A Rose for Rose

October 2nd

“Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose.” My uncle strode into the room, shaking his head in disappointment. “Will I ever see you be wed? At this point, I’ll be six feet under before you choose a husband.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, even though I knew there was weight behind them. His tired grey eyes met mine, searching for answers I didn’t have. I’ve been well past the age of marriage for a while, and no suitors have sought me out. Why would they? I’m the illegitimate daughter of parents who disappeared years ago, leaving me under my uncle’s care. I have no title, no inheritance, and I’m not particularly beautiful. Then again, I haven’t put any work into seeking a husband either. They’re all so…difficult.

“I told you I would marry at your will. I trust you to find a suitable husband for me.” Every time I tell him that, I mean it, but he’s never happy with that answer.

He sat next to me on the window bench and took my hand in his, as he often does when he’s trying to get a point across.

“You say that often, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want you to have a say in it. There are plenty of good bachelors out there that you might connect with if only you would give them a try. What about Viscount Gray? Or Duke Thomas’ son?”

I’m sure I rolled my eyes at the thought of Duke Thomas because my uncle laughed and commented, “Maybe not that family.”

Our conversation was short and went as it usually did. I told him I trusted his judgment again, and he stressed how much that meant to him, but told me giving me the choice meant more. He doesn’t want me to end up like my mother, stuck in a marriage she never asked for, and running away with another man. I reminded him I am not my mother and never will be, and the conversation ended with him telling me he’ll talk to some eligible men. He always says that, but he never does. I know I should take the initiative. I should attend parties and picnics and try to find a husband, but the thought makes me uneasy. I’m not sure why. Maybe I’m scared of rejection, or perhaps I think I could never be a good enough wife, especially not to men who expect perfection. It would be easier if my uncle just arranged a marriage. The lucky man would know exactly what he’s getting into, and I would just have to play my part. Simple, right? Maybe not. Maybe I’m oversimplifying things. I just want something simple for once. I’m tired of the expected pleasantries and dishonest smiles. I want something genuine and straightforward.

October 4th

The most remarkable thing happened today. I was in town with Amelia doing some shopping, and we heard what sounded like singing. Curiosity getting the best of us, we went to investigate and saw a crowd gathered around in the market square. Standing on the fountain was a man in brown slacks and a cream-colored linen shirt, half-untucked and messily buttoned. He wore a thick brown coat that appeared well-worn and gloves that were unraveling. He was quite the mess, but an attractive one. His bright blue eyes shimmered as he sang, and his messy curls fell perfectly around his face. But I’m getting ahead of myself. He was singing! He was an excellent singer and was humorously singing a folk song I’ve heard once or twice. One about a young boatman, I believe. These are the only lyrics I remember;

“And yet, but to see how strangely things happen,

As he row’d along, thinking of nothing at all,

He was ply'd by a damsel so lovely and charming

That she smiled, and so straightway in love he did fall.”

He was walking around the fountain, balancing on the lip, catching money and food as it was thrown at him. As the song came to an end, he hopped down and picked up a little girl, spinning her around and throwing her in the air as if she were his own! I’ve never seen anything like it. Amelia and I were speechless, as was most of the crowd. And if things couldn’t get any more fantastical, a parrot flew over and landed on his shoulder! It was one of those birds with green and brown feathers that seemed to be brushed with gold dust. I know they're common for royals to keep, but I have no idea how he got ahold of one of them. Anyway, I was so enthralled by the whole performance that I stood there with my mouth agape like a fool. He noticed and strode over with a boyish grin on his face. He couldn’t have been more than 25. He bowed, not in a mocking manner, but in a way that suggested he genuinely thought I was someone worth bowing to. His parrot squawked, saying “Hey! Ho!” multiple times while tilting his head and eyeing me curiously. When he spoke, I think I smiled stupidly.

“Lovely day for a ditty, don’t you think, M’lady? I hadn’t planned to sing anymore, but for you, I would sing until I had no more breath in my lungs.” He coughed and then smiled bashfully. “Ah, well, maybe not anymore today.”

