I finally came to terms with living in The Ashes, the house my mother bequeathed me.
I was seeing the special charm of the estate and grounds I never saw before, and perhaps it was because of Emily. I was fascinated by her.
If I were in my study and saw her through the window I'd put aside whatever I was doing and simply stop and stare.
And I’d use every occasion to chat with her. She had an ethereal quality that drew me and I found enchanting and irresistible.
Mother’s will stipulated I couldn’t leave the property, so I went on-line and purchased a row boat and phoned the market and had them make me up a picnic basket lunch.
I had gotten to know Emily’s routines, so one lovely golden afternoon I waited until she took her break and then whisked her away with me, down the long winding path to the pond.
“Where are you taking me?” she giggled.
She left me breathless and I’d have gladly traded a thousand days for the surprised look on her face when I showed her the boat tied up in the shallows.
“I have no idea how to row, but if you’re willing to risk life and limb we can sail off to Key Largo.”
“Key Largo, huh?” Her eyes danced. “But there’s no outlet from the pond to Lake Ontario.”
“Well, it’ll just have to be a tour of the pond with a picnic later on the side of the hill.”
I pulled back a picnic blanket covering the wicker basket. “There’s a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon as well—if you’ve nothing against bubbly.”
“I’m not averse to spirits,” she smiled.
We got in the boat and I used an oar to push off from the bank.
Within minutes we were in the middle of the water with a swirling sky of cumulus above, reflected in the glassy surface of the pond below.
She reached out and touched my arm. “Oh look, Jon! How lovely the house looks from here.”
It was a moment so intimate and touching—the tender way she whispered the diminutive of my name.
I held onto her arm, pulled her close and pressed my mouth to hers. Her lips were soft and full and I never wanted the kiss to end.
“Forgive me,” I said, “you’re just so lovely.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Love. I think this was meant to be.”
After a while we rowed back to shore and spread out the blanket on one of the plateaus on the path leading down the hill.
It was a glorious June afternoon with a slight breeze—just enough to stir the trees and dapple her face with shadowy leaves.
“It’s so beautiful here—I don’t know why I never noticed it before,” I confessed.
“You were young and reckless—you didn’t notice me either.”
I put down the champagne flute. “You were here, back then, before I left?”
“I was,” she whispered.
“I can’t believe I could be so blind. Did we ever speak?”
“No—you were unreachable then—like a dark smouldering fire beneath ashes. You were very fierce—you frightened me.”
“I’m sorry. I was headstrong and unruly.”
“Your mother and I would sit on the back verandah in the cool of those summer afternoons and she’d confide in me. She loved you, Jon, but couldn’t seem to find a way inside you.”
My heart broke then—all the tears I didn’t weep, or wouldn’t relent and allow, I shed now.
I felt Emily’s arms around me—and Mother’s as well...
And the softness of a woman’s heart I thought I had forever shut out.
