It
was winter when he departed for the Crimerian shores to fight. "Wait
for me," he told her by the garden gate, taking hold of her hand that
was trembling in the cold. Edith stared into his eyes, nodding slowly,
using all her inner strength to not shed a tear of emotion - as it is
unacceptable and seen as immoral during this time of Victoria's reign.
She enveloped her fingers around his, giving them a soft squeeze. He felt her fear and sadness; he freed one of his hands and reached into his pocket.
She watched him attentively and inhaled loudly in surprise when she saw a fresh bluebell being taken out of the coat. "How, in this season?" She whispered in awe, letting her amazement take verbal form. He smiled, purposely not answering her question: "Wait for me - I will be back when the fields in the woods will be covered in bluebells and their ringing will echo through the trees." He kissed her hand: "By the sound of bluebells you will become my wife - and I your lawful husband, if you will." Edith's cheeks blushed, she kissed one of their entangled hands: "I will be waiting. Dearest, I will!" They rested their forehead on the other's for a moment, forgetting current morals, before she winced and separated herself from him. He departed, smiling, she was radiant herself too, holding the petit bluebell in her hand.
The winter was cruel; the wind was bitter, the temperatures icy and when health allowed, Edith often stood by the garden gate, recollecting that memorable day when he asked for her hand. He wrote her short letters from the battlefield every now and then. Despite his physical absence, Edith was joyous about her appearingly bright future as his wife - an emotion that helped her get through the season of frozen blood and standing time.
Spring was commencing; first bluebells began peeking out of the last thin patches of snow. But on that day, a brown envelope with the British Army stamp arrived. Edith was about to leave for the garden and forest again, yet her mother stopped her, handing her the letter. In the matter of a few lines her future was lost, hopes were shattered and that afternoon, the bluebells rang a death lullaby.
("Bluebells" by Sir Laurence Alma Tadema)
She watched him attentively and inhaled loudly in surprise when she saw a fresh bluebell being taken out of the coat. "How, in this season?" She whispered in awe, letting her amazement take verbal form. He smiled, purposely not answering her question: "Wait for me - I will be back when the fields in the woods will be covered in bluebells and their ringing will echo through the trees." He kissed her hand: "By the sound of bluebells you will become my wife - and I your lawful husband, if you will." Edith's cheeks blushed, she kissed one of their entangled hands: "I will be waiting. Dearest, I will!" They rested their forehead on the other's for a moment, forgetting current morals, before she winced and separated herself from him. He departed, smiling, she was radiant herself too, holding the petit bluebell in her hand.
The winter was cruel; the wind was bitter, the temperatures icy and when health allowed, Edith often stood by the garden gate, recollecting that memorable day when he asked for her hand. He wrote her short letters from the battlefield every now and then. Despite his physical absence, Edith was joyous about her appearingly bright future as his wife - an emotion that helped her get through the season of frozen blood and standing time.
Spring was commencing; first bluebells began peeking out of the last thin patches of snow. But on that day, a brown envelope with the British Army stamp arrived. Edith was about to leave for the garden and forest again, yet her mother stopped her, handing her the letter. In the matter of a few lines her future was lost, hopes were shattered and that afternoon, the bluebells rang a death lullaby.
("Bluebells" by Sir Laurence Alma Tadema)
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