Yesterday my husband brought me some of the wild roses that grow on the banks along our country road. “And I took the thorns off for you,” he said, returning the smile I gave him as I admired their delicate pink hue. He’s done this in the past, presented me with some of the pretty gifts that Mother Nature bestows upon us in the spring. When the honeysuckle blooms, I am sure to find some waiting for me, that intoxicating sweet scent I so adore delighting my nose.
Those small moments, the little gestures over the years mean so much to me. I thought of Thornton and the yellow flower he brought back with him from Helstone, the flower he sweetly and shyly presented to Margaret.
I suspect JT is the sort of man who would remove the thorns, too.