I know I blushed, and he was clearly pleased with himself. Maybe he blushed a little too. Men in my circle never spoke so openly, and I liked it too much.

“Are you here often?” I asked, not knowing what else to say. He motioned around vaguely.

“Here and there, I usually don’t stay in one place too long, lest folks get bored with me.”

“You're a traveler then?”

He chuckled, and the sound put an unfamiliar flutter in my stomach.

“The term ‘traveler’ implies I plan where I go. I simply go. I’m more of a wanderer.”

His use of words intrigued me even more, and I asked curiously, “Do you have a place you call home?”

Looking back, I must have sounded incredibly dull and conceited. It was obvious he didn’t, or at least not in the sense I think of a home. But his answer was honest and unusually cheery.

“No, I do not. A home, meat, drink, money…none of those things are luxuries I can afford. I live off of my voice and the good graces of others.”

I felt my heart sink a little, though I’m not sure why. I have come across many poor individuals in my life, and none of them has affected me as he did. I suppose it was his merry attitude. He seemed content to be with little, and it made me want to understand him better.

“I haven’t gotten your name.”

He chuckled and ran a hand through his tangled hair, looking a bit embarrassed.

“Ah, you're right. Forgive me, M’lday. I’m Arthur, and this is Archie.” He motioned to his parrot, who was now asleep on his shoulder, his head nestled into his own fluffed feathers. “And you are, M’lady?”

“Rose,” I answered simply.

He beamed at my answer and reached into his coat, pulling out a red rose. It was partly crushed, but still fresh.

“A rose for Rose.” He had a playful grin on his face, and his eyes sparkled. I laughed as I took the rose, unable to hold back my joy from the delightful interaction. I brought it to my nose, and it had the distinct sweet scent that reminded me of morning dew in the gardens.

“Thank you. You’re full of surprises.”

He bowed again, this time in a more playful manner, and winked as he stood back up.

“I aim to please M’lday, especially for a darling as lovely as you.”

My laugh turned into a nervous chuckle, and my cheeks flushed. He laughed as well, his own cheeks tinted pink.

“Not used to praise, are you, Rose? Don’t worry, I don’t seek to flatter, merely compliment where compliments are due.”

I couldn’t do anything except smile stupidly for a moment before I finally thanked him. I hadn’t realized the sun had started to set, and Amelia had gone off to get the carriage ready. She appeared beside me again, and Arthur took my hand. He placed a soft kiss on my knuckles and smiled shyly.

“I hope to see you again, M’lady. Please have a good night.”

Before I could say anything, he turned and walked away, a skip in his step and a hum on his lips. I was lost in a daze for a moment, and Amelia was buzzing beside me. She asked me a million questions on the ride home and couldn’t stop saying how charming he was. I agreed, and I think I actually giggled with her. But then she suddenly became somber as she likes to do and said, “But he’s a common boy, and a homeless one at that. Don’t get attached.”

Oh Amelia. How I hate her honesty. She’s right, and I know it. As wonderful as the interaction was, it can’t be regular. He enchanted me, but it needs to remain at that; an enchanting moment that will soon be lost to time. I need to let this memory become a distant fantasy and move on. But, as much as I hate myself for it, I know it won’t be easy. I’m quite taken with him, and I feel very silly for it.

October 2oth

Two weeks ago, I said it wouldn’t be easy to forget Arthur, but it’s been more than difficult; he’s made it quite impossible! I avoided going into town for a week after meeting him, even though I desperately wanted to. I sent Amelia to run all my errands, and she ran into Arthur multiple times. He asked about me, and she told him repeatedly that I was sick, but that only made him more curious; that’s when the letters started arriving. I was sitting on my window bench reading one day, and that marvelous parrot of his (Archie, I think his name was) flew up to my window! I opened the window, and he fluttered in, landing on my vanity. He had a letter and a rose in his beak, and I gently took them from him. I looked at the rose fondly before gently setting it down and opening the letter. It read,

My dearest Rose,

I heard that you have come down with a terrible sickness. I do hope you get better soon. I will stay in town until you are feeling well. I am eager to see you again; one meeting was not enough.

