After all, my erstwhile dear,
My no longer cherished,
Need we say it was not love,
Just because it perished?
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Passer Mortus Est.
EPILOGUE
“Mother!” A refined, older Clyde of twenty-two years waved to Evelyn just before he looked left and right down the street to cross it. His short blonde curls bounced lightly as he jogged toward her. “May we take a walk in the Commons before we leave town today? Father already said we could.”
“Of course. It’s been a long while since we have walked its peaceful paths.”
He extended his crooked arm her way.
“And where is your father?”
“He should return shortly with little Clara, Robert, and Gerald. We were walking down the street past a candy shop. As soon as the children saw it, they begged Father to buy some candy. You know how Father is. He can hardly say no to them when they’re all tugging on his trousers with little pouts on their sheepish faces.”
“No, he can’t. He has a good heart.”
“He said we could go on before him. Shall we?”
“Yes.”
She had not visited the Commons for many months. She always enjoyed the beauty blooming within its landscape whether it was the flowers unfurling their brilliant petals or the winter frost creating a brittle mosaic of crystals.
One place to where she had not been for years was...that comely bench. Gerald—it had been ten years. Suddenly, memories of the past flooded her mind, and curiosity to see a past trysting place impelled her quickening feet to follow. “Clyde, wait here, please. I’ll return in ten minutes. There is something I must see.”
“Are you all right, Mother?”
“Yes, yes, just...please.”
“All right. I’ll be right here. Do you mind if I take a few steps toward this handsome tree?”
“Clyde, how you drive me to desperation sometimes! Yes, plant your nose on it if you like.”
“Really?”
“No!I’ll be back.” The need to see the past ravaged her. Her brisk walk became a jog which then became a run. So crazed was she to see the bench. When she arrived, she was out of breath. She bent over slightly and stared at the grass beneath the toes of her boots. Hesitant to look, she squeezed her eyes shut then strained to tilt her chin up to face the reality, the curiosity. There it still was, the way she had always remembered it. Yet the smooth slats of wood were disrupted by a handful of greenery. She walked a few paces closer. Wax-flowers.
Strange, who left them there?
Only one person knew these were her favourite flowers. There they lay, waiting for her to find them, all bundled into a perfect bouquet tied with a red silk ribbon. Carl—she had never enlightened him of the small, seemingly insignificant fact that her preference for lilies had changed. The only one who had known died ten years ago. He had been executed. She grabbed them with trembling fingers and brought them to her nose to smell their tender fragrance. She looked around and saw no one. The brushing of leaves and the faint footsteps of strangers in the vicinity were her only companions.
Who put them here for me?
I'll be putting up chapters of the sequel novella next week. The story continues eleven years later as intimated in the epilogue.
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