Moments of Time

March of 1845

To my dear little girl, 

I write this now, knowing that one day you will need to understand. When I was a little girl, just like you were, my mother was taken from this world. It is the hardest thing losing a parent. I wish with every single bone in my body that you had not lost your father so young, that you too could remember the colour of his eyes and his laugh, in the same way I wish I could remember my mother. For that my dear, I will forever wish I had done more.

But, I cannot change the past. But I can tell you the truth and help you understand what happened and who the man is, that you now call your Pa. 

Forever with affection and love, 

Mum 

                                                                                        .................

 The moments held in the chambers of the heart can be those of great happiness and those of the darkest torment. Reflecting on these moments, the ones that can never seem to be forgotten no matter how hard the mind tries, can offer a insight into the changes of life. 

We might not realise it, but the moments that we remember the most, often pin point the very moment we change. We change for the better, growing older and wiser, we grow as we learn to love and our understanding of humans change. These moments, fleeting as they maybe, can change us on a long hard road, as the torment and anguish from a horrific event is turned into courage and bravery. My life has these moments, were my life, as I knew it, changed. 

It hadn't taken long, a few weeks at most. There was a feeling in my gut that I couldn't shake, a glasshouse of butterflies that erupted at the mention of his name, and skipping of the heart with every letter and kind gesture. Initially, I thought it was just me, purely one sided feelings, caught in the romance of a new residence and new found freedom, but it took a innocent encounter by accident on a Wednesday afternoon, that confirmed by suspicions. 

My Aunt, who had been caught up in a luncheon with friends, asked me to collect a number of items around the village for her. I think she felt sympathetic for me. I had been shipped off into her care, briskly and with little warning, as my father seem to realise that his little girl had matured and was in need of some female guidance, in the absence of any women role models in our family home. My aunt, I soon discovered was also in need of some help to care for her eight young children, her husband was spending time abroad to govern in the new colony. As a result, I had spent my first few weeks at the coast, becoming aquatinted with the noise and activity of my number of cousins and boisterous Aunt. 

At my own choosing, I had barely left the house, so by providing me with a list of daily chores, I had no choice but to venture out. On that fateful afternoon, I had been given a list of tasks, and my Aunt's youngest daughter, Bessie, to look after. Looking after children had become a new concept to me. There were few children on the estate at home, and with no siblings, my interactions had been minimal. Bessie was only three, but was overjoyed at being my assistant for the afternoon. She was a sweet girl, with loverly blonde hair pulled into piggy tails with navy bows. She eagerly skipped alongside me, hand in hand,  as we made our way into the book shop, after completing most of the instructions on our list. I was keen to find some new books to indulge on, as reading had become a essential past time in the house, in order to escape the madness of downstairs.

 Upon entering the shop, and greeting Mr. Lought, the owner,  I had become one of his regulars. I made my way directly to the piles of new books lining the selves, ignoring the other individuals examining the shelves and cautioning Bessie not to stray far. I became lost in my world of books and characters, with lives far more exciting than my own. I was swept in my mind of deciding which books to purchase, when I heard the crash. Bessie, it appears, and climbed up onto a ladder, used for fetching the books, and had misplaced her footing and stumbled down. A young gentleman, rushed to her aid, as I cried out in shock.

"Bess, Bessie, are you hurt?, Bessie, come here", I said crouching down to view the child, who was spent up in this strangers arms. As I moved closer, and Bessie turned her head, I gasped at the slight on a deep cut along the top of her head. Bessie started to cry, shock filling her face. 

"Miss, I think she is okay" started the stranger, "But she may need to see a doctor", I glanced quickly and my new friend in a hour of need,

"Um, I am not sure what to do", I mumbled as Bessie climbed into my lap. I desperately tried to recall if my Aunt had mentioned local doctors, or which physician the family used. Bessie wailed louder, as the young man took his handkerchief and placed his hand over her cut.

"Miss, which doctor do you attend?",

"Um, I am not sure, you see, I do not know who the family sees, I only just began residing here", hesitation and panic began to ripple through my voice,

"Miss, which doctor is assigned to her care?" he tried to reframe. This time I noticed his stunning eyes, almost grey around the outside and bright green in the centre, something I had never seen before.

"Sir, I am sorry, but I do not know, I am not her mother", embarrassment and awkwardness filling my voice, 

"I beg your pardon miss, I just presumed, Miss...?", 

"Miss Louise McAnimus", 

"The McAnimus' are patients of my father, we will take her there straight away", the urgency of his voice not escaping me. 

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