Your friend,

Arthur.”

I was taken aback. I hadn’t expected him to write to me! I was frantic, pacing my room like a caged animal as Archie watched me curiously and preened his feathers. I finally sat down and wrote back, telling him the truth. I told him I was not really sick, but I was afraid of seeing him again. I did not want him to get the wrong idea or think there could be something between us when there definitely couldn’t be. I gave Archie the letter with a heavy heart, and he flew off. The next one came a day later.

My lovely lady,

I understand your concern and will respect your wishes if you truly don’t want to see me again. That being said, I’ve never been one for social structure, and I find myself wanting to see you anyway. Maybe I’m a scoundrel for saying so, but I don’t give a damn what other nobles think. If you feel the same, please be honest. I will be awaiting your reply.

With love,

Arthur.

His letter left me very giddy and confused. I’ve never been one to rebel, and I knew that if I were honest with him, I would find myself betraying my uncle for a commoner. And I couldn’t do that. At least, I thought I couldn’t. But, against my better judgment, I did. I wrote back to him honestly, and I haven’t seen him again yet, but we have been exchanging letters every day for a week. Each letter he sends comes with a single rose, and I have quite the boquet now. He’s told me about his adventures in France and Italy, and his childhood as the son of a Navvy. He lost his father when he was 12, and has been on his own since. He went from job to job, mostly in workhouses, until he realized he could make the same amount of money singing on the streets. He grew up singing ballads and folk songs with his father and his fellow workers, and he even spent some time with a professional singer he met on the streets by chance. He enjoys his freedom, though he longs for a home. And I can’t help but hope that just maybe that home could be with me. I have to talk to my uncle. I’m very nervous about this conversation, but I haven’t been honest, and I can’t go on keeping secrets anymore.

October 21st

The conversation went quite like I expected. I told my uncle about Arthur, and he wasn’t mad, but he was disappointed, which is so much worse.

“When I said I wanted you to have a choice, this is not what I had in mind.” He said while shaking his head.

“I know, and I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I didn’t expect to meet him, and I certainly didn’t expect to like him as much as I do. But I can’t help it.”

My uncle sighed, staring out the window with an expression that suggested he was wondering where he had gone wrong in raising me.

“I suppose this is partly my fault. I’m the one who wanted you to fancy a man and not be forced into anything. I just always assumed your affections would find a more…suitable man.”

All I could do was sit and nod. I know how much my getting married to a reputable man means to him. It would ensure I would be safe and cared for. I can’t inherit my uncle’s title, so the only way for me to remain in good society is to marry into it. I watched my uncle watch the gardeners outside for a long moment before he finally spoke again.

“This boy…Arthur…has he asked to court you?”

I was a bit surprised by his question, but I shook my head and answered, “Not explicitly, no, but he’s implied it.”

My uncle made a little click with his tongue; whether it was disappointment or intrigue, I couldn’t tell.

“Do you know what this would mean? Really? If you were to court and marry him, you would be left with nothing after I passed. No money, no estate, nothing.”

I looked down at my hands and fidgeted with a ring. I knew he was right, but I hadn’t really thought of it. I was so caught up in how Arthur made me feel that I didn’t stop to think about what my life would actually be like if I married him. My silence gave my uncle the answer he needed, and he walked over and placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

“Think on it, Rose. Don’t let your emotions cloud your judgment. Life with him would not be easy or safe. Understand that first.”

So here I am, contemplating my existence. I’ve never known a life outside of ease and comfort, and the thought of living outside of it scares me. Even if I could build a home with Arthur, it would be grueling and uncomfortable. Raising children would be difficult, and I would have to get used to having little. But Arthur is content. He doesn’t ask for anything other than what he needs. What if I could learn to live that way? Could I learn to have joy amidst unpleasant circumstances? Oh, I don’t know. I’m so very confused.

