That Warm Winter

“Such beautiful weather to read between the sheets.” I think while entering my room with a letter in my hand, given by the footman, from my beloved sister. This was a precipitant surely, for Lilianne has never had the disposition to have the patience to compose her thoughts, write down and convey without the delight of utterance. Unless it is an urgent matter, she would tell everything from go to whoa vividly.

I smile with her hasty image, talking for hours without knowing what exhaust is. “Had God bestowed you with patience, certainly you would be unpeered.” said my mother once, trying to teach her how to properly sew. Pouting, Lilianne murmured “I belong to nothing standing still.”

I, on the other hand, have no problem with patience and prudence, slowly writing letters and lying down on the moors watching the clouds quiet as if they belonged to the night. How peculiar it is that I adore the gloomy weather with wild wind and noisy rain, whereas Lilianne is the most blissful when the Sun just stands still showing a bright smile and trees prevail over gale.

I change my dress after my tiring trip to London. Lighting a few candles, I sit down on my cushy bed and open the inscrutable letter.

State Street, Bristol, 26 November, 1875

“Dear Mary,

Writing down this from the most dull trip to Bristol, sadly. How many more distressing occasions do I have to endure to convince you that I am a terribly unfortunate lady who was born to suffer? I highly presume that one of my-and your-ancestors committed a horrible sin just to haunt and torment us in this day and age. If not, why would I have to go through not one, nay not two, but THREE dreary everlasting days to waste with old Mr. Enfield? You may think I exaggerate it, which is something that you’re prone to do, but if I sense a single suspicion of how much I’d been through, I shall throw myself down.

Why on earth, someone, old enough to grasp the secrets of the world, use the same metaphors over and over?!”

I laugh when the imagery comes to my mind: Mr. Enfield says something he previously mentioned, Lilianne sighs with boredom and flings her head back, which always makes me laugh, under the nose, I do hope.

“I am suspicious of the prospect of his being an omniscient being; he knows that I am not fond of his company, hence, he is sitting ALWAYS carefully by my side. Were you present here, we would mock everything laughable and make this trip-hardly-bearable.

When will you come?

Thanks to good God, on the first day, while we were roaming around the dainty streets, he paid a visit somewhere common among the elderly-aye, I forget the name of it, do not tease-. Yet, just by luck, we encountered Mrs. Harmon.”

Good Heavens! Although I cannot help but grin in amazement, I pity my dear sister who is not very fond of the company of the elderly. Mrs. Harmon is one of our acquaintances, and one of her many concerns is marrying young girls with potential to eligible wealthy men, just like she once did, and her new victim is Lilianne, who has no visible interest in matrimony. With this object, she deemed Lilianne for her nephew.

“I need pity and rest for a while, you better act upon it, for she had her dull nephew by her side. We walked together and he talked about his job for the rest of the walk. Pray! Then, Mrs Harmon and the charming candidate left with some matters I do not care about.

Peculiar day it was certainly!

The next two days were not proper to take a trip so we played with cards. I had the pleasure of reading the story you have recommended.

Mr. Enfield departed with some urgent matters that he had recollected, so Lucy, mother, Mr and Mrs. Wright, Mrs. Harmon-who joined us later- and I will continue our remorse tomorrow.

Mary, I have been thinking for two days, but no matter how long I wait I cannot rest. The doubt is eating me alive, and my selfishness wants me to take you to Wonderland- do you remember the story, I cannot stop thinking about it?!

My dear Mary, I prefer you hear from me to your hearing from someone who does not care about you, so I must tell you. On the first day of the trip, I saw William Bailey.”

I blink my eyes in astonishment for a few seconds, and stand up instinctively. I place the letter on my desk, and although I feel a sense of coldness, I open the window hidden behind the clutters. The night seems to fall and rain is coming.

I laugh at myself.

What about it?

After two months, this is the first time my Lilianne named him. It is only natural for me to be taken aback, nothing further, whatever the rest of it conveys about him. Not my concern.

“At first I couldn’t be sure of his posture. Then, when I went closer enough to hear the utterances, I became sure of his voice.”

I remember how Lilianne looked at me like I was a fragile flower.

