Chapter Twelve

 

Breakfast with Uncle John

 

Annaleah woke the next morning exhausted and feeling slightly hung over, even though she had not partaken of any alcohol the night before. The light streaming from a crack in her curtain made her wince and want to bury herself under her sheets, ignoring the day's importance. Never one to concede to her pain or discomfort, she threw the covers back from the bed, hoping not to see any more mud or debris from her dreams. There was nothing on the sheets she had changed before collapsing back into bed, thankfully into dreams she didn’t recall.

She had dressed her wound before she went to sleep the night before, and only a little blood stained the bandage. Wincing as she sat up, she took a deep breath to steady herself before she got up and put weight on her wounded leg. The throbbing ache was something fierce, but she knew the importance that the day held for her, so she willed herself to bear it as best she could. Praying once more to her Goddess for strength and forbearance, she reached over to her bedside table and took the aspirin she had laid out last night, knowing she would need it this morning.

Annaleah could hear Uncle John downstairs, fixing her breakfast. The smell of fresh ground coffee and bacon made their way up to her, and she smiled, despite her lack of sleep. He always got the finest coffees, dark, rich and smooth with no bitter after taste.

Heading down the stairs slowly, Annaleah took the book the Professor had given her the day before, which she had read only a very little of before falling asleep. She planned on seeing if he would let her sit on the sidelines for the first few days to observe his class and teaching style, before being immersed into teaching herself. If he did expect her to teach today, she wasn't sure how she would handle it. She simply did not have the energy mentally or physically to do so.

Uncle John was wearing his fuzzy green bathrobe over flannel pajamas, his light brown hair sticking up in various places, obviously uncombed. He hummed as he worked over the stove, swinging his hips a bit as he cooked. The table was set simply but tastefully, a vase full of summer flowers in the center. He had picked climbing hydrangeas and mixed smaller bunches of it in with black eyed Susan and the sleepy bells of columbines in hues of blue, pink and red.

"Where did you find the columbines, Uncle John?' Annaleah asked, leaning over the table to admire the blooms. They were her favorite flower, and that he had found some and put them on the table meant a lot to her. Suddenly she wasn't so tired and wasn’t in as much pain any more.

Uncle John spun around on his heel, wooden spoon in his hand, a big smile on his kind face. "Miss Delland grows them in her garden," he answered her, "along with the other flowers. I fixed a leaky pipe for her in return for those. I think I made a fair trade." Uncle John set the spoon down, poured them each a cup of fresh coffee, and began to place their breakfast onto plates. Annaleah watched her uncle for a moment, smiling, then walked over to him and placed a kiss on his cheek. For a moment, he looked a bit startled, but then his face relaxed and he beamed back at her. She might be in her early twenties and considered a woman now, but he would always see her as his little girl. He looked at the young woman standing before him, who, having survived the abandonment of her father, the death of her mother, being bullied most of her school years, and so many other things, had borne her fair share of burdens without resentment at her fate. Being different than others had only made her work harder in her studies, and made her love those that loved her as she was all the more. She had become quite the young woman.

"I'm proud of you, kiddo," Uncle John said, handing her a plate of food and then seating himself at the table. "I want you to have a good day. Don't let anyone or anything get you down, okay? Not even that Bainbridge guy."

Annaleah took her seat and looked at her plate. It was piled with eggs, bacon, toast and strawberries. Uncle John must really be proud of her, he rarely cooked, and it all looked so good. "I won't let anyone get to me, Uncle John," she promised, spooning scrambled eggs onto her toast. "Thank you so much for the breakfast, and for the flowers too."

"Columbines were your mother's favorite flower too, you know," Uncle John told her, his eyes looking just a tiny bit sad. "She used to plant them in our garden with your grandmother when we were little. She said the fairies liked them, and that if you left small gifts under them for the fairy folk, you could make a wish and it come true. I believed her, too. I saw her put a bit of chocolate under them every so often, but I never asked her what she wished for." He sighed, a faraway look in his green eyes. "She would be proud of you. Of all you have gone through and remaining unbroken, of all the hard work and long nights you spent studying. It would have meant so much to her."

Annaleah reached over her plate, plucked a pink columbine from the vase and placed it behind her left ear. "Then I'll wear this for Mom," she said softly, "so that where ever it is that her spirit may be, she can see her daughter honoring her memory."

Uncle John smiled at her, and seemed to be perfectly content in the moment. “Well, now that’s just beautiful, my dear. You’re going to melt that Professor's heart. Teaching class will be easy because everyone will be looking at you and telling you what a lovely creature you are."

Annaleah laughed at this, and winked at her sweet, silly uncle. "Let's hope so," she said, thinking how wonderful it would be if things would go that way. Bless Jonathan Alan Grace, for all the right things he said. He knew just how to make things seem like they would be okay. If it were true that the day went according to how to morning did, then today would be a fine one indeed.