October 30th

Arthur has managed to bring peace to my conflicted mind. I avoided writing to him for a few days, though Archie showed up every day with a new letter and waited patiently, expecting one from me. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him after what my uncle said. I was confused and unsure, and I didn’t want to burden him. Well, it turns out he’s a madman who likes being burdened. Yesterday, he showed up at the estate, asking to speak with me! No one had any clue who he was, and my uncle was gone. Amelia tried to shoo him off, saying it was highly inappropriate for him to show up unannounced. He ignored her and sat on the front steps, waiting patiently for me while twirling a rose in his fingers. A servant finally got me, and I nearly ran down the stairs. We took a walk along the old dirt road behind the estate, a crumbling brick wall separating us and the cliffs overlooking the sea. The restless waves crashing against the jagged rocks seemed to mimic my own mind and pounding heart that day. Arthur was distraught and demanded to know why I hadn't written to him. I poured my tired heart out, telling him about the conversation with my uncle and all the thoughts and decisions that had been plaguing my mind. He stopped walking and took my hand that wasn’t holding the rose in his, looking down at me like he was ready to travel to the ends of the Earth if it meant finding something to ease my mind.

“I understand, Darling, and I knew you would have these worries at some point. I just hoped they wouldn’t be so soon.” He attempted a smile, but it was uncertain and didn’t reach his eyes. “I won’t lie to you and say our life will be comfortable, and I can’t promise ease. But I can promise unrelenting love and loyalty. I’ll work hard to keep you safe and put a roof over our heads. Maybe I’ll become a Navvy like my father, or we could move to America, and I can find work there. I just want you by my side, but I won’t force you.”

I had to bite my lip to keep from crying. His voice was filled with a genuineness that’s often forgotten by men in the higher circles. I truly believed what he said, that he would be diligent to provide, even if it wouldn’t be what I’m used to. I took a minute to compose myself as he shivered slightly, his cold hands squeezing mine.

“You're cold. Why don’t we go inside?”

He looked at me as if I had just given him a diamond necklace.

“I’m allowed?”

I laughed and nodded, leading him inside with lighter steps than when I had come out. I had a servant draw him a bath and get him some fresh clothes. I waited in the drawing room for him, my mind calmer but still pensive. Was I really ready to give this life up? It worried me. I didn’t know how I would handle a life outside of this. I’m not strong and accustomed to working hard, as spoiled as it sounds, it’s true. But I wanted to try. Arthur came into the drawing room, looking fresher than I’ve seen him, but still wearing his old frock coat despite being inside. He had that happy, boyish smile on his face, and he sat next to me with a contented sigh.

“Thank you, M’lady. I haven’t been this clean in weeks.” He said it with a self-deprecatory chuckle and looked a little flustered. He shivered again, probably cold from his damp hair.

I only smiled and took his hand in mine. I was about to speak when my uncle walked in. His eyes went wide, and he paused before hanging his coat up. Arthur immediately stood, and I followed.

“This is Arthur.” I stumbled over the simple words, feeling like a fool. Arthur bowed his head.

“Marquis Fredrick, I’m happy I get to finally make your acquaintance.”

My uncle nodded and walked closer, giving Arthur’s hand a good shake as he eyed him curiously.

“So you're the man who wishes to court my niece? I don’t remember inviting you into my estate.”

Arthur flushed but quickly recovered. “I’m sorry, Sir, I should not have shown up unbidden. I just...” He glanced at me before continuing. “I couldn’t go another day without seeing Rose.”

My uncle raised an eyebrow and retracted his hand.

“Is that so?”

To my surprise, my uncle allowed Arthur to stay for dinner, as it was around that time. I stayed mostly quiet while they talked, my uncle questioning him thoroughly but kindly. Arthur answered all his questions with eagerness and was honest even when I could tell it embarrassed him to be. After dinner, he wished me a good night and took his leave, not wanting to irritate my uncle by asking him to stay longer. When I asked my uncle what he thought of him, he said, “He’s a fine boy, but lovesick. His words must be met with actions.” He went to bed without saying anything else.