With a nervous voice she said “So, I do not see your company with Mr. Bailey for a little while. Will… I?” , almost afraid of breaking me. “ I do not think so.” I carefully crafted a smile, claiming I am quite well, and his absence does not affect me.

“We were right, Mrs. Harmon said he was with the daughter of the Raynor family. I cannot remember whether he touched her hair or hand, but I can tell the attraction was visible.

Lilianne is good at insight and observation, and is quick to understand with a reliable judgment. However, it astonished me how much she was incapable of seeing or paying attention to his certain mannerism. How, it was not important for her whether he was fondling her hair or touching her hand, how important meanings it holds for someone know-knew him.

“I did not know whether it was proper to not salute, luckily he did not notice my presence. Then while passing, I saw a ring in his finger, with a lock of the girl’s chest-nut brown hair.”

“Lock of hair” spins around my mind and I sit down.

The dirty mirror, my shaking hands holding the knife, and my humble hair’s vision that I did not love; they haunt me. Questioning whether it was still early for it, for a one year acquaintance and five months of affectionate glances, I was hesitant. Then I blushed, recalling how in the fall rain he touched my hair and said "Your hair and the leaves behind you make a quite beautiful scenery, I wish you could see yourself right now.” I turned around to look at the mentioned tree and hid my face, a perfect mixture of red, orange, brown and yellow leaves, and the wind dancing around with my hair made me feel safe. “Let us stay until the rain ends and we are able to smell the petrichor.” I said because unlike him, I’d never know what to say when someone gave me a compliment.

Finally, the obtrusive thoughts prevailed over the dilemma, and I put down the knife.

“For two days, the weather was not proper to travel, so we played with cards and I had the opportunity to read about the stories you have recommended. Mrs. Harmon joined us the other day, and well- tried to inform me about the upcoming marriage of Mr. Bailey. We could not talk for long, but she bestowed apologies for the assumptions she had made for Mr. Bailey and you, said she had no ill-disposed intentions. She said that you should not worry about the matter, she is going to tell everyone that your acquaintance is merely friendly. One day, apparently, Mr. Bailey had talked about you as a great friend of his when they bumped into each other in London.”

After that fall, in the winter, I do recall our correspondences. How bright I felt, how warm I felt! What an irony it was that whenever I recall that winter, my heart is warmed. However, in the summer, with the shining sun, I felt the need to nest in a harbor.

“I did not want to distress you and ruin your lovely trip, but I was afraid that you would have been informed in an improper time and setting.”

Soon after the warm winter, when some inquiries were never comforted by his affection, there had been questions and doubts, soon to be confirmed by his departure from my side. With indignation, I questioned his so-called well-disposed self. How could he trick a young lady who loved him so dearly? I felt a sense of betrayal, and doubted all the priceless memories with him.

What seems peaceful and sustainable for women can be perceived as dullness by men, said my mother a while ago on the failures of husbands in matrimony. And I thought “Could once shining with affectionate eyes turn into a set before the mind?” Could lovely sereneness of the shared love bore a man and make him run away? Maybe permanence and tranquility are the issues, I would think, instead of a cruel trick played on me.

“My dear Mary, I am glad that you have no connection with such an queer man anymore!

Please, take care of yourself very well!

Your one and only Lilianne”

Then, his resolve on his portraits would haunt me: How he would lean towards his painting with no distraction or priority over it, for days and weeks. How could such a man be bored of constancy?

Was I the one who was worth nothing for him, or the emotions he indeed felt as well?

It's raining.

You say you remember me as a dear friend, William, but what comes to your mind right away, when my name is uttered?

I wonder, for when I think about you, I think about that empty place you should’ve been if you had thought about me.

My hands on the edge of the window are getting wet slowly. “As you wish” he said with a smile on his face, I remember, when he heard my wish to sense the petrichor.

In the street, people hurry to arrive at their destinations, fighting with the rain. And soon, the sound of rain drowns out that of people. A glamorous tree catches my attention with its beautiful leaves. What a sight to see, even though blurry. Some people look at such astonishing sights and see God’s reflection, some think souls exist in every creation, but I always think how beautiful you would find them and rejoice.

Rain seems to stay, and I wish fall would last forever.