WidowsWalk

by Genevieve Ash

  The latch was smooth and worn against her fingers as though it had been opened and closed many times. As she pushed open the humped lid, the smell of memories filled Lindy’s nose—paper and, ink, mothballs and mildew. The soft smell of dried leaves and old-lady perfume.

  Lindy breathed deeply and closed her eyes. She knew Emmaline was gone but she still felt as though she was invading her privacy. Silently she lifted a “sorry” to the rafters before removing the tray from the top.

  The letters were stacked in neat rows. Each tidy bundle tied with a different-colored ribbon. The spidery script was fading on the yellowed envelopes and Lindy hoped the letters were easier to read. Smiling, she knew her writer’s block had just ended.

  Just one. Then I will clean. She was lying to herself. Carefully untying the pale-lavender ribbon, she slid the top letter from the pile.

  My Dearest Emmaline,

  I received your last note. It grieves me that you are so sad. I hate that I cause you pain.

  Lindy held the letter to her chest as her heart fluttered. She didn’t want to start in the middle. She wanted the slow build. She would need to find the beginning. Hurriedly dumping some magazines from a nearby box, she carefully lifted the letters from the chest as if they were delicate crystal and placed them inside.

  Being a practical woman, Lindy assumed the colors of the ribbon meant something and stacked them in layers of matching ribbons. There must have been hundreds of letters and Lindy could feel the excitement welling up from deep within. She hoped they were all love letters—why else would someone keep them?

  As she lifted the last layer from the trunk, yellowed tissue paper crinkled against the pad of her fingers. Trying not to panic, she carefully laid the last letters in the box and wiped her dusty hands on her jeans. Like handling a newborn, Lindy delicately slid her hands under the soft lump and lifted the nested package.

  Setting it on the floor beside her, she unfolded the brittle paper and exposed the contents within. The wedding dress was magnificent. Elegant. A simple silhouette and the silk was covered in delicate lace that seemed to be remarkably still intact. It looked as though it had never been worn and Lindy sighed. Holding the dress close to her face, she breathed in. The faint memory of lavender and tears filled her nose—the same scent from the letters.

  Lindy was afraid to compromise the garment so she carefully rewrapped it and set it atop the letters in the box. Handling the package like precious cargo, she bypassed her mop and bucket and headed downstairs.

  Setting the box on the vanity bench in her bedroom, Lindy sat heavily on the bed. Her heart was beating fast as she warred with herself. Why fight it? It’s not like I’m on a schedule. Lindy could be a bit obsessive at times and she loved to battle with herself.

  She knew she should work on the house, she knew she had deadlines to meet—but all she wanted to do was read those letters. She sighed and hoisted herself from the bed.

  In an attempt to assuage her self-imposed guilt, she swept up the porch and pulled a few weeds. She pretended to work on a few edits, fixed some supper and took a bath, all the while daydreaming about the letters and accomplishing little else. She liked to prolong the excitement. It made it so much better when she finally gave in.

  While making a cup of tea she looked out the kitchen window and wished Tom was standing beside her. She hoped he would be home soon. She was thinking about him too much—the empty ache inside, the hopeful gaze drifting down the beach, the secret smile when she remembered his kiss. Well he was gone now. She would have to wait. Cup of tea in one hand and her loneliness in the other, Lindy headed up to her room and the waiting letters.

  The sound of the waves lapping against the shore drifted through the open window. The night was unusually warm and Lindy took off her robe. Feeling a bit uncomfortable being naked and alone in the big old house, she went to the bureau to find something to throw on.

  Seeing Tom’s faded shirt by her cup of tea, she laughed. “Oh why not?” Once again she breathed in his scent and then slipped the t-shirt over her head. With a silly smile, she pulled the fabric close against her skin.