I know my uncle isn’t happy about my affection for Arthur, and I know he’s right in saying his actions will speak louder than words. But I trust his words are honest, and sound actions will follow.

November 18th

Arthur has not disappointed me, and he has quite impressed my uncle. He’s now a frequent visitor and spends long hours with my uncle and me. He has taught us all sorts of fun card games, and he plays all our favorite songs on the piano. He has started saving any money he earns from his singing and has been looking for more work. I can tell my uncle has warmed up to him, and Arthur and I share hopes of his approval and the possibility of marriage in our letters. I go into town almost every day now and watch him sing. He is very talented and sings each shanty and ballad with a smile on his face and love in his heart. Sometimes he recites poetry or tells stories, and he knows a good many magic tricks. I love seeing the way children stop and look at him with bright eyes as they tug on their parents’ sleeves to get their attention turned on him. Sadly, the folks who obviously have more money are often the least willing to give. It’s the common people and local shop owners who bring him food and throw coins in his hand. Being with him has opened my eyes to my own world and shown me aspects of society I was too comfortable to see before. It’s funny how the people who appear to have easy lives actually live in a very complicated manner, and those who appear to have it difficult are usually quite simple. I’ve had the wonderful opportunity of befriending a baker in the main square and a shoemaker on the west side of town. They're both very kind and jolly individuals, and they always make Arthur and me feel right at home with warm cups of tea and long, animated stories. They’re shops are small, but their hearts are so full. Every day, I become more and more at ease with the idea of giving up the life I’ve known. I am worried for Arthur, though. All that singing in the cold has given him a terrible cough. I keep telling him to take a break, but he refuses, saying he’s pushed through worse and he needs to make money for us. He’s very honorable, but very stubborn. I suppose that’s one of the things I love about him.

November 20th

I can’t believe what just happened! My heart feels like it might burst…maybe it already has. I won’t spoil it; I have to start from the beginning. Arthur came to the estate today looking like his usual cheerful self. He brought a small bouquet of roses as he does every few days, but I was so focused on telling him of a fascinating book I had just found that I didn’t even put them in a vase. I set them down on the piano and brought him to the library. He seemed nervous that the flowers were without water, but I assured him they would be fine. I showed him the book I had found; it was an old picture book that was full of images telling the stories of many of the songs he loved to sing. He was immediately enthralled, and we spent hours huddled together by the fire, looking through the book as he hummed songs and told me details of their origins and stories. By the time we were done, it was already approaching dinner, and he again asked me to put the flowers in a vase, but I said I would after we ate. We dined with my uncle as usual and played a game of cards after. By this point, Arthur looked incredibly anxious, and when I asked what the matter was, he looked at me desperately and pleaded,

“Please, Rose, please put the flowers in a vase.”

I think I laughed, and he looked like he was ready to cry. I grabbed a glass vase with a bow and a pitcher of water and set the boquet in. As I was adjusting the flowers to sit prettily, Arthur got up and waved his hands dramatically.

“No! Stop! It’s all wrong! You have to cut off all the extra leaves like you always do!”

I looked at him with wide eyes, unsure why he was so adamant that the flowers had to be a certain way.

“Well, this vase is bigger, I don’t need to cut off the extra leaves.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his already mussed hair.

“Please, just cut off the leaves. It will be better that way.”

I gave him a confused look, but proceeded to get scissors. I took the roses out one by one and cut the leaves. As I picked up the middle rose, a shiny object caught the light of a candle, and my jaw actually dropped. I stared in disbelief at the diamond ring tied to the stem with a little string. I looked at the ring, and then at Arthur, and then at the ring, and my uncle laughed from the sofa.

“Is this?”

Arthur gave a quick nod and smiled bashfully, fidgeting with the sleeve of his coat. “I’ve been waiting all day. You have no idea how anxious I’ve been.” He got down on one knee and looked up at me with eyes that said he was ready to give me the world. I started crying and looked at my uncle for approval, who gave a small nod in return. Arthur took my hands in his; they were cold as always, but somehow still sweating, and I gripped them firmly anyway.

