Page 8 of Love & Letter Charms
Although … there was R.
She tensed, disquieted as she always was when this particular thought breached the careful walls she’d built around it. R belonged safely on paper, a collection of clever words and teasing remarks, but nothing more than that. Already she felt too much when his letters appeared in the enchanted box, her heart racing in a way that threatened her carefully maintained composure.
She would not allow herself to imagine anything beyond their correspondence. As she constantly reminded herself, the man behind those witty lines could be anyone. Ancient, deceitful, nothing like the person she’d constructed in her imagination. Not that she could ever truly bring herself to believe that.
As Marta secured the final pearl-tipped pins into her hair and her mother smoothed the elbow-length gloves she’d selected, Aurelise allowed her thoughts to drift back to the correspondence she and R had exchanged earlier that week.
Dear R,
Indeed, the season has fully established itself here, with wildflowers carpeting every meadow and tree branches heavy with blossoms. The ever-blooming roses are being absolutely insufferable about the ‘seasonal’ flowers finally making an appearance. “Oh look who’s decided to join us after hiding all winter,” they seem to say with every petal-quivering breeze.
I wish I could properly enjoy the warmth and beauty, but I find myself unable to appreciate much lately. Anxiety hasbegun to claw at my thoughts with increasing persistence, for there is something rather terrifying on the horizon.
With quiet dread,
L
Dearest L,
What torment you’ve inflicted upon me! You cannot possibly introduce such ominous foreboding and then provide no details. My imagination is now running wild with possibilities!
Is it vegetables? A poetry recital where you’re expected to perform? An offer of marriage from a gentleman whose company you can scarcely endure for more than a moment?
I shall be utterly sleepless until you elaborate.
Consumed by curiosity,
R
Dear R,
If only it were something as straightforward as vegetables, or even an unwanted proposal, for at least that can be met with a graceful refusal and the matter swiftly concluded.
No, I’m afraid it is far worse: a social gathering. Multiple social gatherings, in fact.
Woefully,
L
Ah. That is indeed more dreadful than vegetables. My deepest condolences.
Thank you. I find myself in the most frustrating contradiction. I desperately want to be included, to be part of these gatherings, to feel as though I belong. Yet the moment I am surroundedby people, I want nothing more than to dissolve into the wallpaper. Conversation eludes me entirely. My mind empties of all clever thoughts, and I’m left with nothing but painfully dull observations about the weather.
I have the perfect solution. When conversation fails you, simply look the other person directly in the eyes and ask, with complete seriousness: “Do you think plants have opinions about us?” I promise you it will be memorable.
I imagine such a question would be met with nothing but stunned silence and raised eyebrows.
Exactly! That blessed silence gives you the perfect opportunity to elaborate on your theories about those ever-blooming roses you speak with. Perhaps share their thoughts on proper tea service or their opinions on the latest fashions.
At which point they will determine I’ve completely lost my senses.
Perhaps. I imagine you’ll receive one of two outcomes with this approach. Either they will light up with unexpected delight, revealing themselves as a kindred spirit who has secretly wondered the same thing about judgmental flora, in which case you’ve discovered a companion worthy of conversation. Or they will decide you’re utterly mad and will be desperate to extract themselves from the conversation, leaving you free to retreat to a quiet corner. I see no flaws in this plan.
When you explain it that way, it does seem like surprisingly sound advice.
You’re most welcome. I am, as always, still right about everything.
R … I feel I should clarify that the roses do not actually speak to me. I wouldn’t want you to think I’ve genuinely lost my wits. (Though I do sometimes find myself assigning them personalities when I’m alone in the garden for too long.)