  Glad she had not rid herself of her aunt’s belongings, she pulled short cotton dress gloves on before handling the letters. The gloves were pale yellow with a delicate scallop at the wrist. The smell of lavender clung to the fitted gloves and Lindy wondered if her aunt might have once worn them for a special occasion. Suddenly she wished that her aunt were here with her to answer the inevitable questions that were to come. Or her mother. Even with the struggle to maintain a mother-daughter relationship, she had loved her mother and now that she was gone the struggles were hard to remember.

  Reaching into the box, she carefully lifted the wedding gown out and laid it on the top shelf of the closet. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she began to remove the bundles of letters. Searching the postmarks carefully, she tried to arrange them chronologically. Lindy stood and stretched the kinks out. Her workouts had been nonexistent since she had arrived but she tried to justify it with manual labor.

  Staring at the piles of rainbow-colored ribbons, Lindy took a deep breath to prepare herself. As if she had just discovered a map to the fountain of youth, she was excited to begin the journey of her Great-aunt Emmaline. A romantic at heart, Lindy felt a squeal of joy bubbling up inside. She was a fool for a great love story.

  Pulling back the covers, she climbed into the big four-poster bed. Cleaning her glasses carefully on the cool percale sheet, she propped up the pillows and settled in. Lindy glanced at the clock ticking on the table beside her. Nine thirty. Giving the timepiece a quick winding, she committed to two hours. No more.

  The blue ribbon was still smooth and slippery as she pulled at the bow, releasing its grip on the mail. Opening the first letter, she squinted hard at the slightly faded ink and tilted the lampshade up for more light.

  Dear Miss Ballard,

  I hope this letter finds you in good health.

  The seas have been quite rough and we were glad to make port in the West Indies. The spice trade has become quite the cutthroat business and the competition grows fierce.

  I am learning a great deal from your father and he says that I shall be ready for my own ship soon.

  I wanted to thank you most humbly for the luncheon you provided before we sailed. It was my pleasure to meet you and if I might be so bold, I should look forward to seeing you again once we return.

  Yours,

  Benjamin Wetherby

  Lindy was surprised to find Emmaline’s reply next in the pile.

  My Dear Mr. Wetherby,

  It was delightful to receive your post. My father has often remarked of the danger surrounding his trips to the West Indies. I hear tell it is a remarkable place and would like nothing more than to visit myself one day. Father says the sea is no place for an innocent woman but I say bah! How else am I to see the world? Is he not the very one that has filled my head with stories of fantastical lands?

  I wish you safe journey home and would be pleased if you were to call on me when you return.

  Sincerely,

  Emmaline Ballard

  Seems Emmaline was an independent woman. I like her already. Lindy felt a pang of regret that they had never met.

  Dear Miss Ballard,

  It was with great joy that I read your note. Thank you for taking time to reply.

  I must agree with your father, the sea is far too dangerous for a refined woman like yourself and the characters that frequent it can be a bit—unseemly.

  I do understand your desire to see the world outside of Cornwall as that is what has led me to my chosen profession. I hope that someday you are able to make your dreams a reality.

  Your father has told me we should be home in a month or less. I have asked his permission to visit you and he has agreed.

  I look forward to seeing you again.

  Benjamin Wetherby

  Hardly worth the waste of paper, Lindy thought as she read through the first stack. Sh
e wanted to skip ahead but her anal nature would not allow her to. After several more piles of pleasant chitchat and carefully disguised budding desire things were starting to heat up.

  It seemed that at his last visit home, Benjamin had actually kissed Emmaline’s open palm—after a year of courtship. Oh the scandal! Lindy thought, yawning as she folded the fragile missive. Putting the carefully bundled letters together, she set the stack on the floor.

  Standing by the bank of open windows, she sighed into the darkness and wondered where Tom might be. She sensed that getting involved with him would cause her nothing but heartache.

  Could she manage the lonely times with the grace that Emmaline seemed to portray in her letters? She wondered how many times she might have stared out this very window longing for her captain’s return.

