Promised Letter

It wasn't a beautiful day, drowsy rather. An occasional drip from the amber leaves, pooling and puddling in rocky dips in the gravel avenue. It was a melancholy day, but there was a hint of thrill in Elyse’s chest. Today, of all the days in the worry worthy year was a prick of bliss.

Elyse Lachlan pressed her nose to the pane, cold to her touch. She perched her head in the palm of her hand with a smile wide across her face; a smile that Eric would tickle her and call her his “plum.” Her dimples grew with the thought he’d be back in a few number of months. And they’d spend Christmas together for the second year.

The gloom of the day was not persuasive in Elyse’s affectation of delight for the impending postman. His buggy and Morgan horse would tort around the bend in the avenue, soon enough. He’d pull the reins and slow to a walk, admiring the nodding oaks, their turning colors, and the swirl of leaves in the smallest gust of wind. His Morgan would till through the fallen leaves with an insouciant stride. Then his Morgan would slow farther to a halt upon coming up beside her postbox.

But to Elyse’s dismay that was sometime away. The anxiousness of hearing word from her battle-weary husband lingered still on, clocking seconds as minutes, and minutes as hours.

Elyse scrunched her nose, her dimples abandoning her cheeks. Those poor soldiers on the Front...if only they had the luxury of warmth by a fire.

The hearth popped with enthusiasm, and cinnamon muffins tickled her senses. Elyse favored her eyelids fluttering closed, but did not allow them to droop; she would wait with patience for Eric’s promised letter. Had her eyes sank for a second the postman would have come and departed the avenue, for around the bend his Morgan trotted with pleasure from an Autumn draft blowing through her mane.

Elyse perked, her cheeks dimpling. She scuttled her perch by the window pane, whirling out the foyer entrance. The Morgan and buggy turned away from the postbox as Eylse stepped to the end of the cobblestone footpath.

The postman waved fondly. “There’s one from him, Mrs. Elyse!”

Elyse bunched her shoulders, a draft whipping through her hair. “Thank you, Mr. Williams!”

Mr. Williams smiled, his Morgan trotting back down the avenue.

Elyse compelled herself; she would not run, hiking her skirt rem up, wading through the puddles and sprinkling her dress. No, she would present herself humble, and gracefully in her walk. Though the enthusiasm to tear Eric’s envelope’s seal was acute.

Elyse nestled her purpling fingers in the pockets of the blush sweater draped around her shoulders. She scrunched her nose; the dampened weather brought a tingle to her.

She drew near the postbox clutching Eric’s letter inside. Elyse’s eyes fluttered close. The feel of the ink, the feel of the words engraved in the paper from the tip of his pen. She withdrew the letter of promise, her dimples chronicling Eric’s “plum.” Elyse gazed absentmindedly at his writing for a long second before breaking the envelope’s seal. She smoothed the tainted paper, her eyes reading the first inked words with zeal.

My sweet sugar plum,

I long to come home to you. And I have been told we will be sent home within a number of months. We shall celebrate Christmas and New Years together, and I will have the pleasure of accompanying you to church for many more days to come. I’m told the war is closing to an end with the Germans realizing they can not win this war. There’s rumors Kaiser Wilhelm will step down, but time will tell. Last week the division was moved forward meaning the Germans abandoned the trenches. Being here, being drafted, being trained, being in the German trenches has taught me something I never knew, but, remind me to tell you when I see your face. What I’ve learned has obtained the honor to only be told such a blessing, in person, for written words would not do it justice, my love. I will tell you, Plum, that I have faced my greatest fear. And I have survived it regardless of the danger pressed on my shoulders. My Elyse, that story is, also, a story I must see your face for when it is told, but in that moment all my deepest fears came true. I anticipate the day I will be sent home, back to you.

I love you, my plum.

Genuinely, with all love,

Eric