Mama's Dress

I sat beside Papa’s bed, watching him carefully as he adjusted his pillow. My fingers brushed against the rough skin of his hand.

He was fifty-six now, and every line on his face told the story of a man who had lived hard and loved harder. Even behind the faint smile he always gave me, I could see the weight of his pain.

Losing Mama six years ago had changed him completely. Her death wasn’t sudden. It came from an old injury that worsened day by day. At first, Corven’s herbs helped a little, easing her pain and allowing her to move without wincing too much. But soon, her body became resistant. Nothing we did could save her.

Now, I could see the same thing beginning to happen to Papa.

After Mama died, it felt as if a part of him had died too. His body weakened, his spirit dimmed, and for the first time, I realized how much he had relied on her care. Corven’s herbs still helped, giving him strength and easing the pain, but I could see his body starting to resist them, just as Mama’s had.

In other parts of America, basic amenities were common. Here in Ashwood, they were a luxury. Life was simple, but that simplicity came with its own cruelty. Clean hospitals, proper treatment—we had none. Even the wealthiest families could barely afford them. Most people survived on farming, running small herb shops, or fishing, just like Papa.

Mama had been a nurse in the old hospital, back when it was still operational. That was years before I came to Ashwood. Since then, we had relied on Corven’s remedies alone. But now I could see it clearly: the same thing that took Mama was creeping into Papa. His breaths grew shallower. Each day it worsened, and my chest tightened every time I realized how little I could do to help.

I reached for his hand and held it softly.

“Papa… we need to get you to a proper hospital.”

His eyes snapped to mine at once, as if I had said something forbidden. Then he smiled that gentle, familiar way of his.

“You’re starting to sound like your Mama, Kaelith. Nothing is wrong with me. Nothing out of the ordinary,” he joked.

I sighed, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Papa, you can lie to everyone else, but not me.”

He stared straight into my eyes. For a moment, I thought he would finally accept the truth, but instead a weak laugh slipped out. He reached forward and tickled my side.

“You’re getting wiser than your old man now, huh?”

I laughed, squirming away from his fingers, trying to catch my breath. It felt like we had gone back in time, back to when everything was simpler. He stopped after a while and cupped my face.

“I do not need anything else as long as you are here with me,” he said. “You are my lucky charm. The day I saw you in the woods was the happiest day of my life.”

“Was the happiest day of your life,” I chorused, smiling because I had heard that story countless times. It still warmed something inside me. “I remember, Papa.”

He smiled warmly.

“Do you know where I got the name ‘Kaelith’ that I gave you?”

I shook my head.

“After I brought you home to Mama to try and revive you, you woke up with no memory of your name or your parents. I looked at you, a tiny little angel with white hair, staring at me with wide eyes. Then the wind whispered, ‘Kaelith.’ It felt magical. That is how you became the only Kaelith in this town.”

I pressed my hand over my chest.

“It’s beautiful, Papa.”

He stroked my hair gently.

“A little collapse here and there does not mean I’m dying. Nothing is wrong with me, Kaelith. Everything will be fine. Now go quickly—get Corven to give me my herbs. Then I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

I threw myself into his arms, holding him as tightly as I could, as if letting go might make him vanish. After a moment, I let go and whispered,

“I’ll go get him, Papa.”

****

It had been four weeks since Papa’s last collapse. Four whole weeks of him smiling, moving with energy, and looking like the man I grew up knowing. Every morning when he stretched and said, “See? I told you nothing is wrong with me,” I believed him a little more.

Today felt brighter than usual. A sunny Saturday. A quiet relief settled in my chest. I was finally getting dressed to take my place at the herb shop again. I hadn’t been there in ages. Corven never complained, but every time I stopped by briefly, I saw the tiredness behind his eyes. He was trying—really trying. And I owed him my presence.

I stood in front of my tiny closet, wondering what on earth to wear. My hand hovered over clothes I barely looked at anymore. Then my eyes landed on it—Mama’s last gift to me before she passed. Her long gown.

It was soft cream, with tiny hand-stitched green petals across the chest. Simple, yet beautiful. Mama once told me, “The first day I wore this gown, I met the love of my life, your Papa.” I remembered smiling then, and I smiled now.

I pulled the gown out.

“Let’s see if it brings me my own prince charming,” I giggled to myself.

I changed quickly, smoothing the fabric with my palms. Then I styled my hair the way Mama always loved—pushed back loosely with a small twist at the side. Standing in front of the mirror, I froze. I looked like her. Exactly like her.

There was no time to dwell on it. I grabbed my small bag and headed out.

When I opened the door, I almost bumped into Ina. She stared at me like she had seen a ghost.

“Is that not Mama’s dress? Who gave it to—”

I walked right past her before she could finish. No negativity today. Not from her. Not from anyone. Papa was happy again. He even went fishing this morning. If he could choose joy, so could I.

The air outside was fresh and cool. I inhaled slowly, letting it settle in me, then set off on the path toward the herb shop.

As I walked, I kept glancing around for Kayla. She had told me last night, “I’ll need herbs tomorrow. The cramps are killing me.” I wasn’t sure if Corven had already given her some. If not, I’d bring them on my way home. Anything for a good neighbor.

Then something else caught my attention.

A sound.

A sharp clicking sound, like a camera shutter. The kind that tells you someone is taking pictures without permission. At first I ignored it, thinking I was imagining things. But with every step, it grew louder.

The path I was on was lonely. Always lonely. It only got busy by sunset.

My heart began to pound.

“Who’s there?” I asked, turning slowly.

Silence.

Nothing answered me, but the clicking stopped.

“Who’s there?” I said again, louder. “You better come out before I scream. I know you’re there, and I’m not scared of you. Come out.”

I bent and picked up a tiny stick. It wasn’t much, but it felt better than empty hands.

The leaves began to rattle.

Footsteps… slow, heavy, drawing closer. The sound of twigs snapping under someone’s weight.

My heart jumped.

Something—or someone—was coming toward me.