2 To Uncle Ben's house

After breakfast, Mom told us to get ready for the trip.

We packed the essentials in the bags. By the time I had changed my clothes, my mother came into the room.

"Are we going alone?" I asked.

"Yes," Mom said with a smile, stroking Jane's hair. "Dad can't come this time. Tell Uncle that Papa is busy. Don't forget to pass on our love quests. "Mom continued. "And you can only go to St. Louis if you return from there the very next week."

"I agree. But are you sure that Papa will agree on this?"

"Your father seems to have such an intention."

The answer disappointed Jane.

After Mom got her ready, we came downstairs.

Dad was reading a book. Jane ran over and hugged Papa and kissed him on the forehead.

"What will you say to your uncle?" Dad asked.

"I have decided to say something." She said with a smile. Dad laughed.

She ran out with the bag.

I was standing in the living room.

I thought I could leave peacefully after knowing Dad's decision.

"Let's think after you come back," Dad said gruffly.

Mother accompanied us to the gate.

Jane was walking hurriedly with Papa.

She was more cheerful.

The morning sun came out of the fog. A thin layer of snow brightened the green surface. A kind of whirlwind that sweeps away the snowdrifts in winter circled above the line. It crushed the treetops and blew even the last leaves from the bushes into the open fields.

"If Uncle Ben asks, just say I'm busy at the office." Dad reminded me while walking. "Maybe tell them we're coming next Christmas. Or no, we can invite them here for Christmas."

"Yes, Dad. Didn't they come last Christmas?" Jane commented.

By the time we reached the jetty, there was a very little rush of passengers.

The jetty becomes active only when the fog clears and the sun begins to shine. We took an empty seat.

The wide river Torin looked calm.

On the other side of the river, the thin rays of the morning sun cast vagueness and mystery upon the breast of the snow-covered hillock.

Papa's ever-present description of how to behave at his uncle's house began as usual. I didn't notice anything. As I gazed at the ebb and flow of the river, I thought about the beautiful moments I would spend with Jack in the coming days at St. Alaince.

When we heard the whistle of the boat in the distance, we got up from that seat under the tree.

" Don't fall asleep when the boat reaches there in the evening." Dad reminded me.

In a few minutes, the boat reached the jetty raising the sound of waves. On that clear morning, cold clouds had gathered over the river.

When the commotion of the disembarking stopped, everyone began to board in a hurry. Papa took Jane's hand and entered the boat. Our seat was on the top floor. The hall was not crowded. Most of the cabin is occupied by long-haul passengers. After putting us in our seats, Papa went downstairs, saying goodbye once more. Through the side window, we saw Papa getting off the boat with those who had come to send the travelers.

"Papa," Jane called.

Dad looked back with a smile and waved his hand. We waved back.

A few seconds later, the departure bell rang. The boat's engine roared. The river churned and the boat rocked and moved. We didn't sit on the seats and went to the upper open deck. A few people were standing there watching. There was an old man who was singing by playing the banjo.

It was a clear morning with clouds floating lazily. Like the divine light of spring, the river and the bank shone brightly in a fresh look. The views on the shores were breathtaking. The tranquil villages, the forests bloomed and spruced in multi-color, the lonely boat jetties on deserted shores, the hill slopes where cows and horses graze, and the cityscapes with an ancient look that evokes historical memories. After all, the water queen was moving down.

I sipped bilberry tea given from the boat and drifted off to the old man's banjo music and dozed off in the duck chair. Jane spent time with her older children watching the coastline through binoculars and feeding the fish that came behind the boat.