The Birth of a Wishing Heart

8. An Act of Mercy

Lucia pulled her hood lower to hide her head. She felt like she was drowning in her emerald dress. It was the only proper dress she had left, and she had nearly forgotten how restricting it could be. The corset squeezed tightly against her ribs, making her wonder how she ever breathed so freely before. She held a basket with her two hands as she crossed through the outer edges of the marketplace to reach the bakery. 

She sighed. Part of her knew this would be another fruitless effort. The concept was simple. Those in the upper classes didn't care about those below them, they only cared about their reputation, wealth, and their gods. It was best to avoid them and leave the subject alone. She had even told Lorenzo this time and time again because he tended to fight them and argue. She told them they weren't worth his attention. If only she could follow her advice. 

She wished she could accept it, but status or not they all were human. Sure, most of the wealthier folk were selfish snobs but there had to be some out there with a bit of empathy. There needed to be some good in them. She would know, she used to be one of them.

Two fresh bread loaves she had baked this morning still steamed between the weaved basket and her fingertips. She carried a pitcher of milk and another with water. She had a large platter of fruit, a bit of cheese and pudding, freshly cooked ham, a batch of cookies, and even a sliver of marzipan. This basket wasn't something she held often. It could feed her family for a week, yet when compared to the hearty dinners she used to have, it was nothing. She needed to impress them, or at least try. She wouldn't care as much if it weren't for Lorenzo and Hansel. 

Lorenzo had an infinite passion for her. He loved her, he adored her, but when anyone disrespected her he was a force to be feared. Ever since she had become their target he made it his mission to prove how worthy he was to be her husband. She had never asked him to, she had even argued against it. If she wanted someone "worthy" she would have stayed with her parents and gotten married to whatever arrogant man they decided. The way he constantly tried to prove himself for her sake made her uncomfortable. What was worse, he had spent so much time trying to work to give them a better life that he was hardly around anymore. She missed him. Before they were married they used to have races in the forest, they'd climb trees, or swim in the river. Now she often felt alone with her son.

 This rivalry between her husband and the rich, it didn't matter. She wished he understood that. Regardless of how successful he became they still would talk about her and spread rumors. Their children would still leave dead rats on her porch or kick at her walls. All he was doing was isolating himself. His presence was more than enough. 

Then there was Hansel, her son. He was intelligent, and the hatred his father had for those higher in society didn't go unnoticed by him. She tried to help him appreciate what he had and to help others. She'd tell him the slums were far worse than their 'shoddy' cabin. They went hungry sometimes, but they had each other and that was what mattered. 

 Now with this rivalry, even that was starting to fall apart. The boy would act out. He'd find genius ways to impress his father but the man was never there to see any of it. She needed to end this, for all of their sakes. It wasn't right for Hansel to grow up without a father. If the two of them grew up to hate the rich as much as the rich hated them, what difference would it make between the two? Yes, she wished she had more food, and could fix that annoying leak in the ceiling but the beauty of it was that they'd find solutions together. 

Milia and Gotto used to have a daughter. She remembered the loud arguments the family would have. They knew exactly what she was going through. They had to understand somewhere in their ridiculously self-righteous hearts that this feud was awful for the boy. A truce, that was it. All she wanted was a single act of mercy.