Vermilion

Chapter 3

Three years later.

The high noon sun shone brightly down the river that glimmered blindingly as it reflected its rays. The wind blew gently and made the dried fallen leaves flew lackadaisically toward the river. Except the rustles of the trees and chitters of the birds, the riverbank was quiet. It was a complete solitude but not sickening, unlike the grandiose desolation within mansions. One can just sit here and ponder devoutly.

What another day, he thought. A tug on his fishing rod woke his senses, he opened his eyes and watched the water rippled as the creature struggled from the hook. When certain that the poor thing would not escape, he pulled the rod with a light flick of wrist. A dark plump fish wriggled in the mid-air and with a swift stroke of his arm, caught it in the basket he has. It flipped and wriggled inside, blindly seeking for water to breathe.

His job was done just like that, he had sat for about few moments but the swimming creature took the bait just like that. Rising up, he took the basket on the crook of his arm and ambled his way back. Mary expected him much later, he could remember that he had just left just moments ago. He followed the footpath made by Mary's shuffling feet and he thought of making a pair of shoes for her. Maybe tonight or by dawn, she would not accept for certain. Then, he had to throw away her old pair. She would have no choice but to use it. Surely, she would scream when she finds that her old pair was missing.

The cottage, modest enough to be a house, looked the same over the years but was more polished and achieved the quaint look. He had repaired the askew railings and filled the worn out or missing bricks to ensure that it would be standing until the next years. However, the roof still needed some more carpentry so that if ever a violent tempest comes, it would not be blown away. He remembered stocking vegetables on the cupboard and made a mental note to check them if there was any sign of rot. And of stocks, the flour in the jar was nearing exhaustion so Mary had to drop by the nearest town to replenish it. Maybe tomorrow. There was still enough to make a loaf. And that creaking narrow steps. He had hammered it a number of times but the ear-hurting sound had not vanished. The chicken coop behind might also needed some tending. The nests' foul odor had crept to the upstairs. New straws for the laying chicken. Shoes for Mary.

Far from being a lazy woman, Mary never took for granted that her house, being cleaned for her, had little to nothing left for her to do. She succeeded in finding one or two things to do when he thought that he had worked on everything. Eager, she drew the line between them that she would do all the cooking and he should never touch or cook anything by himself. He was just allowed to hunt and stock food. Not cook them. He slipped into the gate and walked up the path to the porch. Exerting light pressure on the door to open, the obstinate wood did not moved. Yes, this was another one in bad need of repairing. Or better, replacing. He had been very careful on opening the door throughout the years. The last time he opened it himself, he had to attach it back to the sill.

He could call on her but she was upstairs. And he did not want to disturb her from her quiet musings.

Inhaling, he added more force to open the stubborn door. Then a crisp sound of detached wood followed and his lips pursed in contempt.

"There you are, how's your hunt?" she asked in a voice with lovely lilt.

Shaken but not surprised by her question, he lifted the door and leaned it beside the doorway before he faced her. "Mary, I fished," he pointed out but mild enough to pass as not offending correction.

Her eyes dimmed with short recollection then brightened up with a ginger smile. That twisted expression told him that she had forgotten.