and wracked with pain; servants hurrying about, never at rest; a priest, drenched in sweat, endlessly casting spells of Life’s Light… These fragments of memory were dim and dreamlike, elusive as the moon’s reflection in water. Only one image remained vivid: a radiant, beautiful smile breaking through tears when a newborn’s first cries rose up—an image forever bright in her memory.

Now, however, that beautiful face lay sealed within the icy coffin of Dimarca…

“Mother…” Theresa murmured, her eyes mournful. She moved slowly about the room, hand caressing every object with gentle reverence.

Though Betty and Amos had not told her, she knew: ten years ago, she had been born in this very room, and spent nearly a year here. Nine years had passed, and yet nothing had changed—not even the bedtime book her mother always placed at the bedside, still resting in its old spot, untouched. Only the room’s owner had changed.

…

Theresa did not linger long in her sorrow, for a knock at the door drew her back. She returned to bed, donned her robe, and pulled the bellrope to permit her visitor to enter. To her surprise, it was not the maid she expected, but Betty herself.

“Aunt Betty? What brings you here?” Theresa jumped out of bed at once, expecting it to be Betty’s maid come to wake her, not Betty herself.

Betty swept over, skirts trailing, crouched to hold Theresa’s face and study her lovingly, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Did you sleep well, Tess? After a good night’s rest, you’re even more beautiful.”

Still unaccustomed to such effusive affection, Theresa smiled shyly and nodded. “I slept very well. It’s so peaceful here—not like home, where the early birds always wake me.”

“The early bird catches the worm!” Betty laughed, ruffling her hair. “Now, go wash up properly. After breakfast, Auntie will take you to the city. Cervantes has so many wonderful places to explore. Before you start school, we’ll visit them all—how does that sound?”

“That sounds lovely, thank you, Auntie,” Theresa replied softly, and, guided by the maid, went to freshen up.

After a thorough wash and dressed in the elegant outfit Betty had picked out, her long black hair was styled into a charming bun, and though the mourning veil still crowned her head, Theresa seemed transformed—a delicate porcelain doll, so exquisite she inspired affection even in stillness. Betty, delighted by her appearance, could not help but fuss over her once more before taking her hand and leading her to the dining room.