Violet Zerotta's Hasty Marriage - Chapter 5
II.
Time flew by like an arrow. Before she knew it, Violet was entering her third year living in Aldrick’s estate.
The once-spirited resolve of a twenty-year-old girl had long since faded into the background. Violet had completely adapted to her new life.
Living alone wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Truly.
Of course, it would be a lie to say there were no difficulties. There were nights when she was afraid to fall asleep alone, and on days when she got hurt or fell ill, the loneliness could be suffocating.
But for Violet, these three years here had been far more free and enjoyable than the twenty years she had spent in House Zerotta.
After all, there were no older sisters to torment her, no Baroness giving her errands to run. As long as she took care of herself, that was enough.
Her father hadn’t visited the village even once since the day of Violet’s wedding three years ago. As far as Violet was concerned, that was a blessing.
Her daily routine here was remarkably simple.
When she opened her eyes and got out of bed, she would start with a light breakfast, usually something simple like potato soup or an omelet. If she hadn’t run out of bread, she’d have it on the side, and if there were carrots or tomatoes from the garden, she’d eat those, too.
In the quiet house, she could sleep soundly. Violet had made a fluffy down comforter herself to sleep under in Aldrick’s bed. The house had nothing but a few thin blankets lying around, nothing like a proper quilt. She had no idea what Aldrick had been using to cover himself before.
After eating, she would occupy herself with chores. While Aldrick was away, Violet earned a little money by picking up sewing work from the village cloth shop or tailor. On days when she had no work, she cleaned and tidied up the house.
Though the house wasn’t big, any home took a lot of upkeep. She swept the yard, scrubbed the floors, and even clumsily patched up the broken fence, day after day.
Thanks to her efforts, the house hadn’t aged much over the three years, and it had even become fairly tidy.
What would Aldrick think when he came back and saw it? She didn’t know why, but Violet found herself wondering that from time to time.
She bought a few chickens and raised them in the small yard. Raising chickens meant she could get eggs, and the chicks that sometimes hatched were adorable.
At first, she worried about money. But just enough to live on—what she earned herself—was more than sufficient.
She only touched the money Aldrick had left behind when she was running short or really needed something. Even now, three years later, a good amount of gold still remained.
Thanks to that, Violet could indulge in the occasional small luxury. She once bought fabric to make a pretty dress someday, and even picked up a few books she could never have dreamed of owning back at House Zerotta.
On days with good weather, reading an interesting novel in the shade of the tree in the yard was her simple joy.
Maintaining the small garden and vegetable patch was also part of her daily routine. She pulled weeds, gathered up stones to throw away, and always kept it neat and orderly.
The garden was a space Violet truly loved. Snow in winter, rain in summer, flowers blooming in spring. She never grew tired of it.
Sometimes, while tending the garden, she would come across something new.
Not even six months after she had started living here, Violet discovered a small grave in a corner of the yard.
There was no tombstone or mound, just a crude wooden marker stuck in the ground. At first, she hadn’t even realized it was a grave.
Upon closer inspection, she found writing on the wooden marker. The name had faded with time and was barely legible, but it conveyed that someone had been laid to rest there.
Judging by the size, it clearly wasn’t a human grave. If it had been, Violet—living here alone—would’ve been more than a little unsettled.
But it was only slightly bigger than both of Violet’s hands put together.
Most likely, it was a small animal’s grave. Maybe a puppy, or a chicken, or a chick. A tiny, clumsy soul that had once lived in this garden.
Having lived here alone, Violet understood. Hadn’t she herself felt immense sadness when a chick had died shortly after hatching, and buried it in a corner of her vegetable patch?
Thinking that Aldrick, who had once lived here alone, had buried an animal he’d grown attached to made Violet feel a little strange.
She had only seen him that one day in her entire life, and all she knew about him was his face and name. And yet, somehow, she felt like she understood him just a little.
‘Maybe he’s not as cold as I thought. Well, I suppose that’s one small blessing. At least there’s someone who’d bury me in a sunny spot if I died.’
It was the kind of thought an old woman might have.
From that day on, Violet found herself thinking about Aldrick from time to time without meaning to.
She wondered if he would return unharmed, imagined which battlefield he might be fighting on right now, and even thought about what she might say to him if they met again.
Like a girl harboring a quiet longing, Violet thought about him—carefully, tenderly—for a long time.
It had already been three years. Ten seasons had come and gone.
