What does it mean to be happy?
The question often returned to Katnya’s mind, so it was no surprise when it popped into her thoughts as she tended to her bees. She considered it as she scooped honey out of the third hive. If all her hives had done as well as the first three, then this first harvest of the year would have a good yield.
She was happy with the harvest, so far at least. But was that truly happiness? Did the word have different meanings in different contexts?
She ruminated on this as she methodically harvested the sweet treasure from the hives a short distance from her home. Her garden was growing nearly wild with tall grasses, flowers, and bushes all blooming with the flowers and greenery of springtime. The chaotic patch of land in the otherwise well-kept town of Hookworth made her happy. It was better for her bees, and what was good for them was good for her daughter. They would eat and survive. That was good. But that didn’t mean she was happy, did it?
Whether she had an answer to this most frustrating of questions, she was not sure, even after harvesting honey from all her hives. What she was sure of was that smoke from burning cow dung to drive the bees out of their hives left an atrocious smell in her hair and clothes. That was a problem she could deal with, even if she could not solve her conundrum.
“Alaya!” She called to the house. “Come on. Time to get cleaned up!”
Alaya, who was somehow already six years old, came quietly down the steps from their front door. The smell of the smoke was too strong for her, so she preferred to stay inside when honey was being collected. Katnya took her daughters hand in hers and led the way down to the stream that ran through Hookworth where they could bathe.
She had her daughter. A shining light in her life. After all that Katnya had been through; her two husbands, one dead, one unfaithful, and her two other failed relationships. Now she had her daughter. Alive. Despite a terrible journey, hunted through the wilderness with a new-born. Alaya lived. She could still feel the joy of waking from a coma to find her baby alive and safe, rescued before they both starved. Surely that ought to make her happy? Well… yes. It did. Sort of. She had felt great joy when first awaking to find Alaya still lived. She was still happy about that. She was happy that she had Alaya, but was she happy overall? Were those feelings the same?
She was certainly happy with how Alaya looked. The same auburn hair, freckles, and yellow-green eyes as her mother. Barely a hint of her father, the cheating filth that he was. She was probably over that pain now, but still, she was happy that her daughter was not a constant reminder of him. She probably ought not to be so happy about that. Yes, she would have still loved Alaya even if she had been the spitting image of her father, but that would have just made recovering from that betrayal all the more difficult.
They reached the water side, and Katnya waded in, still wearing her clothes. They were still carrying the foul scent of the smoke so why not wash them at the same time as her body. Katnya pulled off her clothes, giving them a good rinse in the water before placing them on a rock by the shore. Then she dunked her head and ran a hand through her hair, only present on the left side of her head. When she emerged, she saw that Alaya standing by the edge of the water, looking at her feet.
The girl needed encouragement to enter the water, as she did with most things. Gentle words and a promise of a treat later were enough to get her into the cool stream. Katnya talked to her as they washed, but Alaya only responded with the occasional yes, no, please, or thank you.
It was a constant worry how quiet the young girl was. She was shy around most people, barely meeting their eyes. Even at home, with just her mother, she would rarely say anything. Katnya had initially worried that perhaps she was unable to speak as it had taken her so long to utter her first words. Her friend Arenborn had taught her some of the fascinating sign language he used to communicate, but Alaya had not used it any more than her voice. It seemed that she just did not want to communicate. That worried Katnya, but she would not force it upon the girl. There was nothing wrong with saying little. She knew some adults who ought to learn that lesson. But the general solemnity and quietude did concern her. Would the girl speak up if there was something wrong or would she stay silent?
Katnya supposed it was not something she should be overly worried about. What will be will be. If Alaya was uncomfortable with talking, then perhaps she should just accept that, and the consequences. Was that worry part of why she did not know if she felt happy? Was that what was holding her back?
Alaya splashed water in her face.
It took a moment to recover from the shock and once her eyes had cleared of water, she saw the small impish smile on her daughter’s face. So Katnya did what any reasonable mother would do and splashed back. Alaya giggled as the water soaked her face. Joys upon joys! She giggled!
They played for a short but blissful time. Splashing each other back and forth, giggling at each other. But Alaya soon tired, and Katnya scooped her up into a warm embrace, placing a big kiss on the girl’s forehead.
“I love you little plum. I always will.” She whispered, stroking the girl’s thick hair.
