To G,
The gallery is up for sale. I almost bought it, but what would be the point of that? It’d be like a teetotaller buying a pub, and I’m not up to the job. They managed to sell the rest of my paintings, so I should be grateful for that. I don’t have anything to show yet, but lately, this place has been coming back to life. Just a little, but I can’t wait to see what happens.
April read Martha’s words, her handwriting less neat than in her younger years, but still full of emotion. She felt like she was poking around in Martha’s head a little bit, and it didn’t sit right. Here she was, talking about Shady Pines, and the two of them had butted heads earlier over the trolls.
The new owner is still annoying, of course.
‘Cheeky cow,’ April muttered under her breath. ‘She ruined my play area theme.’ It wasn’t so much cute little farm now. More Little Shop of Horrors with a big dollop of Brothers Grimm thrown in. She was dreading to think what Orla and the visiting kids would think of it. It was funny.
She is interesting though, and it’s lovely to have little Orla around. I wish Cillian could relax a bit more. He has such worries on his shoulders.
April’s stomach flipped when she thought of Cillian. Angry, toddler-tantrum-throwing Cillian, who made her head spin with his emotions. That was saying something too, given the amount of hormones that had been flowing through her over the last few weeks.
I’ve finished the sketch that I have been working on, and then it grew to four more. It’s a bigger project than I thought, so it’s taking me a while to pluck up the courage. I have nowhere to show it now, not one place to sell my art, and that’s fine with me for now. When I heard the name of the new owner, I had thought it might be you. I came to look. I couldn’t stop myself. I even thought I heard you, but I’m just a silly old fool. Clinging to the past like it will suddenly change before my eyes. We both know that’s not going to happen, and I am just talking to myself again. I write you far too often now, but I find I can’t stop. Maybe it’s nostalgia, but it feels right. Maybe it’s the smell of hope in the air. The article said Beaumont, and my heart thought of you. I told you I was silly, dear G. Silly old You, eh. Maybe one day, I’ll find the reasons behind it all. Perhaps you’ll be there to tell me.
April put the letter to the back of the pile and read them in order. She read about their meeting, one long hot summer at Shady Pines. Martha had been there to enjoy the time with her family and a neighbouring family. They had visited for years, staying close to home. The start of the letters heralded something new though. Young love, and obligations. Over nearly two years, the pair had fallen in love hard and fast, sending each other love letters and passionate declarations, each tied back from the other by family, and the way life was supposed to go. The last letter from G was the worst.
You
I heard the church bells today. Your church bells. Don’t ask me how. Being in the middle of the ocean thousands of miles from everything, I thought I would be safe. I swear, as I was attending to my ship duties, I felt the clock strike one o’clock, and my heart almost snapped in two. I heard those church bells as clear as day, and my whole body shook with the tolls. I know we said we wouldn’t write anymore, and this will be the last letter you will receive. I can promise that to you at least. My final parting gift, a wedding present from me to you.
I hope that he will make you as happy as you make him, and that he works hard to keep that perfect smile going. If I were with you today, I would work for the rest of my days just to have you smile at me like you did. I don’t blame our families; the anger has gone now. All I feel is loss and pain. So I will tell you one last time, dear You, how much you mean to me. Consider this my parting vows, so much less than the vows I would have loved to have said to you.
That summer in Shady Pines was the best summer of my life, and I will love you from afar for the rest of my days. You are it for me, and I vow never to regret the time we spent together. If I die tomorrow, my last thoughts will be of you, so do not grieve for me. They say till death do us part, but not even that would dim my feelings for you. Every moment, I will be there, cheering you on in spirit.
Don’t give up the painting. I know he loves it too. Don’t let yourself be dimmed by life – that would kill me. Go out there and make the world a brighter place, my sweet. You are my star, my moon, my guiding light. I’ll love you till the very end.
G
He didn’t write again. True to his word to the last. Martha Rodgers, resident bad-ass and artist, all this time was loved by two men. The letters from him were of torment, awe, and fear. A young man, all set for the Navy, meeting a woman already betrothed to another. Two families who were close, and a future wedding at the pinnacle to look forward to. She thought of how wretched Martha must have felt, how torn apart they were.
Nowadays, it would have been easier. People broke commitments all the time, walked away