  Chapter Four

  The letters and work on the house made the days pass swiftly. Lindy was enjoying the rugged beauty of the Cornish coast and spent hours walking the shoreline.

  She tried hard not to wait for Tom’s return. But strangely she missed him. That’s impossible. I don’t even know him! It was just a kiss and he probably has a gal in every port. Lindy knew it didn’t make sense but somehow she also knew it was too late to figure it out.

  The new novel was well underway, using her aunt’s letters as a basis for the tragic love story. The two lovers were separated for months at a time and their angst-filled letters were the thin cord that held them close to each other.

  It had been almost two years and Benjamin had only been home three times since they had met. The last visit he had kissed her lips and they were now bound to each other with a dream of being together some day. Emmaline knew that her life would always be difficult as Benjamin would not give up the sea but the pain brought by their separations was infinitely desirable to the pain of being without him forever.

  Lindy had left a pair of letters sitting on the table next to her laptop. She had read them last night but the yearning was so painful she’d had to take a break and sleep off the emotional jag.

  With a productive day behind her, she took her dinner out onto the porch. The prawns were fresh and pink. So sweet Lindy almost wished she hadn’t added the butter and garlic. Lost in the twisted pile of angel-hair pasta, she searched for the plump morsels of seafood. The tender meat exploded in her mouth, the moisture sending her taste buds into sensual orbit.

  Closing her eyes, she sighed and let the flavors envelop her. As she reached for the cool glass of Riesling she looked out to the sea, reminding her that life was full of simple pleasures.

  The sun was dropping in the white sky and the breeze began its steady rhythm. Lindy closed her eyes and let the sensations wash over her. Her mind drifted as she stroked at a strand of her long chestnut hair, absorbing the soft texture with her fingertips. Letting her hand drift, she caressed the soft swell of her breasts, feeling the warmth of her skin. Pausing, she braced herself and then ever so lightly grazed her breast, feeling her nipples harden with immediate need and causing her legs to part slightly.

  A beautiful evening, fresh seafood, good wine—life is not always easy, but it is so worth it. She sighed loudly.

  “Wow that must be some shrimp!” Tom said enthusiastically as he stepped onto the porch.

  Lindy sat up abruptly, banging her knees on the wrought-iron table as she quickly closed her thighs.

  “Tom, I was just…” Embarrassment crawled up the column of her throat as Tom looked at her with pure lust in his eyes.

  “Lindy, no need to explain. Really.” He stared at her hand as she absentmindedly continued to stroke her breast.

  “Oh dear God,” Lindy said, quickly putting her hand on the table. Trying to recover, she found her reserved tone and acted as though nothing was amiss. Her mother always told her, “Darling, it is not what you say but how you say it. Pretend that you know and everyone will believe you.”

  “I was just having some dinner. Are you hungry? I have plenty if you would you care to join me.” She tried to recover her composure.

  “That is very kind, thank you,” he said with an equal amount of self-possession. “Obviously it is quite delicious. I would be a fool to say no to you.”

  Lindy rose from her seat, reminding herself to keep her head high and with as much elegance as she could muster headed inside to fix Tom a plate. She wondered if she had imagined the innuendo of his words but she was rather naive when it came to games of love. She knew that the girls who played them won the prize but she couldn’t help feel that perhaps their victories were a bit hollow.

  Lindy didn’t want the “right one”, the one with the right job, degree or fancy car. She wanted “the one” and she preferred to be alone than to settle. When she brought out his plate and another wineglass, he had moved into the chair beside hers and Lindy looked at him, the warm sun glowing off his hair as he stared out to sea.

  He was so beautiful—like a dream lover, she thought. She realized how much she had missed him and as the screen door banged behind her she the sound waves echoed deep inside in her core. Tom looked at her standing there, plate in one hand and glass in the other.

  Lindy might be naive, but the look in his eyes told her he was hungry for more than dinner and a tiny itch started to grow outward from her clit.

