As soon as the sun peeked it’s first rays over the horizon, Ellen’s distant cries fell silent. It was as if she was mourning…or herself or others no one will ever know. I slipped out of my bed and lifted the curtain hanging across the window. The sunrise was golden-orange and held a translucent beauty. I sighed. Maybe my life would never be peaceful again. I thought of Andrew and wondered again where he had gone…and with Ellen outside to haunt the gardens and grounds. I was petrified to leave the house since she had come; and I had few visitors. Rumors were flying all over the surrounding countryside and villages. Parents were keeping their children in at night and all travelers were warned about continuing their journeys in the darkness. Everyone blamed me for putting her out, but I could not live with such a woman under my roof. She was a danger to the servants and to me.
And only I knew the secret of her insanity.
I was saddened that I had lost my childhood friend- the girl who had always held my confidence, all my secrets and loves. But we had not been friends for years. She had broken my trust. Turned her back on me and my feelings. I had been ecstatic when I learned that my beloved Daddy had asked her to come with us when we moved to Swallow Head Grange, but not long after we arrived Ellen and I met a fellow named Edward…
He was a dashing, handsome man of twenty-five. Dark haired, tanned from the military, and with the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. Of course both of us had just reached seventeen, but that made us the more susceptible to the flirtation of men and boys. We had really no knowledge of the real world, and when one of them “stooped as low as to flirt with two love-sick children,” as my daddy put it, we would have torn our hearts out and presented it too them with flowers and kisses. So when we met Edward, we were infatuated and thrilled. But then the jealousy and suspicion came into play. If one of us would accuse the other of monopolizing his attention or his “love” as we called it in private. The poor dear hadn’t known what he was getting into.
26 December 2011
A Cold September Day
It was a cold September day in the year of 1815, the wind was howling and the darkness was settling fast upon my English home. As I looked out the window I shivered and began to rub my arms. I was all alone in the house those days, save Robert, the butler (valet); Molly, the house maid; and Mrs. Tilley, our congenial, if not bossy old cook. Mrs. Wittenmore, our former housekeeper had been let go exactly a week before this date, and it seemed as if her cruel prediction of my life being ruined was already becoming more of reality than fiction. You see, Daddy had gone off to war again…it seems that Napoleon, the “little tyrant”, as some called him, had escaped his island prison and was attempting to reconquer Europe for the second time. I myself had thought him a pompous little fool-but of course, I was watching from a distance.. At this thought of mine even the sky rebelled and sent streaking hail against the window pane, jarring me from my reverie. Even the clouds seemed to disapprove of my thoughts, but, then, they must have observed Napoleon and his army in action. For a few more precious minutes I stared languidly out the foggy window panes, but presently I was called to tea. Since I had so thoroughly disposed of Mrs. Wittenmore, I had no one to keep me company, as the servants and cook kept to their own private quarters. This being the case, I took my tea and retired to the parlor where I could sit beside the cozy flame and watch the rain and hail beat incessantly against the window. This above described scene was a regular occurrence in my meager life. I ate, drank, and slept. Most of my time was spent in the luxurious outside garden that my daddy had built for me when we had first moved here, but ten years hence. There was an orchard to the far back of the garden also. It was there that I betook myself whenever I felt the need to confine myself to solitude (be alone).
As I sat down in the parlor and took my tea I became aware of a dark silhouette wandering through the garden outside the parlor doors. I instantly became frightened and insecure. This seclusion was driving me insane, and I knew it. The shadowy form drew closer and closer to the parlor doors and when the thing had almost reached it it stopped and stared intently inside, it’s eyes burning flames into my soul. It’s eyes were like the translucent glow of the peculiar insect, the fire fly, or so I had read, that the little things flew about giving an impression of tiny stars or fairy dust floating through the night air. But these eyes- no, they were not the pleasant little creatures I had read of. These were like little sparks of the hottest fire- sometimes white hot, sometimes kindling to a (white flash) fiery red glow that reminded me of the devil’s pit. It’s face was party illuminated by the fire that was burning cheerfully across from (where I sat frozen) me, and from what I could see it would have been a fine face, with delicate features and soft natural curls framing it, but it was twisted with insanity, and what I may safely assume was rage and hate. The rest of it was hidden by the darkness and the deep fog that had seeped up from the moors. So transfixed had I been on this demon-creature that my eyes cried out for moisture. I blinked, and in that second, the figure was gone.
Ask me not, reader, what happened to the sprite, for to this day the mystery is still not fully solved (plain) to me. I sat there for some time afterwards, shaking with fear and penetrated with horror, so badly had the apparition shaken me. My tea had been forgotten and my cake had fallen to the floor at my feet. I was in a daze- pondering whether the thing had been a dream, or reality. I am certain that I would have still been there if my previously mentioned Mrs. Tilley had not come in and found me in a state of shock. The darling old dear bustled me up to my apartment and helped me undress and climb into my bed. I know not how I managed to sleep that night, but this I know, the ghost never is vanquished from my dreams, and some lonely nights my screams still wake the household.