“Rose, I know I’ve only known you for a little over three foretnights, but I know I belong with you, and you with me. I can’t give you any of the luxuries you're used to, though God knows how I wish I could, but I will give you a home, even if it’s quaint, and all of me. I’ll always be there to provide for you, to protect you, to love you. I promise. Will you marry me?”

I was sobbing by this point, so all I could do was nod vigorously. He laughed and picked me up, hugging me tightly. I clung to him like he was the only solid thing in the room, and he ran his calloused fingers through my hair.

“I love you, Rose, so much.”

Once I calmed down, he slid the ring on my finger. It’s a small silver band with a single white diamond. Even as I write, I can’t stop looking at it. I asked Arthur how he was able to afford it, and he said once some of our friends in town found out about his plans to propose, they helped him pay for the gem and convinced a local blacksmith to make the ring. The fact that so much care and love went into this ring makes it all the more special, and I think I might cry again. My uncle gave us both bear hugs and told me he gave Arthur his blessing days ago. He admitted this was never a path he imagined me choosing, and he was still warming up to the idea, but he is glad I’m finally excited about something, and he trusts Arthur. Once Arthur left, I talked with my uncle privately about his estate and inheritance. Unless he finds another heir, his estate will go to another family when he passes. I knew that, but I hadn’t thought much about it, and the idea made me very worried and disheartened. But, to my surprise, he said he didn’t care. He made me promise to pass on his legacy through stories and wisdom, and not worry about what happens to his physical property. His exact words were,

“When I’m in heaven, do you think I’ll care about a house or some gold? No! I’ll be dancing in streets of gold! Don’t worry about such things, and instead worry about what you learned from me, even if it was from my mistakes. Besides, I’m not gone yet, and I still have a fortune to spare. I’ll help you and Arthur get on your feet, and I’ll send monthly sums to keep you going when times get hard.”

I took him in my arms and cried again, my tears staining his expensive vest as he patted my head like a child.

I can hardly believe I’m engaged, even as I stare at the ring. Amelia squeeled when she found out, though she was eavesdropping most of the time anyway. Arthur and I don’t know when we’ll be married, so we need to talk about it. Hopefully, he’ll come tomorrow. It’s very bittersweet to think about. Sweet because I get to start over with Arthur, but bitter because I have to leave my Uncle and Amelia behind. I wish I could have a mix of both worlds, but once I marry Arthur, I’ll be a commoner just like him. I don’t mind the idea anymore, though, and I’m quite ready to embrace that life, as long as I’m with him.

January 30th

These last two months have been the most draining months of my life. I cry every night before I fall asleep, if I sleep at all, and I feel as if suddenly everything is paralyzing. After the night of our engagement, everything went sour, and I’ve hardly wanted to write. As Arthur and I planned our wedding and talked of our new life, I noticed his coughing was getting worse, and he could hardly sing anymore. I tried to convince him to see a physician, but he stubbornly refused, until one day he coughed up blood. My uncle called a physician right away. He said he couldn't be certain, but Arthur was showing signs of carrying the white plague. The constant coughing, the cold body temperature, and then the blood. I cried and prayed that it wasn’t so, but his condition only degraded. Within thirty days, his weight had dropped severely, and he was coughing up blood daily. We tried to take him with us to church on Christmas Eve, so he could hear the children’s choir (he was so excited for it), but he had to leave because of how bad his cough was. Doctors aren’t sure how contagious the white plague is, but they know if I’m around him too much, I’ll surely get it, so I was told to keep my distance. At first, I refused and said something dramatic and foolish like, “I would rather die with him than be without him.” But between Arthur, Amelia, and my uncle, they helped me come to my senses. He has been cooped up in one of the guest rooms on the far side of the west wing, closest to the sea. He keeps the window open all day to breathe in the crisp ocean air as he lies in bed. The physician says that’s all he can do; get rest and fresh air. Archie stays in the room with him, perched on a coat hanger most of the time. The loyal bird is his only constant company. I feel sick myself, knowing there’s nothing I can do but sit and watch him fade. It feels like a cruel joke or a ruthless punishment, though I know it’s neither. I try to distract myself with books and painting, but it all seems dull and difficult now. I visit Arthur once a day, though not for long. I bring him light meals or broth and help him eat, but he can never keep it down. Sometimes I read him stories while he lies down, staring out at the ocean with a small, wistful smile on his face that makes me want to cry. I try not to weep around him, because I know it makes his situation worse. But when I do, he always takes my face in his hands and brushes my tears away with his cold thumbs while saying,

