Promise of White Roses

VII. THE THORN

      "Máma, I don't want to go!"
      The green-painted farm wagon sat in the dirt road in front of the house, easily distinguishable from the dry, yellow-tinted grasses and shrubs that carpeted the dusty, cracked earth beneath. Though hidden behind clouds, the sun was hard at work, ensuring that its labor would not be undone. Despite being made of a plant long-since dead, the wooden fence posts that guarded the home seemed to be losing their color as well.
      The little girl wrapped her arms as far as she could around her mother's torso, burying her face in the dress fabric.
      "I know, zlatíčko, I know," said the mother, "but it must be done." She bent down to look her daughter in the eye, taking in her little, young face. It was full, just like her father's. "They're going to take good care of you, Blanche," she whispered, a shake creeping into her voice. "We'll see you again soon, I promise."
      After one last hug, Blanche finally took Mr. Lešinger's hand, allowing him to lead her over to the wagon and climb up to the seat next to his wife.
      "Ahoj, Máma, Táta!"
      "Goodbye! Mám tě rád!"
      "I love you too, Máma!" With Blanche squeezed in between the Lešingers on the bench, she waved as long as she could while the cart rolled away.
      Antoinette sighed as she watched them disappear into the distance. "Kids, Frank, it's dinner time," she called back to any of them who had stuck around long enough to still be there.
      Finally, when she was sure the wagon was not coming back, Antoinette returned inside. Back to the four-room home whose plank walls threatened to peel away; whose kitchen was a mere stove, countertop, and a cupboard with no sink or running water in sight. The home where the four, now three, children all slept in the same room, divided between two beds. Back to the best they could do.
      The portions that night were not quite as small as usual- not nearly what Heinrich would have deemed acceptable, but something a little closer to what she knew back at home. Antoinette wondered if the next time little Blanche had a small snack, she'd feel the same way.
      When the exhausting day had finally come to an end, Antoinette retired to the bedroom to change for the night. As she removed her barrette- the long pin entwined with pressed white roses from her wedding day- a thorn poked her hand. She hadn't realized the brambles were even there. It was interesting, she thought, that after all these years, it'd taken her this long to notice.