A MOTHER'S FINAL GIFT

CHAPTER 2: TIME TO THINK

Mrs Hale had spent the past two hours and...she had to check, yes...forty-seven minutes thinking.

She had been doing a great deal of that lately.

She knew that she was dying. Gosh, what a thing to realise...to accept!

But it was true and there was nothing she or anybody else could do to hinder or halt the hand of God in this matter. The almighty's ordained providence could not be appealed against or rescinded; no matter how much she may hope or try.

It had been a painful reality to acknowledge, but she had quietly come to terms with it. She would soon be no more, and her weary body and soul would be laid to rest for evermore. But such oppressive and solemn cares now meant that her mind clamoured in a bid for some much needed contemplation.

It was therefore fitting, that as she had become increasingly bedridden, the decline in her health had meant that in her alert moments, she had been afforded the leisure – whether she wished it or not – to pause and ponder. It was during these series of reflective rests that she had begun to venture into meditation about her life and all she would be leaving behind in this mortal world.

She thought about many things. With a wistful smile, she looked back on her time as Miss Beresford, the belle of the ball. She too recalled her controversial marriage to Richard Hale and the placid joy and companionship they had brought each other over the years. Then, with a sorrowful heart, she bitterly recounted their abhorrent relocation to Milton and everything that accursed decision had entailed. But most of all, she thought about her two beloved children.

She thought about their pasts, their presents and most feverishly, she thought about their futures. Futures which she was loathed to concede, she would never witness. She wondered about her dear Frederick – poor boy! Oh, how he had been the apple of her eye. He was such a handsome one, a clever thing, a charming child. How she adored him.

It broke her heart to sense everything that had befallen him. To imagine the peril he had faced. The disgrace! To have been forced to flee his homeland, his position in life and become a stranger to his family. It was too much to bear. Even as she thought about it now, her eyes welled up with tears of grief which ran like troubled waters down her sallow face.

She sometimes wished her children were not so ardently principled. If only he had been spineless. If he had been a coward and just gone along with the captain until he could make his civilised and legitimate escape, then all would have been well. But no, alas, she yielded. That would not be her boy. That was not his way. To be sure, she respected and admired his brave nature, which like Margaret's, was often reckless and defiant in its pursuit of justice. Yes, as much as she had wished events could have turned out differently, she knew Fred would never take back what he did, where he to have the chance again.

Still, it made her slight frame tremble and lament at the notion she would never see her firstborn again. Her daughter had sworn she had written to bid him come and despite a nagging concern and guilt for his safety, she was certain he would comply without hesitation. But whether he would come in time, she could only hope.

She speculated about what his future would be like. Was he not working in trade now? That rather made her shudder with poorly suppressed snobbery. He was living in Spain. That must be so strange, surely, he must miss England. Then again, he had been a sailor who had always yearned for the promising openness and adventure of the sea and these shores had not been his home for many moons before the mutiny. He was not married yet, but did he have a sweetheart? Was there a pretty girl who had caught his eye? She thought her son the finest and most fetching boy alive and she could fancy that many girls swooned after him. She just hoped he made a prudent choice. But most of all, she longed for him to be happy. Yes, that was all that mattered; that in the end, her Frederick was happy.