“Tell me about home” Said Abigail dozily, her body half ready to sleep as fatigue set in.
“Home?” asked her Mother, the question pulling her mind from distant thoughts to the cabin they all shared.
“Yes Mother” replied Abigail, a touch mournfully “I don’t remember home”
“I’ll tell you about home” said Abigail’s sister with a harsh tone, herself older by a few years. She sat up in her seat and straightened her tattered jacket “Home was being in the dark, damp basement; living amongst the spiders and grubs. It was hearing loud boots shaking floorboards above and trying our hardest not to choke from all the dust. It was mud trampled on the road side, ruining the last dress I had. It was watching as father-”
“That’s enough Zoe” said their Mother, a stern look in her eye. “That’s not what home was.”
“It was to me” Said Zoe taking offence and folding her arms across her chest.
“Home was…” Their Mother paused for a moment, till a small smile began to form on her lips, “Home was open fields of lush green grass, stretching on for miles around the local houses. It was walks through tall trees, sheltering under the canopies from summer storms up ahead. It was your Father dancing every evening, when you returned home from school, or every weekend when we’d bake together, our family all together”
“I do remember the smell of bread” Said Zoe, her mood starting to shift and sitting back in her seat.
“And the smell of the flowers in the yard” Said their Mother, pulling her daughters closer, till they sat together as one.
“Especially just after spring” Added Zoe, resting her head on her Mother’s shoulder.
They sat for awhile in silence, each contemplating what they could recall.
“I prefer Mothers description better” Abigail finally concluded, hugging her Mother’s arm as tight as she could. Her Mother smiled.