The Empty Mirror
Chapter 39: Mother-in-law
In the translucent glass bottle rested an ointment whose emerald greenness radiated natural freshness, like nature's own nectar. Its smooth, creamy texture glided gracefully over the skin like a stream, creating a soothing layer that embraced and comforted. With menthol and eucalyptus as its allies, it offered almost heavenly relief, mitigating the swelling and pain of the battered ankle.
Dougal began the massage with circular movements as delicate as a caressing sea breeze. His hands, like consummate talents, danced over the skin with a dexterity that bordered on the sublime, applying pressure that, though firm, was a balm to fatigued muscles and resentful joints.
With precision, he delved into every muscle fibre, unravelling knots and releasing pent-up energy flows. The intoxicating aroma of essential oils filled the air, adding a sensory dimension to the experience. Each caress and pressure seemed to exude an elixir of relief and well-being, as if suffering and stiffness melted away at the touch of her virtuous hands.
At the end of the treatment, the ankle felt soothed and invigorated, as if it had been blessed by the very messengers of health and pestilence.
He then gently proceeded to wrap the ankle in a soft, supple bandage that embraced its anatomy with devotion. He began the process in a spiral, starting from the root of the foot and ascending with the solemnity of a pilgrim towards the calf.
Each turn was adjusted with the precision of a watchmaker, avoiding the slightest wrinkle or pressure point, thus ensuring an even distribution of support. Upon completion, he knotted the bandage just tightly enough, without strangling, to allow the blood to flow in its proper measure.
"Truly, Giselle, my regard for you is sincere and unselfish. You are also Esme and Hilda's faithful family, and in you I trust for their welfare. Rest assured, there is no need to fear for your ankle. Thank you, Giselle," Dougal pronounced with a solemnity that bordered on the blessed.
"I appreciate your words and help, Dougal," I mused gratefully. He rose from the floor with the solemnity of one who has reached an epiphany, and approached me with the seriousness of a judge passing sentence.
"I almost forgot to mention it... I know the truth about what happened between you and Esma, I am aware of the events that are interwoven between the two of you. Regain your strength, our child," he added with an icy gaze that froze the soul and made every hair on my body stand on end.
"Esma and I share nothing. There is no affection or interest on my part towards her. You have no reason to worry," I stammered in a breathless voice, watching Dougal rise and leave the hut without a word, as if he were ready to undertake any sentence to safeguard Esma and Hilda.
The seed of doubt arose in my mind, not about his grandmother's story, but about Bafranbu and the mysteries that awaited in its streets.
By the time Dougal left the rustic dwelling, Giselle lay resting on the humble bed, her gaze lost in the firmament, whose blue profusion was furrowed by dark clouds, portentous messengers of the impending tempest. As he pondered, absorbed in deep musings, the rustling of dry leaves under the footsteps of Esma and Hilda echoed in the air, announcing their arrival with wooden water jugs.
Hilda, with the weight of the jugs on her shoulders, paused briefly to catch her breath, while Esma, lighter on her feet, advanced towards the door of the hut with alacrity. With a gentle push, she pushed through the half-open door and watched Dougal with a solemn gesture, who remained static, absorbed in contemplation of the forest. Ignored, Esma entered the room and nodded to Giselle before setting down the water jugs and turning to her work.
Before long, Hilda was preparing to lift the pitchers again when she almost dropped them when she perceived Dougal's shadow before her. She watched as he approached with measured steps, gently waving her away. Without taking the pitchers himself, he announced, "Don't fuss, I'll take care of it" - though he remained upright in front of her, not indicating for her to withdraw. In an attempt to make conversation, Hilda said: "I thank you, your kindness is invaluable.
"You will find no impediment, Hilda. It is always my pleasure and delight to reach out," he replied gently, as his eyes wandered over the surrounding forest.
Hilda scrutinised him curiously, noting how Dougal avoided her gaze. The barely perceptible wrinkles in his hands shook nervously as he settled his attire over his shoulders. "It is balm to the soul to have someone like you, Dougal. Your benevolence is an oasis in the desert of life," he uttered in a mellifluous voice, slightly cracked with the weight of years.
Dougal felt unsettled under Hilda's penetrating gaze, experiencing a surge of unease inside him. He swallowed hard, searching for the right words as his hands fumbled nervously. "Hilda, there is a question you must ask," he began in a trembling voice.
Hilda's chest was pounding, wondering what thoughts Dougal might share. Her countenance was perplexed, her gaze fixed on the groom's face, "What is it, Dougal? Your words will find refuge in my bosom," he replied kindly, laying a comforting hand on the young man's arm.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Dougal took a moment to collect his thoughts, conscious of the delicacy of the matter. "Hilda, for some time now I've felt... a peculiar feeling towards... Esma," he whispered, barely audible in the leafy shadows around them.
Hilda's eyes widened slightly in astonishment, an amalgam of emotions crossing her weary countenance. "What do you mean, Dougal?" - She inquired, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the forest as she awaited an explanation.
Dougal moved closer to Hilda, feeling the rushing gallop of his own chest as he plunged into the depths of her compassionate eyes. "My apologies, Hilda. It's just that Esme seems wrapped in a blanket of melancholy, as if the shadow of judgement stalks her relentlessly. Something ails her. Each day grows rougher," she confessed, her trembling voice echoing with the burden of revelation.
"Esma..." - she whispered finally, her voice barely a whisper imbued with awe and another, more subtle emotion to discern. Her eyes searched, yearning to find some response in the young man's countenance.
