To, Evermore

Letter #2

Dear Marjorie,

A man came to visit Mum today. I had just entered through a side door after arriving home from the market when a car pulled into our driveway. A man I had never seen before rang our bell and waited politely on the porch before Mum answered, her hands still a bit dusted with flour. He had to bend slightly to walk through our door and was dressed to the nines. His face was sharp yet handsome, his voice soft and silky. I admit that I stalled in the landing while taking off my coat to eavesdrop.

"Good day, Ms. Jones. I apologize for dropping in so suddenly, but I couldn't help but stop by to give you something," The man paused to retrieve something from his coat pocket. It was a black leather glove. Mum took it from his hand, surprised.

"My glove! I knew I must have dropped it sometime at work but I couldn't figure out where it went, thank you Dr. Hemlock. I apologize for not introducing myself properly today; I was a bit frazzled dealing with the customers, so I didn't get a chance to show you around at the office."

The man—Dr. Hemlock—chuckled good-naturedly. "Oh, no worries, Ms. Jones. I found my way around just fine. That's how I found your glove, but by the time I figured out who it belonged to, you had already left."

"Ah, yes I had to return home to get a head start on baking the bread, you can never have too much..." Mum trailed off as Dr. Hemlock caught sight of me watching their conversation and strode over to me. He held out a hand in greeting.

"Dr. Hemlock, miss. I hadn't noticed you were here as well."

"Willow Jones; I'm Ms. Jones' daughter. Sorry for intruding, I must get going anyway," I said, shaking his hand quickly. Before he could respond, I hurried up the staircase before making my way to my room. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and felt my cheeks grow warm at my untidy appearance. Most of my hair had come lose of the ponytail it had been done up in and the mascara had smudged underneath my eyes. Though it wasn't noticeable on my tanned skin, patches of sunburn stung the lengths of my arms and legs even though I swore I had put on sunscreen that morning. My eyes travled back to my face. The sun had also brought out my freckles and given my caramel hair a sunbleached look. I found myself voicing my thoughts aloud to myself after a moment. Those dark eyes of mine almost made me feel as though I were speaking to you, Marjorie. You and your eyes dark as the espresso you made each morning at 6.

"Who is this Dr. Hemlock?" I said; my brows knitted. "Why would he come all this way to our estate just to return a glove?"

Unfortunately, my reflection had no answers to my queries. I sighed. I peeked my head out of the hallway to make sure Dr. Hemlock wasn't touring our house before silently scolding myself for acting so childish. I slipped down the hall to my studio and shut the door behind me. My current project was on the easel in front of the huge window as I had left it. My subject sat on the windowsill dutifully: an aloe plant. I had started painting it not too long ago after researching plants and their symbolism. That particular green, smooth-leafed plant represented my warmth for Oleander and the grief surrounding my untimely departure from his life; Though the aloe plant can aid in soothing burns, it cannot heal a gaping wound.

"Willow?"

I turned to find my mother in the doorway.
"Dr. Hemlock has left, don't worry," she said after a moment. "I'm not sure why you were in such a haste to leave, but you can come downstairs now. The dough isn't going to knead itself."

I spent the rest of the evening aiding Mum in preparing the baked goods to sell at the market the next day. If anything else happens with this Dr. Hemlock, I'll write another letter. Though you can't read these letters, I still feel peace putting my thoughts onto paper.

Love, Willow