An Unusual Romance

Chapter 5

Summer came to an end and Becky told me she had to go away to London for Finishing school.  I wanted to cry but I didn't wanna make her feel worse by making her feel bad. We rode together to the train station, along with her parents.  Once we arrived, I hugged her goodbye as a steward put her trunk in the train car.   "I'll miss you," I said. "Me too," she replied. "I promise that I'll write to you, telling you about my adventures." She gave me a soft kiss on the cheek, then she climbed into the car and took her seat. A tear rolled down my face as the train started to move forwards.  "Take care of yourself, Bec!" I called after her as the train started to pull away. Tears streamed down my face as I watched the train leave the station.  Then the train turned the corner and I saw her no longer. I was left in the station, wondering where I would go without her by my side.  She has been such an important person in my life, and without her my life wouldn't be complete.  I missed her so much, that my stomach ached from missing her. I didn't want her to go away, I just wished she would've stayed with me instead.  I guess things like that are in God's hands and we had to let Him decide what was best for her and for us. I sighed quietly as I wiped the tears from my eyes. I then felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and I saw Mrs. Thatcher gently smiling. She had a sad look in her eyes, though, and I wondered if I'd ever get used to seeing that expression on her face. While Becky was gone, I spent most days and nights at her house. I didn't want Pap to make me more distressed than I already was. Of course, I would wash myself in the river so I wouldn't track so much dirt and muck into their clean house. The night Becky left, I slept in her bed. I didn't pull down any of the bedding because the bed was nicely made. The homemade quilt felt soft and smelled like honeysuckles. That was the way Becky always smelled. That gave me a familiar comfort,  a feeling of safety that came whenever she was near.   It calmed me down and gave me hope.  I fell asleep thinking about her, dreaming about her, hoping that she was happy.  A few weeks went by and soon it became a habit for me to spend the night. The last place I wanted to be was at home, where Pap would make things worse. If he knew how often I was over at the Thatcher's, he would definitely start making things harder for me. I didn't really mind, though; I needed to be there, even if it meant risking my father's wrath. I didn't have many friends, to begin with, so spending time with Becky's folks helped calm my nerves. The Thatchers were very nice folks. The kind of people who radiated warmth and compassion, their genuine concern evident in every gesture and word. Mr. Thatcher, with his gentle smile and kind eyes, would often engage me in conversation, asking about my day and sharing stories from his own youth. His presence alone offered a sense of stability and solace, a welcome respite from the tumultuous world outside. But it was Mrs. Thatcher, with her unwavering love and nurturing nature, who truly embraced me as her own. She had a way of making me feel like I belonged, like I was a part of their family. Her soothing voice would calm the storms raging within me, her tender touch a balm to my wounded soul. She made sure I was well cared for, attending to my needs with a maternal grace that I had never experienced before. In the evenings, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Mrs. Thatcher would prepare a hearty meal, filling the house with the enticing aroma of home-cooked food. The table would be set with delicate china and gleaming silverware, a symbol of the love and effort she put into every meal. We would gather around, sharing stories and laughter, creating a sense of unity and belonging that I had never known. Her cooking was a masterpiece in itself. The flavors danced on my tongue, each bite a symphony of tastes that awakened my senses. The tender chicken, moist and succulent, would melt in my mouth, while the buttery mashed potatoes and crisp green beans added a delightful contrast of textures. And the pies, oh, the pies! The flaky crusts encased luscious fillings bursting with the sweetness of ripe berries or the comforting warmth of cinnamon-spiced apples. Each bite was a celebration of flavors, a testament to Mrs. Thatcher's culinary prowess. After dinner, we would retire to the cozy living room, where the crackling fire cast a warm glow upon us. Mrs. Thatcher would fetch a worn, but cherished, quilt and wrap it around my shoulders, enveloping me in a cocoon of comfort and security. As we settled into the plush armchairs, she would read to us from the classics, her voice carrying us away to far-off lands and enchanting adventures. The words flowed effortlessly from her lips, painting vivid images in my mind, transporting me to a world beyond the confines of reality. In those moments, surrounded by the love and support of the Thatchers, I felt a glimmer of hope. They had become my sanctuary, a haven from the harsh realities of life. With their guidance and unwavering kindness, they helped me navigate the tumultuous waters of my emotions, offering solace and understanding in the face of my deepest fears and insecurities. They were more than just Becky's parents; they were my pillars of strength, the guiding light in the darkness. And as I nestled deeper into the quilt, feeling the warmth seep into my bones, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for their presence in my life. Their love and support had become an anchor, grounding me in the stormy seas of life, and for that, I would forever be grateful.
