The Flower Reader (2012)
“The queen had chosen that name, not I, and I resented her interference. But the christening was done, and Mary Gordon she was in the eyes of God and man. In my own mind I made it into Màiri, which meant “bitterness.” Her birth, after all, had been a bitter, bitter thing.
She had Alexander’s hair, golden and soft as the finest silk. It curled. I had no sense of the princely golden iris for her, though, with its intimations of sun and wind and blood. She was a wild rose, pink-and-gold, sweet like... the rose’s scent but also bitter like the tea made from the hips in the fall. Bitter, but bracing and healthful in the end.
I had thought I could never love her. How wrong I had been. I loved her fiercely and completely, with every last shred and tatter of love I had left in my heart.
I was not allowed to take her with me to the requiem mass, of course. I was almost not allowed to be present myself, after my collapse in the abbey. But a week had passed and I was stronger and clearer of mind.MoreLess
She had Alexander’s hair, golden and soft as the finest silk. It curled. I had no sense of the princely golden iris for her, though, with its intimations of sun and wind and blood. She was a wild rose, pink-and-gold, sweet like... the rose’s scent but also bitter like the tea made from the hips in the fall. Bitter, but bracing and healthful in the end.
I had thought I could never love her. How wrong I had been. I loved her fiercely and completely, with every last shred and tatter of love I had left in my heart.
I was not allowed to take her with me to the requiem mass, of course. I was almost not allowed to be present myself, after my collapse in the abbey. But a week had passed and I was stronger and clearer of mind.MoreLess
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