It’s Sunday. I’ve been in my bed, in the darkness, for nearly four days. I feel week with grief, frail with guilt. Finally after I stutter out of my dank room and into the sunlight I get dressed and call for a carriage.
As I ride through the streets, everything goes by so slow. The air around is thick like syrup and all I hear is my own ragged breathing.
I almost expect to see him running from his home to the carriage to hold me close and kiss my deeply. But he doesn’t. The windows are dark, the yard is cluttered with leaves. The pretty leaves he had commented on the last time I had seen him. I stand before his silent house for nearly an hour. I study the tall trees, the stony driveway. When her voice comes from behind me I barely react.
“Willow, you’ve got to help me” I whisper.
“Anything dear Evy, anything” She replies. I turn and give her a fragile smile, she mirrors it back.