Ella
Istarted my walk a little earlier today. I find it is my best distraction from the worry and waiting that eats away at my sanity. When I married Alasdair, I knew the time would come for him to leave for duty, that it could happen at any time, and he would be gone for extended periods. I was accustomed to it, having a father in the Navy. But waking up over a fortnight ago to find him gone, with no chance of telling him my true feelings, has been haunting me day and night. What if something happens and he doesn’t return? He will never know how much I love him or how much he means to me. He requested that I not write, and in truth, I don’t want to distract him from his duty, but more so, I want him to hear me say the words as he looks into my eyes, knowing I am sincere.
“Oh God,” I whisper as the tears burn my eyes. I quicken my pace as I approach the entrance to the forest. This is my sanctuary, the only place I can find any sort of internal peace.
There it is—the shift in everything around me as I enter the forest canopy. The cooler temperature that carries a dewy dampness, the clean scent of living plants and rich soil, and the sound that floats around you, pretending to be silent, but, is filled with a harmonious convergence of a thousand voices—the air, the water, the plants and trees, the animals, the insects—each with their own sonance that combines to create the most fascinating melody. Even my hurried steps down the path make a pleasant addition to the composition.
Before long, I am exiting the wood at the clifftop that overlooks the Firth of Clyde, an extensive body of water that is dappled with islands of varying sizes in the distance. This is my routine, to come to this clearing to sit upon the flat boulder overlooking this spectacular vista and pray for Alasdair’s safety, then I visit our oak tree where I always feel closer to him.
I get comfortable, relax my shoulders, and take a few deep breaths, then close my eyes. A few minutes pass with the sounds of the wind, the small waves on the gravel shore echoing up the cliff wall, and the sea birds that sing in their own special voice. It is easy to let go in this place, to focus only on my prayers, and they always start the same. I ask God to watch over Alasdair and his men, to keep their ship sound in battle and free of disease for their journey. I ask for forgiveness should Alasdair take anyone’s life and the strength to forgive should anyone take his. I ask for his speedy return home and for the patience to endure the wait. I pray for his father’s soul as his time ticks nearer with each passing day.
I open my eyes and swallow the emotions that always emerge when I pray, especially now. The sunlight is glittering across the water as it accents each wave and ripple. I wonder if Alasdair likes looking out across the sea to watch the sunbeams dance across the surface. It saddens me that I don’t know the answer, but I assure myself that I will very soon.
“I’m sorry I did not say the words you were hoping to hear,” I say to the wind and hope it carries it to Alasdair. “I say it every day. I bid you good morning and good night and know in my heart that you do the same. It comforts me as I wait for your return.” I pause to wipe away the tear that escapes. “I am sorry to say that your father is not well at all. I spend as much time as I can with him, but he prefers to be alone when the coughing becomes too much. I can honestly say that I am going to miss his company and the blunt conversation and humor I have come to love. It hurts my heart that I will not get more time with him. He loves you; you know. Quite a lot, I might add, and he is very proud of the man you have become. That all probably helps me to love him even more.”
I stop again to wipe away more tears. It has been hard watching Callen enter his final days, but his strength has been a support to me. Yesterday, after Douglas gave him his breathing treatment, Callen spoke to me through labored breaths, while I sat upon his bed, holding his hand. He said, “There is so much about life that ’tis overlooked or taken fer granted. The small things, maybe a few more significant. I miss mi’ wife. God rest her soul. That is one thing I never took fer granted. Lilith was a happy woman. I made sure of it. I loved her wi’ all my heart. But I did’na pause enough to take in the freshness of a clear spring day or the beauty of a violent storm thrashing the Firth as she wanted me to. She wanted me to follow her through the forest and see the wonders of its magic. She said there were faeries in that forest, said they were her friends. She was always a fanciful girl and no less as a woman. Now that she is gone and my life is almost over, I wish I had taken the time to experience what made her so happy. Even if it were’na true, I could have made pretend.”
A tear streaked his weathered cheek as I squeezed his hand. “Callen, you will be with her soon. Take comfort. She is waiting for you.”
“Aye. That does bring comfort, as do you. Thank ye, Ella.”
I smile, remembering our exchange as I re-enter the forest. The drop in temperature feels good after the bright sun of the clearing had become too hot through all the layers of my clothing. It makes me think of the day before Alasdair left, and he had me undress under the ancient oak before we made love. It somehow felt liberating and natural, and I cannot deny there is a part of me that would love nothing more than to remove all my clothing and walk the entirety of this trail back to the entrance. I laugh at the absurdity of my imagination and turn off the main path to make my way to my favorite tree. Once there, I sit down and adjust my skirts as I cross my legs underneath them. I am comfortable here. Everything about it assures me that my new life as the wife of Captain Alasdair Stewart is a gift I could have never imagined, especially considering his arrogance when first we met. I laugh, cringing at how much I wanted to despise him.
“Well, he was ridiculously full of himself, not to mention rude,” I say aloud just as the sun catches one of the flying creatures I’ve seen every time I’ve been here. It is not a butterfly, and it’s far too small to be a bee moth, but it flies in a similar fashion. Whenever they appear, I feel a burst of happiness come over me as the whimsy from my childhood comes to the surface. Perhaps it was the same for Lilith. Either way, I do find it a bit strange that they seem to be as interested in me as I am in them.
“Hello again,” I say to it. “We are fortunate to have another bright summer day. I can get used to all this sunshine.” I stop to pick a wildflower and roll it between my fingers, admiring its lovely purple hue. “I had another restless night’s sleep. I tossed and turned with dreams that confused and scared me. I can’t remember all the details, but they were dark and made me anxious.” I look up to see there are more of them flying about now. I seem to have attracted an audience. “I decided that would not do, so I got up and lit a candle and read Alasdair’s letters again. I thought I would bring one today since you seemed to enjoy the last.” I giggle as they appear to get excited, flying in loops and twirling around each other. “This one is sure to please, for it includes a poem.”
My Dearest Faerie Maiden,
“I love it when he calls me that,” I say with a smile.
I hope this letter finds you well and comfortable at home. I am well, though less than comfortable. Everything is fine aboard ship—the crew is healthy, the weather quite favorable—but I am not as content here as I used to be. You know the reason why—you cast a spell on me, and I am no longer the man I used to be. That is not a bad thing, you see, for the man I used to be, did not know such happiness existed as what you have brought into my life. I wonder if you feel it, too. You have turned this once-cavalier man into a lovestruck lad who daydreams of only you and your unmatched beauty.
I spend a lot of time on deck where the air is fresh, and the view inspires thoughts of you. I wish you could be here to see all the wondrous things that I see. I know how much you love the beauty of nature on land—the trees and plants of the forest, the perfect disarray of a butterfly garden, the brilliant colors of flowers in bloom, but you would love the beauty of the ocean, as well. You can feel its depth beneath you; you can see through its surface as creatures swim by, some small, others enormous. It can be calm and kind one day, then show you its power the next, but it always demands your respect.
On a particularly fine day, I was inspired to write this for you.
The vista before me
Monochrome is its theme,
Hues cool and bright,
Barely differing in tone,
Though separated with distinction:
One accented with sparkles of light,
The other with thin wisps of white.
What is this color,
As far as the eye can see?
It can only be one,
for no other could it be.