The Beauty Of Rose

P I G

XXXV

HECTOR LIKED TO TALK about his undeserving, chit of a niece every time they met. He spoke about a spoiled girl who was unappreciative of everything she'd been given. This epithet generously nursed Victoria's ambitions to be Mrs. Whitfield. The current wife didn't appreciate her role, Victoria reasoned, so why shouldn't she take it?

By the time they'd met for the first time in Rose's beloved gardens, Victoria had no problem showing off her prize to Matthew's wife. Let her see what she was too stupid to take for herself. Victoria finally reached her parent's cabin and gently knocked on the door. Her father answered with a smile. "You're home." Victoria forced herself to hug her parents hello and pretend to be friendly, when all she wanted to do was curl up and die. There wasn't much point in keeping up the farce, though. She hardly ever visited her parents, and David and Mary Sill weren't complete fools. They knew something was wrong. Still, they wisely kept conversation away from the subject that pressed their minds, and asked light questions about the weather and the baby. Victoria rubbed her stomach as she wondered about his true father. Hector didn't give a fig about her or the baby, and still, she wondered if he might do his duty. Fat chance.

Victoria had never been completely daft, she had some money stored away in the cabin if something like this were to ever occur,l but living on it would be a far cry from what she'd been accustomed to these past few years. Add to the fact that she wouldn't be able to work until the baby was born, and it was safe to say Victoria was in a real bind.

Her thoughts traveled back to Matthew, and then bitterly to Rose. She had made a mistake, yes. She'd been stupid. But none of this would've ever happened if Matthew hadn't fallen for her. He never would've taken her to visit his god-awful mother if there hadn't been affection between the two. Victoria sank her teeth into her lip so hard there were sweet, coppery drops of blood on her tongue. Rose had ruined her life. "Dinner," David Sill said, interrupting her thoughts. Mary gave a small gasp. Victoria turned her head to the portion of the cabin that occupied the kitchen, where a slaughtered pig lay. Victoria squinted her eyes at the dead animal. It wasn't just any pig, it was the family pet.

"Is that Winston?" Victoria asked. She had named the beast herself when he was just a piglet.

"Yes," her mother whimpered. "Isn't it just horrible?"

"Are you that hard up for money, Father?" Victoria asked. "I could've sent some coin if you wanted pork."

"I didn't kill him for meat, the damn thing ate through half the farm. And it wasn't the first time, either. He had to go."

"He couldn't help it David. He's a pig after all, he just needed a little more training."

"He's been trained since birth," David pointed out. "He knew better. Winston was getting old, anyway. It was time to put him down."

Mary glanced briefly at her daughter, looking for a statement of support. Victoria only briefly regarded her mother before staring back at the slaughtered animal. "He's right mother. Winston ruined the farm. He needed to be punished."

🥀

I hadn't written a poem in ages. That is what came to me one evening as I thumbed through the pages of Temptations of Love. So much had happened since the last time a quill had graced my fingers, it was only right to put those events to paper. I sat down in the downstairs study with a cream sheet of paper in front of me with a quill in my hand ready to write...only to find that I couldn't. Where did I begin? How did I translate my great love to words on a page? I thought about how hideous I felt the first time I removed my veil. My pen slowly moved against the paper as my feelings unfurled.