Remembrance breathed deeply.
Samuel pulled up in the wagon, but Remembrance ignored him, entranced by the fragrant oranges she picked.
"Another good crop Remembrance?"
"Better than you can imagine husband. That is the last of them. Mind taking this in for me? I do believe I have a customer."
Remembrance handed Samuel the basket of oranges without waiting for a response, for the gentleman had already seated himself. Remembrance hurried to his side.
"How short would you like your hair cut today m'lord?"
"I do not want it cut."
"Then....what are you needing today?"
"My hair...it is not so nice. I want my hair nice."
Remembrance nodded knowingly.
"How much do you brush it?"
"Every now and then."
"Brush it a hundred strokes each day."
"A hundred? I don't need my hair falling out."
Remembrance pulled out a brush and began.
"Does it feel like I am pulling out your hair?"
"No..."
"See, when I get to a tangle, I take the brush out and brush under the tangles like this."
"Is that why it doesn't pull so much?"
"That and I hold your hair in my hand just above the brush, or if it's up higher, I lay my hand flat, feel that?"
"Yes...but all that brushing, won't it make my hair fall out?"
"Only if you are rough and pull through all the tangles."
The man grew silent. She noticed he didn't have a ring. No wonder. If he'd had a wife she'd have taught him this herself. He loved it too, she could tell.
"And that makes a hundred strokes."
"Already?"
Remembrance pulled out a mirror.
"See how nice that looks?"
"You're a miracle worker."
"I didn't do anything you couldn't do yourself. Just remember, a hundred strokes each day."
"Brother Michael it looks like you are next."
Rumble.
A small carriage pulled up. Remembrance gasped when she saw who stepped out of it.
What is he doing here? I have done nothing wrong! I have not said so much as a bad word about His Majesty since he set me free from the dungeon. He couldn't be here for Samuel could he?
Remembrance stepped around the chair and curtsied low before her king. She waited and waited. At last he spoke.
"I have brought you a customer."
Remembrance let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding.
"You may serve Brother Michael first."
"Yes Your Majesty," she said meekly.
"And where might your husband be?"
Remembrance froze.
"I cannot hear your reply; rise."
Remembrance stood, shaky after the long curtsy and the king's question.
"My husband is - is -" Remembrance swallowed, "is inside."
Remembrance stood helplessly as the king stepped through her doorway.
"Just a trim please."
Remembrance turned her attention back to Brother Michael. She took her time with the monk. It was comforting somehow.
"How are you fairing without your youngest monk?"
"The pain has lessened with the passage of time."
"I am so sorry for your loss brother."
"Thank you."
"What took him? I hope it was not hunger...we could have spared more. Our crops have been exceptional."
"No. He was ill, a cold."
"God bless his soul."
"Sadly he was preparing for college. College must not have been in the Lord's plans."
"So he spent his last days in bed?"
"No. He kept the cold from us. He worked himself to collapse...and never awoke."
"There, take a look."
"Just how I like it."
Brother Michael rose slowly.
"Wife of Roberts, pity us not. We love our brethren, Brother Chip included. His soul is saved. He is with God. A small part of our hearts sorrows, the rest rejoices."
And with that Brother Goodman turned and walked away.
While she watched him leave a young man had quietly sat down.
"Are you one of the Frells?"
"Yes. I am Francis Frell."
"Could you give me something befitting a servant of the crown?" he asked softly.
This must be the customer the king spoke of.
"What type of servant of the crown?"
"I live in the castle and do as I am bid."
Remembrance let her scissors fly.
"Will this do?"
Francis stood and shook her hand.
"I see you finished in good time. Come along Frell."
Samuel was not with the king. Remembrance watched the carriage leave, then rushed inside.
"What did the king have to say?"
"After what he said you can say goodbye to your little cottage."
"Oh Samuel!" she wailed, turning from him.
"What? That is your name. He can't take your name. If you are not Samuel than who would you be?"
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