When Rose returned to the house, her father had pulled the bench next to his wife. He didn't hold her hand; he just sat down, staring at her as she lay on the wooden bed.
Rose walked to him, and he glanced backwards, then gestured for her to come closer. Rose dragged her feet as she walked to her father. She dropped to the bench, dejection clearly written on her face.
Her mother was still sleeping and the older woman looked so peaceful as she slept, her face devoid of worries. Even her wrinkles didn't hide how peacefully she was sleeping.
"Tired," her father explained. "Yer mot'er is very 'appy to see ye."
Rose nodded and rested her head on her father's shoulder. "What happened?"
"Ye speak like tha Lords now," her father smiled. "Good."
Rose suddenly felt embarrassed and turned away. "I 'ad to learn," she explained.
"I know, I am glad," he said and shuffled her hair. "Yer mot'er was really sad when ye left. Wouldn't stop cryin' and almost stopped eatin'."