“I know it hurts, but don’t shed any tears. Soon I’ll be in paradise, and it will be only a blink until you’re there with me. I’m sorry we couldn’t have our happy ending in this life, Love, but I’ll be waiting for you in eternity.”

How I hate those words. I hate that he’s right. I hate that he’s being called home, and I’m being left behind. I hate that I can’t spend this life, no matter how short it is, with him by my side. We were supposed to be married, build a home, have children, and within an instant, it’s all been taken away! I miss him, and he’s not even gone, but I know soon he will be. Every night I lie in my bed and cry into my sheets, wishing he were holding me, and bitterly lamenting that I’ll never get to know what it feels like to fall asleep in his arms. It all feels like too much, and far too soon. I don’t know how to deal with grief so heavy, and as my tears stain the paper and I stare at my ring through blurry eyes, I pray for strength I don’t have, and peace I can’t attain on my own.

February 19th

Arthur is getting worse still. He no longer has the luxury of lying still, his body always shaking with fever and going into mad coughing fits. Not to mention he’s ghastly pale. I’ve been restricted to seeing him only once every other, and I’m hardly eating myself. Amelia feeds me my favorite soups, and I try to eat to keep up my strength, but my stomach is so full of unease that it has no room for food. Today, Arthur asked me to take him outside. I told him it wasn’t a good idea, with how weak he was and the temperature being so cold, but he begged.

“Please, My Love, I don’t want to die in here, stuck in this bed. Take me to the path with the ancient walls, where we used to go on walks. I need to walk with you one last time.”

I had never seen him look so desperate, and his expression told me he truly belived the end was close, very close. I held back my tears and helped him out of bed. He was skin and bones under his clothes and was easy to support as he leaned on me. I gently, slowly, led him outside behind the estate. The cold air hit him like a punch, and he shivered furiously, but he refused to go back inside. We walked to the old road and leaned against the crumbling bricks. Archie glided over and perched on the wall above us, picking at his feathers. Arthur slid down to the ground, and I followed. For a while, he didn’t say anything; he just stared at the ocean with watery eyes and weakly held on to my arm. It was a peaceful moment, despite the circumstances. It was cold, but the wall blocked the chilly breeze, and the air was crisp and salty. Seagulls called to each other in the distance, and the waves crashed against the cliffside in perfect succession, as if they had been trained to follow a lazy beat. Finally, Arthur took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the bricks as he spoke.

“Promise me something.”

I looked at him with a quivering lip, and all I could do was nod and grip his arm tighter. He turned his head to look at me, and for a moment, he looked like the healthy version of himself, with those sparkling eyes and that boyish smile.

“Promise me you won’t be sad when I go. Promise me you’ll smile. I know…I know this is painful. I don’t want to leave you as much as you want me to stay. But I can’t stay. This is where we part ways, only temporarily. But I want this to be a happy parting. I want you to smile, knowing I’m in a better place, healed from this disease, and waiting joyously for you. And when you greet me again, I’ll give you all the love I can’t give you now, and we’ll never part again.”

I had started sobbing somewhere in his speech, and I flung my arms around him and held what was left of him with shaky arms.

“I can’t promise you that. I can hardly smile now. How do you think I’ll be able to smile when you're gone?”

He wrapped his arms around me and drew me closer with the little strength he had left.

