Mrs Knoll came once a week, was paid to clean our house.
She was a middle-aged Scandinavian woman, built thick, sturdy.
Her face smiled as she did her work without conversation.
I was young, but soon I’d replace her—do all her chores, for free.
One Saturday, mother was gone on an errand as Mrs Knoll busily scrubbed, dusted, vacuumed…
And when my brother taunted me, Mrs Knoll’s rough cracked hands—soothing balm of comfort more maternal, kinder than I’d ever known—wiped my tears.
©VIGIL HOURS & Rene Hearthchild, 2018 ~ All rights reserved.