Dougal felt a lump in his throat, anxiously awaiting Hilda's reaction. "I'm sorry to cause you consternation, Hilda. I did not mean to. It's just that I sense her distant, perhaps love no longer dwells in her heart," he murmured, averting his gaze for a moment before meeting her eyes again.
Hilda breathed in deeply, searching the shadows of her mind for the right words to reply to Dougal's confession. "It's a maze of difficulties, Dougal. Will you give up the fight for her?" - he finally uttered, his voice trembling as he tried to unravel the tangled skein of the situation.
Dougal affirmed his love with regret, aware that Hilda's words were like daggers, but unable to escape the feelings he had harboured in his heart. "I love her, Hilda. It is a known fact. And I would never perpetrate an act that would hurt her, but..." - he assured, his tone suffused with sincerity as he implored forgiveness in the woman's gaze.
Finally, Hilda took a breath of air, summoning the strength to face the situation head on. "Dougal, we must be clear in this matter. What is germinating between us... is a minefield," she declared in a firm voice, though unease flashed in the glint in her eyes.
Dougal bowed his head in parsimony, taking in the gravity of the situation. "I understand, venerable Hilda. I did not expect it to be a level path," he replied, exhaling a regretful sigh as he faced the stark reality of his own inner conflicts.
Hilda moved even closer, tenderly placing a hand on his shoulder. "You are still a young man, Dougal. Sometimes our hearts drag us down paths that are not for our good, but it pays to give it time, alone," she said softly, infusing wisdom into every word.
Dougal looked at Hilda with gratitude, recognising the wisdom that flowed from her advice. "I thank you, Hilda. Your candour is a treasure to be treasured," he replied, feeling a deep respect for the woman who had been a mainstay for him.
"She has been affected since her father's passing. I am aware that your emotional connection has grown distant, but perhaps it is propitious for you to share time together. She is looking for other ways to occupy her mind and cultivate relationships not tied to romantic love.
Giselle emerges as a possible comrade; you share a common age and could forge a cordial bond. Perhaps, together, they will find the path to happiness. It is likely that her sombre countenance is the result of painful memories of the loss of her father," Hilda explained tactfully.
Night hung over the forest, enveloping them in shadows that seemed to reflect the intricate weave of their feelings. Dougal and Hilda supported each other in a silent embrace. As Dougal tenderly stroked Hilda's hair, their hands rested gallantly on each other's waists, each carrying with them the weight of what they had shared that afternoon.
Back in the humble abode, Dougal knew that there were still many unanswered questions, but also a new understanding of the complexity of the human heart. Though the paths of love and passion seemed fraught with obstacles, he had Hilda by his side to be his guide in the gloom.
As the days went by, Giselle's ankle was showing improvement, but her mind was caught in a whirlwind of dark and troubled thoughts. Hilda cared for Giselle with the zeal of a friend, perhaps in gratitude for her assistance when she herself was prostrated with a cold.
Hilda ventured into the forest in search of more wild chamomile, exploring the sunny, open corners.
Finally, she came across the tiny white flowers with a yellow core that gave away the presence of the precious chamomile. Carefully, he picked the flowers, making sure not to hurt the plant and carefully selecting the freshest and ripest ones. Back in the modest hut in the heart of the forest, he prepared an infusion of chamomile. He arranged the flowers in a cup and poured hot water over them, letting them steep for a few moments to release their medicinal virtues.
Once the infusion was ready, he dipped a clean cloth in it and gently applied it to the affected ankle, making sure it was warm but not scorching to avoid damage. She allowed the cloth to rest on the ankle for about 15-20 minutes, enjoying the soothing scent of chamomile and letting its anti-inflammatory properties ease the pain, thanking the god of Plague. However, Giselle felt as if a parasite was eating away at her spirits day after day, Giselle was the parasite.
Esme remained reserved, though she was gradually gaining in joviality. In the presence of her mother, she seemed to find some release, but with Dougal and Giselle she experienced an uneasy guilt at the convoluted feelings that assailed her. During this time, Dougal went into the woods to hunt, while Esme and Hilda did the cooking and provided basic necessities such as water. This was not really a well, but a spot where the water from the nearby river stagnated.
The waters that once flowed gallantly and briskly now slowed their pace, forming a backwater where the reflections of the sky and the leafy trees intertwined in a solemn dance. The constant murmur of the river seemed to pause at this point, as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for events to unfold.
Although they called it a well for the sake of convenience, Dougal had actually dug a channel or ditch at this spot to provide an alternate path for the flow of water, allowing its escape from the stagnant juncture.
Despite Esme's desire to address her feelings with Dougal and Giselle, such a conversation was increasingly delayed due to her fears and hesitations. Hilda, in her role as mother-in-law, was unconventionally supportive and encouraging to her son-in-law.
When Esme was not at her mother's side, it was Dougal who took that place. They were seen together, exchanging smiles and blushes. Hilda's whispers, full of wisdom and experience, echoed in Dougal's ears like an echo in the stillness of the night.
Their gazes met in the semi-darkness, communicating more than words could articulate. Every chance brush, every shared gesture, fed the growing tension between them, a tension that was becoming impossible to avoid.
Despite their awareness of the boundaries they had to abide by, Dougal and Hilda were irresistibly drawn to each other, like moths dazzled by the forbidden flame of their greed. An invisible bond linked them in a realm apart, oblivious to the prying eyes of the outside world, that is, at least from Dougal's perspective alone....
"Hilda" - Dougal murmured inwardly, his husky voice suffused with pent-up desire. "You have invaded my mind with more force than you should, even more than at Bafranbu."