Rose did her best to keep her expression neutral as she watched her mother. Her mother was seated on the bed with the covers over her legs, a coat made out of sheep wool on her shoulders and her back against the wall. She was barely holding herself up as she sat but stubbornly refused to lie on her back.
Things had been quiet in the house since her father's conversation about her going back to the castle at some point, but it was more because of her mother's deteriorating condition. Her illness was getting even worse. The older woman spoke little, ate even less, and only managed the faintest of smiles.
Rose was spending even more time by her mother's side, barely leaving her alone even for a moment, while her father spent less time outside. None of them spoke about her waning condition, but it was a dark cloud that hung over them.
Rose tried to go about her duties perfunctorily, keeping her thoughts away from her mother's illness. She knew her strong front would crumble if she didn't bury these thoughts deep, but burying them was easier said than done. There was simply no way to handle the fact that her mother was slowly dying before her eyes.
A feeble hand landed on her shoulder and Rose returned to reality to see her mother staring at her with a concerned expression. Rose forced out a smile to try to ease her mother's worry as she lifted her gaze to look at the older woman's face.
Her mother's face was sunken enough to see the shape of her cheekbones, her skin pale and flaky. Applying animal fat didn't help the dry appearance, but at least it stopped the skin from cracking any deeper.
Rose lifted her mother's hand from her shoulder and held it. It was cold, the skin was tight, dry, and rough to the touch. Rose held her mother's hand with the smile still frozen on her face, trying not to think about her state.
"Tired," her mother whispered.
Rose had to listen hard to hear. "You're tired?" she asked as she started to get up. "Would ye like me to get ye something to drink, or would ye like to lie on yer back?"
"I am fine," her mother chuckled. It was a dry laugh that quickly led to a cough, and Rose rushed to get her the drink she had declined.
Her mother only took a sip before she fell against the wall, exhaustion written on her face. She mumbled something Rose couldn't hear, but Rose understood her mother was thanking her.
The herbs Lord Paul had left behind were depleted, barely lasting a month. Rose had immediately gotten some more. It had cost them, but it was very much needed.
Unfortunately, the herbs didn't seem to be doing much any longer. Still, Rose dutifully gave her mother the herbs as she was ordered to, a prayer on her lips each time. Sometimes she didn't even know what she was praying for.
"Tired?" her mother repeated after she had recovered some strength.
"You're still tired. Let me help ye lie—"
"Nay," her mother said and tried to shake her head, but she didn't even make the first shake. "Ye."
Rose paused as she leaned over her mother, the filled cup still in her hands. Her grip tightened on it as she realized her mother was asking her if she was tired.
"Nay, Mot'er," Rose said with a genuine smile as she leaned away. She dropped the cup on the floor, sat on the bench, and took her mother's hand. She knew what her mother meant, and no matter her assurances, her mother always brought this up.
"I can take care of ye forever," Rose added as she gently squeezed her mother's palm.
The older woman didn't say anything, just tightened her lips as her eyes gave a hint of sadness.
"Ye should drink more water," Rose said quickly, trying to change the subject as she reached for the cup again.
"Ye 'ave taken care of me, enoug'."
Rose froze mid-reach and lifted her head to look at the older woman. "I do not complain, Mot'er," she said as softly as she could manage, meaning every word.
Her mother took a deep raspy breath as she prepared herself to speak, but the words barely left her throat before they resulted in another round of coughs.
"Don't force yourself, Mot'er," Rose mumbled as she brought the water to her lips once more. "Rest, please, and don't push yourself. Let me worry about everything else."
Her mother gently closed her eyes and Rose could easily see the weariness on her face. Her hair was thinning and its ginger color was fading. Because of the cold, her mother's head was covered, but one could still see her hair poking out the sides.
"I will lay ye on yer back," Rose said and stood up. This time, her mother did not complain.
She gently moved her mother. The older woman was light now, having lost so much weight. Rose adjusted the covers over her shoulders, staring hard at her mother's face, hating her helplessness.
Lord Paul himself had said there was nothing he could do about her condition. Rose didn't like to think about it. Dealing with her mother's illness was something she was used to, something she could handle. Cleaning after her wasn't a problem, she could do it with her eyes closed. What she couldn't handle was at some point, she wouldn't even have this.
Rose stopped herself as tears pooled in her eyes, but thankfully, her mother was already asleep, her heavy raspy breathing filling the room.
Rose pulled away and sat on the bench. It was only midday. Her father had stepped out briefly, but he would be back soon. Rose dug the heels of her palms into her eyes.
Her mother was worried about insignificant things. She was the one dying, but here she was worrying about whether Rose was tired. It was insignificant.
"Ha," she blurted with a heavy sigh.
She was tired, but it was not in the way her mother thought. She was tired of seeing her sick. Surely, her mother had plans, things she would have wanted to do but couldn't. Instead, her life had been confined to a bed.