The world lingers in the ground month of spring, April thriving in slow-drifting clouds across the blue sky, and in blooming wildflowers and roses in her garden.
"Your little garden is blooming proudly." Mrs. Barlowe rests her teacup on the saucer with a delicate click.
Neva lowers her teacup, her gaze drifting toward the yard, where flowers in vibrant hues bloom in a kaleidoscopic dream. "It certainly is," she replies, a smile curving up her lips.
Mrs. Barlowe studies her for a moment. "Are you with child, my dear?"
Neva blinks in surprise. How could she tell? There is barely a hint of her pregnancy beneath her dress, given she has only just passed her first trimester.
"I am," Neva says.
A smile gentles Mrs. Barlowe's face.
Of all the neighbours in Ziriri, Neva has warmed to Mrs. Barlowe the most.
How could she not? For there is a tender air about the slightly chubby,
middle-aged woman that draws Neva into the comfort of her motherly company.
In the earlier months, even when Mrs. Barlowe could not visit her herself,
she would send baked goods through Anna as small tokens of kindness.
Over time, as Neva grew more familiar with Mrs. Barlowe through church and their exchange of baked goods,
she began visiting her occasionally, often with Anna accompanying her. Neva is grateful for their company. Especially when she longs for her husband during the hours he spends away at the workshop.
"Would you care for more tea?" Neva asks, already reaching for the white teapot, delicate flowers etched around its surface.
At Mrs. Barlowe's assent, Neva gracefully pours the sweet, milky tea into her cup.
"Ella!" A familiar voice rises above the whispering leaves, stirred by the late-afternoon spring breeze, just before a flash of bright orange darts across the yard, cheerful meows trailing after her.
Neva chuckles as Ella makes a beeline for her, with Anna huffing close behind her.
As soon as the adorable little kitty reaches her, Neva scoops her into her arms.
Ella settles contentedly in her lap, purring as Neva scratches beneath her soft, chubby chin.
"My goodness, Anna," Mrs. Barlowe exclaims, "you cannot be forever running after that indecent feline!"
Anna lets out another huff in response before plopping herself down onto the chair beside her.
Neva smiles at the child. "Would you like some tea, Anna?"
"No, thank you.
But I would like a cookie," Anna replies, reaching for one from the plate and immediately taking a bite.
"Where is your etiquette, my dear Anna?" Mrs. Barlowe lets out a heavy sigh as she gently lifts her teacup and takes a quiet sip.
Anna pays her aunt no mind, instead watching her little kitty nestled snugly in Neva's lap. "She loves you too much, big sister."
"Does she?" Neva asks gently.
Anna nods firmly. "I'm afraid Ella has come to love you more than me," she says, scratching the kitty's furry little head, yet there is no sadness in her tone.
"Well, my dear Mrs. Lei," Mrs. Barlowe says, "may I ask how far along you are?"
"About four months now," Neva replies.
"Months concerning what?" Anna chirps in.
"The child, dear," Mrs. Barlowe says with a gentle smile. "Mrs. Lei is carrying a little babe."
Anna's eyes widen in astonishment as she turns to Neva, then glances down at her belly. "Is it true? You have a baby in your tummy?"
"It's true," Neva says.
A grin brightens Anna's face. "Is it a boy or a girl?"
Neva smiles. "We don't know yet."
"If you do not mind, my dear, I shall gladly aid you on your journey into motherhood," Mrs. Barlowe says.
"I would love that," Neva replies softly, warmth settling on her heart.
"When are big brothers arriving home, Aunt?" Anna asks.
Mrs. Barlowe smiles at the mention of her sons. "They shall be here for the summer holidays, dear." Yet a flicker of worry passes through her deep brown eyes. "Although, I wish they could come sooner. With the unrest spreading,
I cannot help but be afraid for them, even if the town where they study has not yet been threatened."
Neva's spirit dims at the mention of the rising persecution of believers.
"Why do they hate us so much?" Anna's voice is threaded with both curiosity and solemnity.
"It is because they cling too dearly to this world, ruled as it is by the darkness of evil, my dear," Mrs. Barlowe says. "They have grown afraid of the light that would reveal their sinfulness. That is why they cannot see, and why they will not let themselves be washed clean by the Saviour's Holy Blood."
Anna watches Mrs. Barlowe with wonder. "Yet why does no one come to our aid? We have suffered for so long. Why does God allow it to happen?"
A frown furrows Mrs. Barlowe's brow. "My dear, our finite human minds cannot fully comprehend the Lord's divine wisdom, nor can we understand why He permits suffering.
"Yet He has given us the gift of free will, and though it may at times bring sorrow and pain, the Lord is able to use even our suffering for a greater purpose.
Through it, He may
strengthen us in ways we cannot yet understand."
"It's the militant insurgency, isn't it?" Neva's voice comes out quietly. Militant insurgencies... they had become one of the most formidable forces preying upon believers across the world, leaving countless people to suffer simply because of their faith.
"The news does indeed," Mrs. Barlowe replies. "Rumour has it they have already laid waste to Armasia"
Anna lets out a startled gasp. "Armasia?"
Mrs. Barlowe sighs. "I can only pray that it does not spread any farther."
Armasia is not so very far from Ziriri, and reports have confirmed that the region has already fallen under attack.
The churches of the once flourishing countryside have been reduced to ruin, villages have been raided, and families slaughtered or torn apart.
Anna leans back in her chair, seeming to shrink into herself with fear. "It will not reach us here, will it?"
Mrs. Barlowe smiles gently. "Hold fast to your faith, my dear. Nothing shall befall us."
Neva wants to believe her. Ziriri is known as a peaceful place, tucked away from the violence that has begun to spread across the wider world. Yet its history is not entirely untainted by persecution.
Neva's fingers curl over her belly, beneath where she can feel the small, tender swell of her growing child.
What would she do if the violence were to reach Ziriri as well?
No. Not again, Father.
Not when it's no longer only her and her husband.
Not when she carries an innocent life inside her.