There was a pause. Katnya refused to stiffen, to worry, to show any hint of concern that the girl might pick up on. She stroked her hair and held her. Letting Alaya respond or not in her own time. Then, sending a warmth through her whole body, a soft response came back. “I love you too ma.” That was all Katnya needed to hear. She knew no more would come, so she kissed her daughter on the head again then carried her up to the shore where they towelled off and threw on their dry clothes.
Alaya had responded. Alaya had said she loved her. Katnya did not need reassurance from her daughter. She would love and cherish her no matter what happened, but to hear those words for the first time was something special. That had made her happy. That warmth was certainly happiness. It lasted well into the evening.
Once home, Katnya sat with Alaya by the fire, brushing the girl’s hair as she sang a soft lullaby. One from her homeland, passed down through the generations. Alaya hummed along with her mother, relaxing as her hair was brushed. Once that was done, Katnya let her play for a little bit as she prepared dinner. She did her best to provide good, tasty food, but it was a rare occasion for them to have anything more than a simple stew. It was a quiet meal, it always was. Katnya talked to Alaya, but rarely got any responses. That was just life now. She did get a smile when she gave Alaya a small cake, her promised reward for bathing.
Once they had eaten, Katnya put Alaya to bed. Stroking hair from her face and kissing her softly on the forehead after singing the lullaby again. With that done, she finally took the time for herself. She sat by the hearth, took out the small piece of wood that she had been working on for the last couple of weeks, and set to work. Perhaps tonight she would finally finish the carving.
It was a calming activity. The gentle scraping of blade on wood, the warmth emanating from the embers of the dying fire, and the scent of rosemary and thyme from the stew. However, she found herself distracted, her attention drawn to the mount on the wall that held her axe. Long hafted, the handle wrapped with a now fraying cord, and the blade blunted to be safe around Alaya, just in case.
Did she miss the thrill of battle? Did she need the clarity that came with combat? It had been five years since she had been in a fight. The thought of leaving Alaya alone was too much. She couldn’t risk that. Not after all she had been through.
Besides, she did not miss it. It had been important to her. She had enjoyed it. But she did not need it. No. That was not what was missing, so she returned her attention to her carving.
It was not long until her next distraction, this time in the form of a soft thump from near the door. A moment later, a large furry head came up beside the arm of her chair and meowed at her.
Brynna the lynx stared at Katnya, her eyes bright with the light from the embers. Katnya set her carving to one side and began stroking the large cat around the ears and neck. The purring was immediate and loud, Brynna responding by rubbing her head against the hand petting her. Katnya’s muscles relaxed as she sank into her chair a little more. Her worries soothed away by the gentle thrum of the deep purring, the soft red-brown fur against her fingers, and the warmth of companionship.
This was home. No matter where she had been born and raised. Here, with her little family, she was home. She was happy to have a home. She was happy to have a family. But was there something missing? Did she need something more?
Yes. Something was missing. There was something she was lacking. She was happy, but not truly so.
That realisation felt like a piece she had been struggling for. Certainly not the everything she needed, but it was certainly a step in the right direction.
Brynna huffed and pulled away. Katnya had not been focused enough on giving her scritches and so the cat gave up and padded into the bedroom. She would likely climb into bed with Alaya as she so often did. The thought made her smile. Brynna was only slightly bigger than Alaya now, but her fur made her look a lot larger. Alaya always looked like she was being squashed, yet it helped her sleep.
Katnya worked into the night on her carving, lighting a candle to see better. She ought to sleep, but her mind just would not quiet. She needed to finish the carving. Maybe that would allow her to finally see what it was that she was missing. Then she would at last know how to be happy.
Finally, an hour past midnight, she finished the carving. A powerfully built horse, rearing up on its back legs, mane flowing in the wind.
It was a sudden, sharp reminder of someone. Someone it was better not to think about. Why had she made it? She should have anticipated the reminder it would become. It was stupid to have brought that upon herself.
She stood, annoyed at herself, feeling her back cramp and complain after so long sitting. She placed the horse on the mantelpiece right next to a stack of unopened letters. Her fingers brushed over the most recent one, a few months old now. Perhaps…?
No.
She pulled her had away. It was not good to dwell on the past. She needed to look to the present and the future. For her daughter’s sake. With a sigh, she turned away from the mantelpiece and went to bed.
Was she happy? No. Was she more or less content with life? Yes. Perhaps that would have to do.
