On the cusp of change

Josephine rounded the small knoll just between the path to her house and the meadow. She had spent the remainder of the afternoon thinking about Mitchell as she gathered Clarkia and Sheep's Sorrel. Mitch had loved botany and planned to invent new kinds of plants and produce to keep the family's roots strong in agriculture--like father would have wanted. He taught her everything she ever wanted to know about the wild plants around their home and land--every trip to town or blazing summer day he would point out something new to Jo and he's pluck a flower and tuck it behind her ear--and snub her nose with his thumb.

Josephine recognized the stout mare nibbling some of the newer blades of grass near the gate--she belonged to Miss Jacobs, the schoolmistress. Josephine whistled low, and the mare lifted her head--eyes drowsy with the languor of spring. Jo couldn't help but smile--wishing she could be a simple creature like this velvet beauty. Jo knew inside her mother would be having words with Miss Jacobs, and she also knew she wasn't ready for hearing any of it. She set down her flowers and turned to the horse. "So, Mathilde, what shall we do today?" she mused in such a soft, sweet voice, the mare whinnied. "I thought so too, let's take a walk." She untied the mare and lead her around the perimeter of the yard--paying close attention to where the grass seemed most green, so she might please her grazing friend.

The pair had made a lap around the yard when both women appeared at the back porch. Mother had a glass of lemonade in her hand, Miss. Jacobs had hers folded neatly in front of her muslin dress. Each took a glance at each other then at Josephine. They smiled and then Sarah called for her to say hello and bring Miss. Jacob's horse. Josephine approached and chose a nice grey-nobbled pebble by the steps to concentrate her stare.

"Well, I'm glad to see you're making nice with the old girl," Miss. Jacob's voice always made Jo feel at ease.

"And now, Miss Jacob's has come all the way out to see us, you might say something to her," Sarah was firm, but not mean.

"Yes, Miss Jacob's it was very nice of you to come see us, I do enjoy your visits," Jo said this part more to the horse, but Miss Jacob's felt her meaning.

"Ah, it is just the joy of being in such a small town--I get to visit my best and brightest pupils."

At this, Jo looked up and saw the warm smile on her teacher's face. It was a genuine remark, from a woman whom Jo thought had always kept a bit of distance from her students. Josephine smiled back shyly.

"Well, I suppose I should take this old girl off your hands before she's obliged to leave your yard with nothing but dirt!" Miss Jacob's smiled again at both mother and daughter, as she took the reigns from Josephine and daintily mounted Mathilde. "I'll see you in school tomorrow, Jo, and Sarah, as always, it's a pleasure to see you." With that, the school mistress wheeled about and started on the path back to town at a slow trot.

Sarah and Josephine watched as the two became blurry specks in the mottled shade of the tree-lined path, then Sarah laid a hand on Josephine's shoulder.

"I thought you might like something to drink, sweetheart..." Sarah's voice was soft the way it was when she wanted her children to follow her.

"Just a minute, mama..." Jo turned to the gate, and scanned the area where she first saw Mathilde. She ran across the yard and picked up her wilting wildflowers in her apron. As she skipped back awkwardly, she called to Sarah, "Mama, look, I got them when I was by the river and walking up the path in the meadow." She opened her skirts to reveal Mitch's favorite flowers. Sarah stood still for a moment, looking at the bright pink blooms and fresh green stems. Her eyes met Jo's and she wrapped her daughter in a tight and affectionate embrace. Josephine hadn't remembered the last time she had hugged her mother. She felt she might bury her whole existence in her mother's strong arms and breathe each fiber of her blouse and never miss the air. She felt safe and whole and loved.