Prologue

 

 

    Rose petals, lavender, rosemary, and other dried flowers, called immortelles, overflowed in a wooden bowl. Their perfume encircled her like a warm hug as she emptied the loose bouquet of love into the favourite hat of Jed, her dear late husband. She promised to keep his memory alive. Always, she would remember his warm breath on her neck as he gave her a good morning kiss.
Maud was born in a big city. By chance, the winds of destiny crossed her path with Jed’s. Worthforall, a village cradled by mountains and fertile earth, became their home. Once married, they never parted, nor did they leave their valley in the valley. Worthforall was their paradise, as was their deep love for each other.
    Her hands were now old and withered with time. The years behind her counted more than ninety, and each wove a story. Her fingers held the wooden bowl as if it were glass. A tear glided down her cheek as she said to herself (and to all those who listen from the clouds above), “It must not be forgotten. I must make it happen.”
    Maud left the cemetery with her shoulders bent in grief; within her chest the air hung heavy as each step was burdened. Then, with a soft, courageous touch, Triangle looked up at her mistress and whimpered a small meow, as if to say: Don’t forget your bouquet of memories. They’ll comfort your grief. You must finish your mission.
    On the porch of the little house on the hill, a familiar pile of chestnuts gave company to the front door. Silence filled the trees; only a faint breeze tickled each leaf. The birds gave no song as the dog slept curled by the fireplace.
    As Maud entered her home, the scent of many years of sharing embraced her. As usual, she built a fire, and the spicy smell of spruce and maple heated the air with question. On an open kitchen windowsill, an empty wooden bowl waited to be filled. The better part of her life was spent in the kitchen, cooking, baking, inventing sugar and spice potions of love. Now on the kitchen table, full of hope for Worthforall’s future, another wooden bowl sat waiting. It contained all that she and Jed had prepared-a sweet dream, a wish, and a kiss of courage. Trading the cherished wooden bowl in her arms for the other was difficult but necessary. Once done, she snapped on the lid and placed it gently in a box. On its brown wrapping paper, ­very carefully she wrote the address. A tear tipped onto the corner of the box next to the stamp as she said a little prayer. Slowly she moved to the living room couch and placed the parcel on her knees.
    Triangle snuggled softly at Maud’s feet and bade a good night to her long time faithful friend. Opening one eye, the cat purred in contentment. Tired from a seemingly endless day, Maud instantly fell into a deep sleep of forever. As the sun turned into the moon, the kiss she knew so well, the warmth of his breath, followed by his touch, claimed her. Hand in hand, she followed Jed into destiny.
    Outside, the birds began to sing, while the dog and cat sat on the porch like porcelain fixtures. In the box, ready to be sent, the wooden bowl waited.