  They ate together, catching up on the last month of news. Tom talked about the beautiful places he had seen and Lindy about what she had accomplished. She cleared their dishes and opened another bottle of wine. When she went back outside Tom was reading one of the letters she had left on the table.

  She wanted to scold him for handling it with buttery fingers but when he looked at her with emotions swirling in his eyes she thought twice.

  “What is this, Lindy?”

  “I found them in the attic. Hundreds of them actually. I am using them in a new novel. They are quite lovely.”

  “And sad—this fellow has it bad doesn’t he?” Tom remarked with a smile.

  “I guess you could say that. They have been together for a couple of years and only met three times. He finally kissed her today.”

  “Mmm. Cornwall, love letters, a romance writer. You must be in heaven. I will admit his words are touching. Listen to this.”

  My Dearest Emmaline,

  The days grow longer as we toss and turn in the cold, raging waters of the Atlantic. The thought of your sweet lips pressed against mine is all I have to keep me warm. I long for nothing more than to feel your hand in mine. Please do not give up on me, my darling. The sea is like a longtime mistress, always there but she no longer affords me the freedom I crave. Now she is a prison, stealing the pleasure she once gave. I can only feel the pain of my desire for you. I promise to return to you soon, my love.

  Eternally,

  Your Benjamin

  Lindy clutched her chest, feeling Benjamin’s pain in her soul. Wishing that someday someone would love her like that.

  “Lindy, you aren’t going to start weeping are you?” Tom asked, taking her other hand in his. Lindy looked down at their joined hands. His sun-darkened fingers were woven amongst her small pale ones and she wondered why it felt so natural.

  “Tom.” She was suddenly afraid of the intimacy. “Was there a reason you stopped by?”

  “A reason? Well no, I just wanted to say hello. See how things were going. Sarah said you stopped by while I was gone.”

  “Oh Sarah, right. She’s lovely, Tom.”

  “Yes, she is. I love her dearly. Don’t know what I would do without her.”

  Lindy slid her hand from beneath his. “I am glad you have someone who makes you happy.” Lindy was just not going to put herself in a position to be hurt again.

  “I am very fortunate. Lindy, Sarah and I—”

  “Tom, I am not prying. You owe me no explanations. I am sure an attractive man like you has plenty of women vying for your affections.”

  “Mmm, plenty,” he teased. “A gal in every port—sometimes two.”

  Lindy stood and began
clearing the last of the dishes, trying to keep her body language relaxed. She knew it was his right. Why did it bother her? Did she really think they had a chance, the crazy American romance writer and the British sea captain? She had to quit mixing up her stories with her real life.

  Setting the dishes in the sink, she looked out the kitchen window and took a deep breath. She had learned how to share in kindergarten but this was perhaps more than she could manage. Too bad, she thought.

  Tom’s arms encircled her waist as she stood in front of the sink. She couldn’t help but lean back against him for a brief moment.

  “Lindy,” he whispered, lifting her heavy hair and kissing her neck, “I thought about you quite a bit while I was gone.”

  “Really?” The chills caused the goose bumps to rise on her skin. “In between ports?” she added sarcastically.

  “In port too.”

  “I am honored.” Her defenses were still up but her sarcasm was waning.

  “Lindy,” he whispered, his tongue sliding into her ear. “Sarah is my sister.”

  “Oh—” was all she could think of to say as his lips trailed back down her neck. “Oh.” He pulled her shirt aside and kissed the hollow of her shoulder blade.

  Tom’s heat and hardness were against her bottom and she pressed her hips against him. Rewarded with his sigh, she let her head loll back onto his shoulder as he kissed her neck.

  Tom’s hands glided up the curves of her waist and turned inward to cover her breasts. Cupping them, he remained still. Lindy didn’t know if he was waiting for a sign that this was okay but she wanted more. Turning in his embrace, she met his gaze. “I thought about you too once or twice.” As she lowered her eyes, the heat rose up her neck.