Symphony of Lilacs

08. Every Line

Both mother and daughter nod, as they walk in.
I recover the remaining steps and close the door behind me with steady hands.

On the right side of the room, there is wooden stove lit aflame with a small metallic kettle hanging upon it with a rod.

The stove is also the only source of heat in this apartment.

Along with it, there is also a tin tub joined next to it for convenience.

"Papa, why is there a tin tub here?" A little blond boy asks.

The man ruffles his hair, but doesn't answer.

The kettle's clanging brings me back.
My shoulders lower a bit before anyone can notice.

How were you even able to afford my fee if you live here?

Mrs Penrose sits on a rocking chair-- moving to and fro with knitting needles placed at the side of the chair. A few stray pieces of cloth-- not wool-- are placed in the far left corner. Miss Penrose increases the flame by striking a flimsy poker into the stove. A weak glow spreads all across, but it is enough for the sun is still giving its last rays outside.

Mrs Penrose motions for me to sit on a spare chair on opposite of her.

I follow her orders without further ado.

Though my gaze stops at the wooden shelves on the wall in front of me.

Not because of the few stray bottles of spices it has-- but because of the wind-borne books lying there. Their paged spine looks at with, not their covers.

My head tilts to the side, as the kettle lets out a shriek.

Mathilda Penrose takes a patched cloth and bends down to remove it from the flames.

The dark brown liquid pours itself into two small teacups.

Letting the kettle cool on the floor, her finger tips caress the cups as she carries them towards her mother and me.

Mathilda Penrose gives one to her mother, and passes one to me.

"Thank you," I say.

Shaking her head with a smile, she sits on the free chair next to me. My eyes point to the empty hands on her lap.

Mathilda Penrose wipes her hands on her skirts-- straightening the non- existent wrinkles.
"I am not in the habit of drinking tea in the evening, while my mother adores it for some unknown reason."
She shrugs.

Mrs Penrose takes a sip from her cup-- mine stays in my hands as I nod.
"I see you were looking at the book collection, sonnie."

My head turns to her-- looping my finger into the handle of my tea cup.
"They intrigued me, madam."

I finally take a sip from the tea cup.

"Wonderful, then! Tilly loves books so much."

Miss Penrose chucks in a breath at the mention of Tilly.
I pretend I didn't notice anything and take another sip from my cup.

Mrs Penrose places her tea cup next to her rocking chair. Holding tightly onto the arm rests, she stands up.

Both Mathilda and I shift in our chairs, but she stands with her palms pressing into her back before we can.

"I think I shall lie down for a bit in your room, Tilly. It will be beneficial." She takes a deep breath and takes the cane from her side-- walking over to the short distance into the room in the corridor.