"Oh, Sophie, you must always wear your bonnet or straw hat while outdoors to protect yourself from taches de rousseur, or Freckles as the English would say. Besides, mon amour..." her mother continued, "it's decorum."
Yet Madame Sophie Delacroix waged decorum by how much she wanted to feel the French sun on her face! Especially since Timothée's passing, and the year of Mourning; cloistered in the home, shielded away from nearly everything and everyone sans household servants and family. And of course, her little son, Andre.
What a blessing he was, his chubby hands reaching for her from the bassinet. Looking so much like Timothée, Sophie's heart swelled with a spirit of thankfulness for him.
Andre loved being outdoors too!
An Eiderdown quilt spread out in the garden, his wooden blocks to knawl the edges off of, and later when that's finished, to toss them one by one into the air giggling like most little ones do.
Yes, indeed, Madame liked the sun and always would. Even in her elderly years, she loved Andre's big sun porch, where she lived every bright, sun filled day.
Occasionally she'd glance at her oil portrait now hanging in his dining room and was glad she lived just as she wanted, overall. "At least as many ought to do" she'd whisper to herself.
"Freckles or not."
From the imagination of David Hutton.