“When will they come home?” Lizbeth’s voice penetrated Mauve’s daydream. It was rare to find rest in the middle of her day, and Mauve couldn’t help a touch of resentment at the interference. Guilt smothered it. The wee bairn could not help wondering. She missed her brothers as much as Mauve did her sons.
“When the weather allows it,” Mauve gazed at the sea. The maker and breaker of everything. She loved it. She loathed it. She couldn’t see a life without it.
“Tonight?” Lizbeth pressed against the rail.
“More possible tomorrow,” Mauve swallowed a sigh. “So we shall hope.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Bradley Harris
Na'ama Yehuda 
Uncertainty can be a killer for kids.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Indeed, and I suspect that for that child, given that there seems to be a sorrow and a (probably well founded) worry in the mother, there is that uncertainty as well.
LikeLike
Oh man. That is a difficult life to live. Hard enough for a parent, practically impossible for a young one who cannot comprehend. I shall assume they are sailors, of some sort…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yeah, it must be impossibly long for a child, and the helplessness to ease the worry of those around you, on whom you depend. I shall assume they are some form of mariners, too … Also, in my mind, there’s also the reality of waiting for the brothers/sons (i.e. that the father/husband is not among those expected to return, for perhaps he had not, at one time – ergo the sea being the maker and breaker of everything). Hard life indeed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I did have a question re the father but somehow figured they followed in their father’s footsteps.
Hard life, indeed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yeah, very. And yet, some who live that life have little other option, and some want no other way of life to live. A friend of mine came from a seafaring family with a history going back to whaling times, and they both hate and adore it and identify with it. I wonder if that was partially what fed this little story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
True enough. And I can understand how it might be the only option for some and that if generations did it before them, they will continue with it… I bet it did feed your story 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂 Peeps are so wonderfully complicated!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes!
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
The impossible wait. Time moves slowly. The anxiety. Kids pick up on things too.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Indeed kids totally do pick up on things, and it is important to give them space to ask, and to respond to them in a way that does not misinform or misrepresent, while still being kind and appropriate to their age and understanding.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Uncertainty is the worst part.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oft is. As we all know a bit more about from these times …
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a tender and true-to-life story. The sequence of emotions here is so accurate. “Mauve couldn’t help a touch of resentment at the interference. Guilt smothered it.” The story feels as though it captures the essence of a way of life. Beautifully written, Na’ama!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Penny! We’re all a complex salad of feelings most of the time, aren’t we? I’m glad the complexity of being human, of loving others and needing to let them go and protect them without smothering them … was communicated some. Yay! Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is sad, beautiful and necessary for the child to learn the truth. We often romanticise the sea when we’re only there on vacation. Those who live with and off it see the beauty, but also how cruel it can be.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Indeed, I think that truth (even if can match a child’s age in the how and how much) is the best currency of information for all, children or not. We can be kind and gentle and still truthful and reality-based. The sea can hold both the beauty and frightful awe, the calm and the storm. It is not one or the other. And accepting and learning the signs of the sea and respecting it are important to all, let alone how essential they are for those who live by it. Thank you for the comment!
LikeLiked by 2 people
to paraphrase, jane austen, he hopes the longest when all hopes are gone.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Indeed, for when hope is almost gone, it is when hope is most intensely needed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Looking back on my military career, I do feel bad about the times I was absent from my family. They have never complained, but I do wonder.
I loved this part of your story, “She loved it. She loathed it. She couldn’t see a life without it.” The story of my life!
Well done, Na’ama.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Bill! People have had to leave their families, sometimes for prolonged periods and with much unknown about ever returning given the hardships one might encounter – to seek employment, to follow the military requirements of their time, to tend the flocks in the mountains for a season, to drive the cattle, to build roads and go on hunting trips to prepare for winter and to take goods to markets and back, to fish, to sail to distant lands to make a living (or make a name). I think that it is perhaps part of the last few thousands of years in human history. Always difficult, no doubt. Always there’s a price, though sometimes the leaving is a necessary thing, given one’s options. Complicated things, we are. Thanks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
All true, Na’ama. Things I’ve not considered. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
🙂 I am known for being verbose. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Nope. I needed to hear what you said. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yay! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
So much in so few words – so many conflicting emotions. A beautiful story. I love the way she calms the child even in turmoil.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! Am so glad you liked it, and that the multi-layered feelings were communicated. And … yes, it behooves us adults to try and calm children, especially in times of turmoil, for they look to us to do so, and otherwise have to manage not only their own turmoil and inherent helplessness, but also the sheer terror of having the adults they must rely on, be beyond wits’ end. So … yes, she did well. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Na’ama Y’karah,
Such a tender snippet of a larger story. I love the rhythm of “She loved it. She loathed it. She couldn’t see a life without it.” So much said in few words. Tov m’ohd.
Shalom,
Rochelle
LikeLiked by 1 person
Toda, my friend! Here’s to the rhythm of all things, and happy Tu-Bi’Shvat! 🙂 May we all see plenty fruits of our labor.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I really can’t imagine what that must be like. Wondering, worrying, hoping, praying. A poignant piece indeed, Na’ama.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Keith. It was probably the plight of many a woman and child throughout thousands of years of human history. And still remains so for many families around the world. Very very difficult indeed!
LikeLike
A calm feeling of peace and a peaceful anticipation.
LikeLiked by 1 person
May it be so!
LikeLiked by 1 person
The maker and breaker of everything. That statement leapt out at me from your story. Very well done.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I am so glad this waved at you, Jill!
I was thinking of the cradle of life, of the realities of how we all are, essentially, beings of the ocean, if long long long ago. And … of the ways it cannot (yet, may it never) be fully tamed.
LikeLike
A viscerally real story for far too many waiting for loved ones to come home. Beautifully poignant
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! 🙂
LikeLike