They named her Kore. Hazel chose the name on the second day of her daughter's life as the sunlight spilled from outside, illuminating the baby's sleeping face. Her cheeks were as round as apples. She had Hazel's nose and Frank's ears. Her hair was black like Frank's, but curly like Hazel's. She wondered how her daughter would look in another month — a year — a decade. She imagined her daughter's life in her mind's eye and a sudden urge to never let go of Kore seized Hazel.

What if she caught a cold and died? What if she was hurt? So many children succumbed to the cruel scythe of death. Hazel knew how random — how completely unfair and unexpected — death could be and the thought of losing her daughter stole her breathe away. "It won't happen," she whispered to herself as she stroked her sleeping daughter's soft curls.

        "Good morning," Frank said, smiling as he gazed at her.

     "Good morning," Hazel said. "The baby slept for three hours last night."

     Frank laughed. His under eyes were purpled with tiredness, but he looked happier than Hazel had ever seen him. There was a stillness in him — a sense of calm, quiet contentment that had eluded him since his mother's death. It was the kind of happiness that just existed instead of being contingent on the day's events.

      He squatted down to be eye-level with his daughter and gently ruffled her hair. "And on the eighth day, God made children," he whispered.

Hazel met his gaze and the two of them exchanged smiles. A month had passed since Kore's birth and harvest was over. Their crops were assessed and they stored what little was not taken by Lord Dare. Frank took some of the barley to the mill to be ground to flour and returned looking weary and sad. "Tyson is running the mill well," he commented. "I wonder if it even needs me."

     "I think your flour is a grade finer," Hazel had said loyally.

     Frank smiled as he placed a sack of barley flour in a wooden barrel. "Tyson has been doing a lot of repairs," he said. "The mill looks better than it has in years."

      "Don't be hard on yourself," Hazel said, shifting Kore from one arm to another. "You've had a rough few years."

      Neither of them felt the need to elaborate. They just sat together, allowing each other to feel their sadness instead of burying it under the rubble of their lives. There was an understanding between them than had been planted in the first few weeks of their marriage and sprouted during Frank's wrongful imprisonment. Now, with the birth of Kore, their understanding had blossomed.

     Kore woke from her nap and broke the quiet with a loud wail. "Shhh," Hazel said, speaking in hushed tones. "Everything is okay."

       "Is she hungry?" Frank asked.

        Kore often woke them up during the night and could only go back to sleep once Hazel had nursed her. "No," Hazel said when Kore refused to suckle. "She's not needing to be changed either. I think what she needs is some love."

       "Perhaps a song will cheer her up," Grandma Zhang said, joining the trio.

     She opened her mouth and began to sing in a language Hazel had never heard. Her words flowed over them like water in a stream flowing over rocks, smoothing them with its forceful, but comforting touch. Frank closed his eyes and let his ears be drawn to the half-familiar words. His head swayed side to side in rhythm with his grandmother's voice.

     At first, Kore continued to cry, but her wails gradually became quieter and less frequent. Hazel rocked Kore in her arms in step with the song and watched as her daughter's face grew more peaceful. Grandma Zhang finished her first song and then sang another and another. Hazel didn't understand what she was singing, but the beauty of the words washed over her. By the time Grandma Zhang finished her fifth song, Kore was sound asleep. "Thank you," Hazel whispered, hoping her earnest gaze could convey her gratitude.

    To her surprise, Grandma Zhang's face was pearly with tears. "Grandma," Frank said. "What's wrong?"

Grandma Zhang wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Of course," she snapped and then added briskly, "the songs bring up good memories."

Frank reached out and squeezed his grandmother's hand. "I'm glad."

Grandma Zhang raised her eyebrows. "You're oddly sentimental today."

"Fatherhood can do that to you," Frank said lightly.

    Grandma Zhang's lips curved into a smile. "The only time I saw your father soften was when he held you."

    Frank laughed softly. "My father? Mars the avenger? Really?"

     Her smile widened and reached her eyes. "He would call you his little warrior. He said you could beat whatever stood in your path."

      "The only thing I've beat is swords into plowshares," Frank joked.

     "As Triptolemus would say," Hazel replied with a grin, "there is no path more noble than tending the earth."

    Frank laughed. "He's such a character. You have great relatives."

      Grandma Zhang cleared her throat. "Am I not great?"

      Frank's eyes widened as he noticed his mistake. "Of course you are, but you're one relative."

       Hazel laid one hand over Frank's shoulder, holding Kore in her other arm as she leaned slightly forward. "My family is your family. Your family is my family."

      Growing up, she'd heard that marriage was as much a union of families as individuals. It hadn't made sense to her at the time, but now she understood. Grandma Zhang had become the grandmother she'd never known. "It's a good thing you two married," Grandma Zhang commented. "Fai needs a strong woman to keep him grounded."

Frank's face turned pink. "And I need a solid support to lean on," Hazel said.

Kore began wailing and the adults burst into laughter. The sound caused the baby to stop crying, gazing at each of them curiously before clapping happily and giggling. Hazel felt her heart expand in her chest as she thought of how precious her family was to her.