Agatha's Courageous Stand

Her daughter, the youngest one, was the worst.

Her daughter, the oldest one, was the second-worst.

Her son was sometimes better but was also occasionally at least as bad.

Her husband, her dead husband, had been the best of all, but he was gone now and all that remained of him were the memories, and the children. The children who shamed her with their taunts and their laughter and their endless tickles.

Agatha tried to hide her tears from her children but they saw them anyway. They always saw them.

"Tears are proof of weakness," her husband had told her once. "Don't let anyone see you cry."

They were in a little glade down by the river where she went to wash clothes. Her face held still for a moment before she could bear it no longer and buried her face in her hands. She wept quietly until she heard a voice behind her saying "You're gonna make me wet my pants!"

She turned to find one of the boys standing there with his hands on his hips; his face was stern and cross but he was trying not to smile. She smiled back through her tears, wiped them away quickly on the edge of her skirt and said "Well I wouldn't want that."

He came closer, stood right in front of her with his hands still on his hips, leaned forward slightly until their foreheads almost touched. He didn't look at her eyes - he knew how to play this game - he looked straight into hers as if searching for something. He searched for a while then nodded as if he'd found what he wanted. He smiled then and backed off a little; let his arms drop to his side again.

"Mama? Are you okay?" asked another voice from behind a tree opposite where Agatha stood; it belonged to another boy whose head emerged slowly from behind a bush and who finally emerged completely when the other boy called out "I think so!"

The other boy stepped forward into Agatha's field of vision as well and nodded sagely in agreement with his brother's diagnosis.

"It's okay Mama," he said kindly "You don't have to be okay anymore."