Despite how happy I was with the Thatcher family, a part of me still yearned for Becky. Her absence weighed on my heart, a constant ache that refused to fade. Each passing day without her felt like a void, a piece of my soul missing. I missed her infectious laughter, her vibrant presence that lit up every room she entered. She had a way of making even the darkest moments feel a little brighter, a little more bearable.
Mrs. Thatcher, ever perceptive, noticed the shadow that lingered in my eyes. She would often sit beside me in the quiet moments, a silent understanding passing between us. Her gentle touch, like a butterfly's whisper, would brush away the tears that threatened to spill. "She'll be back soon, dear," she would say softly, her voice a soothing balm to my wounded heart. But even as Mrs. Thatcher offered her comforting words, the ache remained. I longed for the familiar warmth of Becky's embrace, the way her laughter filled the air with joy. The house, once a sanctuary, now felt empty without her infectious energy. The lively conversations around the dinner table seemed muted, the laughter dulled in her absence. And the evenings by the fire, once filled with enchanting tales, now felt incomplete without her by my side.
I found solace in the memories we had created together. The late-night conversations, the adventures we embarked on, the secrets we shared under the moonlit sky. They were imprinted in my mind, etched into my very being. I could still hear her voice, teasing and playful, echoing through the corridors of my thoughts. Her laughter, like the tinkling of wind chimes, danced in the recesses of my memory. Yet, as the days turned into weeks, I couldn't help but wonder if things would ever be the same again. The fear of losing her, of drifting apart, clawed at my heart. I yearned for her friendship, her unwavering support that had become a lifeline in my turbulent world. Would she still be the same Becky when she returned? Would she still see me as the friend I desperately needed her to be? In the midst of my thoughts, Mrs. Thatcher's presence remained a constant source of comfort. Her gentle guidance and unwavering love provided an anchor in the stormy sea of my emotions. She understood the depth of my longing, the ache of missing someone who had become an irreplaceable part of my life. With her, I felt safe to share my fears and hopes, to confide in the vulnerability that lurked beneath the surface.
One evening, as we sat in the living room, the crackling fire casting dancing shadows on the walls, Mrs. Thatcher took my hand in hers. Her touch was warm, comforting, a lifeline in the darkness. "My dear," she began, her voice carrying a gentle strength, "sometimes, life takes us on unexpected journeys. It may seem like we've drifted apart, but true friendship withstands the test of time and distance." Her words resonated within me, like the chiming of a bell. I looked into her kind eyes, searching for reassurance, and found it there, shining brightly. "Becky will return," she continued, her voice filled with conviction. "And when she does, I have no doubt that your friendship will remain as steadfast as ever. True connections, my dear, are not easily broken." Her words carried a sense of hope, a glimmer of light in the darkness. And as I nestled deeper into the worn quilt that enveloped me, feeling its warmth seep into my bones, I found myself holding onto that hope. Becky's absence may have left a void, but the love and support of the Thatcher family had become a lifeline in her absence. I closed my eyes, allowing the crackling fire and Mrs. Thatcher's soothing presence to wash over me. In that moment, surrounded by love and understanding, I chose to believe in the power of friendship. I chose to hold onto the memories we had created, the laughter and tears we had shared. And as the flames danced before me, I whispered a silent prayer for Becky's swift return, knowing that when she did, our friendship would remain unbreakable, a bond forged in the fires of adversity.