“Because this is only a brief intermission in our story, Darling. It’s a hard one, no doubt, but there’s beauty in pain. When I’m gone, don’t focus on my absence; focus on my memory, our memories. Remember that morning I was trying to act like Romeo from the play, and I threw a pebble at your window? The groundskeeper saw me before you could open your window and chased me away by whacking me with a wooden staff. By the time you stopped him, my ego was a bruised as my face.”

I chuckled through my tears.

“Even after I calmed him down and explained, he hit you one more time for being so reckless.”

Arthur laughed, but it came out more like a wheeze.

“Yes, exactly. Remember how we laughed? Or what about all the games we played? And the stories we read? Or the time we spent together in town? We have far too many fond moments to let them go to waste. Smile when I’m gone, knowing that what we share will last forever. And if you cry, cry tears of joy, because we got to experience something beautiful, if only for a short time. Besides, it will be even more amazing when we’re reunited.”

I pulled back enough to wipe my tears and look him in the eyes. His own eyes were filled with tears, but he had a serene smile on his face. He wiped my tears like he always did and briefly brushed his thumb over my lips.

“If I weren’t sick, I’d kiss those quivering lips of yours, but I guess that will have to wait for another time.” He gently grabbed my hands and took a moment to breathe before speaking again. “I love you, Rose, and you’ve made the last months of my life so full of joy that I can’t even be mad about being deathly ill. I’ll be waiting for you, don’t you forget that, and I expect to see that gorgeous smile of yours from above every time you think of me.”

I gave his hands a gentle squeeze and looked at him through misty eyes.

“I promise. And I love you too, more than I ever thought possible.”

We went back inside and were briskly separated, and my uncle was not pleased that I took Arthur outside without permission. But I don’t care. That moment with him is one I hold close to my heart, and I’ll treasure it when he’s gone. I don’t know how he can smile through such immense pain, and how he can be so at peace in the face of death, but I will keep my promise and strive every day to have his joyful heart. It’s what I love about him the most, and I’ll make it a part of me, even if it feels impossible.

February 21st

Arthur is gone. He died in his sleep sometime early in the morning, and I’m somewhat consoled to know he went peacefully. I feel very strange about the whole thing. When they told me he was gone, I fell to the floor and cried violently for what felt like hours. But, since then, I’ve been oddly calm. I haven’t cried again, I’ve been able to eat, and I was able to see his body without breaking down. We will bury him tomorrow by the huge oak tree under which we had a picnic once. It was a horrible picnic, far too cold and windy, and we ended up going inside after only a few minutes. But it’s along the old road and overlooks the ocean, and I know he would prefer his body to rest there instead of a cemetery. When I think of the funeral that will take place, I don’t feel the need to cry like I thought I would. Maybe it’s because I’ve already wept so much, or perhaps this is true peace. I can breathe without feeling like a heavy weight is upon my chest, and I believe that weight being gone is a sign of-

As I was writing just a moment ago, I heard a familiar squawk outside. I quickly rushed to my window and opened it, and Archie flew in. I don’t know when he got outside, but he gently landed on my arm, a rose in his beak. I’m not sure where he go it, but I gently took it from him and smoothed down his feathers. They were cold to the touch, reminding me of Arthur’s hands.

“Oh, you poor bird. Why were you flying out there at this dark hour?”

Archie tilted his head and slowly blinked, just like he had the first time I met him. I thought of the first time I met Arthur and sat down to write again, staring at the rose for a moment before setting it beside my journal. Archie just moved to my shoulder and has nestled into my hair, chirping happily, almost contentedly. Maybe he’s unaware of what has happened to his friend, or maybe he’s trying to comfort me. Either way, I’m glad he’s here. He’s the only physical reminder I have of Arthur, and I intend to take good care of him. When I think of caring for this lovely creature, I think of how Arthur would smile knowing he’s safe and loved. I look at the rose and remember the way he grinned so boyishly when he gave me his first rose, and a smile spreads across my own face at the memory.