2: Amber's Work Begins

Beneath the starry sky that night and at Amber’s home, she and her mother Miriam were seated on a bench on the lawn outside their small cottage. Behind them on the front porch was the sculpture of a handsome-looking man. Amber was still in her patched dress which glowed under the night sky as the stars and moonlight lent a brilliant light around, the song of crickets surrounding them.

Miriam had a kind, pretty face but was worn out from hardship. Affectionately, she ran her hand through Amber’s hair and they smiled at each other unable to mask their misty eyes.

“Amber, my star, we do not want to leave each other but my body is weary from all the farming. I work a little and feel sick. If you don’t go, we will starve.”

Amber hugged her mother tightly, almost afraid to let her go.                                        

“Mother, don’t worry, I will go,” she said over her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Miriam consoled her, “I will be here waiting every time you return.” She promised and held Amber back now to gently wipe a tear off her cheek with a thumb.

“My star, life is not a bed of roses. But I give you a mother’s blessing. You will live much better than I. Favor will find you and remain with you. Now, look up at the stars.”

Casting their eyes upon the bright twinkling stars, they beheld an utterly beautiful sight.

“One day, you will shine like that.”

“Thank you, mother,” Amber replied, starting to feel some gladness at the thought of her dreams. “That will be the day I’m wealthy enough to help all the poor in the village.” She continued. “Now I give you a daughter’s blessing. Mother, may you live to see that day so that you can eat the fruits of your labor.”

Miriam smiled at that. “Thank you,” she said. “And remember my star, in whatever you do, allow love and faithfulness to be your guide. Let them be your dressing; Etch them across your heart. Then a good name and favor will be yours in the sight of our creator and man.”

Amber nodded and watched tears roll down her mother’s face.

“Don’t cry, mother,” Amber told her and they both forced smiles. She took a finger to her mother’s face to wipe off the tears and at that moment, felt strength building up within her. It came through love for her mother and the needs her new job would fulfill.

The strength never left her even as she fell fast asleep moments later in her patched dress on her small bed in her small room where everything was small and old; mirror, table, chair, and wardrobe. The strength helped her face her future with more hope. It gave her a get-up-and-go demeanor. In fact, it was the strength that helped her fall asleep the following night.  And drifting into oblivion, she began to dream that it was morning and it was time to wake up. That she was in a pretty night dress and the room was beautiful, bigger, and brighter. Nevertheless, when her lashes fluttered open and rendered her awake, she knew she wasn’t dreaming.

Everything different in her environment and dressing was a result of her move from her home to Isis’s house. Reality reminded her she was just waking up from her first night here after her deliberate late arrival from her home last night in a bid to stay with her mother much longer.

Her mother had not liked the idea at all but Amber had insisted.

When she arrived, Isis welcomed her with open arms, gave her food, and new clothes, and put her in the room she was currently occupying.  Maybe Cressida was wrong after all, she thought. Isis was nice and she would definitely enjoy the times she would spend here.

Amber took a deep breath, readjusting her attention to focus on the new day and whatever it held in store for her. She was here to work, after all, she thought as she rose and got off the bed. She looked around and approached the wardrobe, opened it, and pulled out an old box. Next, she opened the box and reached for a compartment from which she retrieved a small picture frame that she turned over to study the painted wedding portrait of her parent’s smiling faces.

She couldn’t help but remember how his sculpture on the front porch of her home kept his memory close. Amber smiled, took the portrait to the table, and balanced it, before pausing to study her reflection in the mirror.

“May peace and joy follow me here.” She murmured.

There was a knock at the door and when she opened it, she found Rhea, Isis’s daughter there. All Amber knew about Rhea from a distance was that she was a snotty-faced girl who was generally haughty. Silently, she hoped they would be good friends since they now shared one roof.

“Good morning, Rhea.” She said pleasantly and Rhea threw her an icy stare.

“We are age mates.”

Rhea sounded like it was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

“Yes, we are.” Amber concurred wondering why such an inane fact displeased the girl.

“Now, I prefer our last maid,” Rhea stated. “At least, she was older.”

Rhea’s comment crushed all Amber’s hope of friendship and unperturbed, Rhea strode off, letting her next words drift over to Amber.

“Better get down to mother if you don’t know the rules yet because you’re already breaking one.”  

From that moment on, Amber’s new life in Isis’s home began crazily because seconds later she was in the parlor downstairs, facing a casually dressed Isis on one settee. She no longer looked friendly but intimidating.

“You’re up late.”

“I’m really sorry.” Amber apologized, fearing that she might just be reduced to walking on eggshells around there. The thought made her feel really nervous. Maybe Cressida was right. Maybe…

“Well, I forgive you because this was your first night,” Isis informed her austerely, jolting her out of her thoughts. “So rule number 1...’’

Yes, rules. Amber thought she could handle them. She was a good girl after all. (“You’re a good heart,” her mother would always say to her). And she was glad for her upbringing.

She had been brought up to be hardworking and obedient to elders. She would definitely survive with that, she hoped. And so later, she got into her new routine, welcomed it, and made it a part of her. She believed that as long as she was in order, obeying the rules, there would be no trouble. Amber let Isis’s instructions play in her head like a taskmaster as she diligently worked at each duty.

“There must be coffee on the table every morning at 7.”

Hence, she had to make ready, two cups of coffee on the dining table which Isis and Rhea, often still in their night dress, reached out for every morning.

“The house must be cleaned after your coffee chore.” Isis’s voice would remind her as she performed her chores like dusting the settees.

“Our rooms, spick and span.” Isis’s voice would remind her as she worked to clean their rooms. And now she had cleaned Rhea’s room and was in Isis’s where she was currently inspecting her handiwork. Everywhere was neat, the bed tidy. She was done here, she thought and headed for the door. Just before she reached it, she was startled as she heard Isis’s voice yelling out her name.

She didn’t like it but this was her life right now and she was grateful for the strength that enabled her to go on. Indeed, it was a strength that came through love and need because she was prepared to work as long as it would enable her to help her mother and anyone else she could afford to help.