As I sat down in the parlor and took my tea I became aware of a dark silhouette wandering through the garden outside the parlor doors. I instantly became frightened and insecure. This seclusion was driving me insane, and I knew it. The shadowy form drew closer and closer to the parlor doors and when the thing had almost reached it it stopped and stared intently inside, it’s eyes burning flames into my soul. It’s eyes were like the translucent glow of the peculiar insect, the fire fly, or so I had read, that the little things flew about giving an impression of tiny stars or fairy dust floating through the night air. But these eyes- no, they were not the pleasant little creatures I had read of. These were like little sparks of the hottest fire- sometimes white hot, sometimes kindling to a (white flash) fiery red glow that reminded me of the devil’s pit. It’s face was party illuminated by the fire that was burning cheerfully across from (where I sat frozen) me, and from what I could see it would have been a fine face, with delicate features and soft natural curls framing it, but it was twisted with insanity, and what I may safely assume was rage and hate. The rest of it was hidden by the darkness and the deep fog that had seeped up from the moors. So transfixed had I been on this demon-creature that my eyes cried out for moisture. I blinked, and in that second, the figure was gone.
Ask me not, reader, what happened to the sprite, for to this day the mystery is still not fully solved (plain) to me. I sat there for some time afterwards, shaking with fear and penetrated with horror, so badly had the apparition shaken me. My tea had been forgotten and my cake had fallen to the floor at my feet. I was in a daze- pondering whether the thing had been a dream, or reality. I am certain that I would have still been there if my previously mentioned Mrs. Tilley had not come in and found me in a state of shock. The darling old dear bustled me up to my apartment and helped me undress and climb into my bed. I know not how I managed to sleep that night, but this I know, the ghost never is vanquished from my dreams, and some lonely nights my screams still wake the household.
29 September 2011
The Sound, the Melody of Fall
The wind is whispering love songs though the falling leaves tonight. the sun in sinking lower sooner- the shadows filter repose.
My rose lips embrace a smile-there's a quiet beauty in the silence. The bluebirds woo my heart, but the sparrows are remaining silent. The honey brown-stained porch swing just relaxing in the sunset light. Sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze.
The symphony of nature in the breezes and the trees. The quiet falling of the sunset-dyed leaves. Crinkly under foot. little prickles in my lungs by the brisk night air. Wandering through the cornfields- down the long, long rows of solid gold.
The smell, fragrance, of cooking pumpkin pies- of jack-'o-lanterns and dewy cobwebs in the early morning light. Of the roasting turkey and the dressing. Of family and of laughter.
My hazel eyes are sparkling tonight. Dreaming of all the times we've had or missed. I'll plait my hair with the year's last yellow rose. I'll jump in the crunchy leaves like a little girl and intoxicate myself in a peppermint wind.
And I won't let it be broken by the sound of your goodbye. Nor will the sweet smile fade from upon my lips.
Hot tea in the morning- bright and early- a steaming mocha in my hand tonight. Curled up on the love-seat- dreaming of days gone by.
I'll not worry 'bout the morrow, or make my heart anxious about tonight. I'll just sit here absorbing the silence. my clear voice will sing out Your praises, because my life is Yours. Your sweet jealous possession of my heart, Your bride, is all I could ever want- forever or tonight.
My rose lips embrace a smile-there's a quiet beauty in the silence. The bluebirds woo my heart, but the sparrows are remaining silent. The honey brown-stained porch swing just relaxing in the sunset light. Sunflowers swaying gently in the breeze.
The symphony of nature in the breezes and the trees. The quiet falling of the sunset-dyed leaves. Crinkly under foot. little prickles in my lungs by the brisk night air. Wandering through the cornfields- down the long, long rows of solid gold.
The smell, fragrance, of cooking pumpkin pies- of jack-'o-lanterns and dewy cobwebs in the early morning light. Of the roasting turkey and the dressing. Of family and of laughter.
My hazel eyes are sparkling tonight. Dreaming of all the times we've had or missed. I'll plait my hair with the year's last yellow rose. I'll jump in the crunchy leaves like a little girl and intoxicate myself in a peppermint wind.
And I won't let it be broken by the sound of your goodbye. Nor will the sweet smile fade from upon my lips.
Hot tea in the morning- bright and early- a steaming mocha in my hand tonight. Curled up on the love-seat- dreaming of days gone by.
I'll not worry 'bout the morrow, or make my heart anxious about tonight. I'll just sit here absorbing the silence. my clear voice will sing out Your praises, because my life is Yours. Your sweet jealous possession of my heart, Your bride, is all I could ever want- forever or tonight.
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