Kathleen E. Woodiwiss - Birmingham 01 - The Flame And The Flower, Kathleen WoodWiss
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//-->The Flame in the FlowerThe Flame in the FlowerThe Flame in the Flowerby Kathleene WoodwissKATHLEEN E. WOODIWISSTHE FLAME AND THE FLOWERFor the flame will surely come,And burn, and blacken, and lay bare the hill.But with the first sweet breath of springThe shy and lovely flower will again showits face among the charred ruins.It yields to the searing beat,But with its persistent beautyFar surpasses and finally tames the flame.Chapter 1June 23, 1799Somewhere in the world, time no doubt whistled by on taut and widespread wings, but here intheEnglish countryside it plodded slowly, painfully, as if it trod the rutted road that stretchedacross themoors on blistered feet. The hot sweltering air was motionless; dust hung above the road, stillremindingthe restless of a coach that had passed several hours before. A small farm squatted dismallybeneath thehumid haze that lay over the marsh. The thatched cottage stood between spindly yews and,with shuttersopen and door ajar, it seemed to stare as if aghast at some off-color jest. Nearby, a barnsagged in poorrepair about its rough-hewn frame and beyond, a thin growth of wheat fought vainly in theboggy soil foreach inch of growth.Inside the house, Heather wearily turned potatoes against a dull worn knife that more scrapedthanpeeled. Two years she had lived in this cottage, two years so miserable that they seemed toblot out herlife. She could barely summon the happy times prior to that weary day she had been broughthere, thesofter days spilling over the years as she grew from baby to young woman, when her father,Richard, hadbeen alive and she lived with him in a comfortable London house, wearing stylish clothes,having enoughfood to eat. Oh yes, it was better then. Even the nights her father left her alone with servantsdidn't seemso frightening now. She could understand now his agonies, his loneliness for a wife longdead, the sweet,beautiful Irish lass whom he had fallen in love with and married and lost giving birth to theironly child.Now Heather could even comprehend her father's need to gamble, that cruel sport whichhad robbedhim of life and her of home and security, leaving her at the mercy of her only kin, a plucklessuncle and ashrewish aunt.Heather wiped her brow and thought of Aunt Fanny lounging in the other room; the straw mat-tress wouldbe flattened under her more than generous frame. Fanny was not a woman easy to get alongwith.Everything seemed to displease her. She was without friends. Not a soul ever came to call.She liked noone. She had thought the Irish woman her brother-in-law had married was inferior because ofherpeople, a race she declared was always warring against the crown because it was theirnature to fight,and now Heather bore the brunt of that malicious hatred. Not a day went by that it wasn'tthrown up toHeather that she was half foreign. And with the prejudice was an emotion that ran deeper,twistingFanny's reasoning until she half believed that like the mother, the daughter was part witch.Call it jealousyperhaps, for Fanny Simmons had never been pretty, not even remotely so, whereas thecolleen, Brenna,had possessed great beauty and charm. Men's heads turned when she walked into a room.Heather hadinherited her mother's exquisite loveliness and, sadly enough, the aunt's criticism along withit.The gaming houses had claimed payment for Richard's losses at their tables, taking everymaterialpossession he had had but a few personal artifacts and some clothing. Fanny had hastenedto London todeclare her husband's right of blood, snatching up the orphaned niece and her meager inher-itance beforea protest could be made. She had grumbled because Richard had not shared his wealth norleft it behindfor them, then sold the goods, all but one gown, a pink one that Heather was not even al-lowed to wear,and greedily pocketed the money.Heather straightened her aching back and sighed.“Heather Simmons!”The words rang from the other room and the bed creaked as her aunt rose from it.“You lazy flit, stop your daydreaming and get to work. Do you think your chores will be gettin'donewhile you mope around here? I swear a body would think that lady's school you went towould've taughtyou something useful instead of reading and all those high-handed notions what fill yourhead!”The huge woman padded across the dirt floor into the room, and Heather mentally bracedherself. Sheknew what was coming.“See what good it done you—'aving to live off your only kin. Your pa were a fool, that he was,throwingaway his money without a care o' nobody but hisseif, all on account o' that flip he mar-ried—that Irishgirl.” She spat the words out in distaste as if she could think of nothing worse. “We tried towarn himagainst wedding her. But he wouldn't listen—'e had to have Brenna.”Heather lifted her gaze wearily from the shaft of sunlight drifting in from the open doorway tothe largebulk of her aunt. She had heard the argument so often she knew it by heart; it failed to shakeher kindermemories of her father.“He was a good father,” she said simply.
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