The Fire is Burning

Oh, darling. I have quite an incredible story to tell you. Would you like to hear it? Well. It was one lovely winter, and I was staying at the cabin out by Newfeld Grove. You know the one. It had been a beautiful season up until that point. Not too cold. It was the same winter in which Margaret had had her baby - the first grandbaby and my little niece, that beautiful little Sasha. Oh, she had such wonder. I hoped that she and her husband were doing well. Margaret would write from me to time to time, bugging me about how she had to move out of state and was missing her poor sister who was still at home with Mummy. Ah, but, had she known what a romance we were striking up at home, she shan't have felt such pity for me. After all, I am her younger sister. What did she expect of a girl only just out of high school?

But the cabin. I was staying there alone, in the hopes that we would get to see each other. I knew that work had taken you out around there and I had writ to you the details of where I was staying. It was, of course, a daunting experience. The cabin is so secluded, with hardly anyone around for miles. But, alas, my love for you drew me to it.

I cleaned up around the room, you know - the dustings, the furniture, the one stark white table I just can't seem to get rid of. I even started a fire in the fireplace, with the kindling like Daddy taught me. It was nice to hear the crackling of the wood - I was sure I'd heard the neighbours yelling across the way. I hate to hear them. So fussy.

I was just clearing the mantle of any dust when you arrived. You had flowers in your arms - lilies - the same ones you had brought me for our dance the year prior. It warmed my heart seeing how you knew which ones I favoured best. A treasure, truly.

The wind blew in while you were in the door - I almost dragged you in my the arm myself. But it was a reason to laugh. I plucked the snowflakes out of your hair, and we embraced in delight at seeing one another.

You stayed for dinner, although... I didn't remember making it. Did you bring it, do you remember? Anyhow. We ate a marvelous dinner together in front of the fireplace. It was a dashing moment. I and you and the bricks and the warm fire. I loved it in the cabin. The red brick complimented the burning fire so well, so much better than this white--

White? No, no. Excuse me, I'm getting it wrong. The bricks are red, not white.

I asked you to stay the night, you know. But you didn't tonight. You said something about needing to leave, something I did not exactly catch. I complained, worrying about you out there in that weather. What a snowstorm. And to believe you would choose the harsh sharp snowflakes of the night out there than spend a beautiful night inside with me, your love. I told you it's cold outside, like the song, you know. Baby, it's cold outside. We would sing it together all the time. Or- we do. We do.

So we're sitting there together, enjoying a marvelous night, sitting close to the fire. We would run out of things to talk about, but that's the beautiful thing about young love. There's no need to talk. You can just sit and stare into each other's eyes for hours beyond the time you were supposed to spend with each other. It is truly dashing though, to get lost in your eyes. Those big blues. Goodness, I was so grateful that Penelope got your eyes instead of mine. The blue is so much more pretty on her than my brown ones. And I love looking into her eyes and seeing yours. They make her look so dashing, don't they? Such a beautiful baby.

We used to take her to the park frequently. You would push her cart while I walked alongside you, and we'd watch the birds together, like we used to when we were young. I could not believe that you knew all of the birds by name. It astounded me, even to this day. The fact that you could name every single one - well, or at least I hope you did. You could have been making them up. Hell, I wouldn't have known the difference.

But where was I? Oh yes. The baby. The baby? Oh yes. Margaret and her baby. They were so beautiful, you know. That couple. I was so sad when Margaret got the news of Thomas's death. It was almost as if the clock had stopped ticking for a moment and everything froze over. I don't know if Margaret will ever recover from that news, if things will ever thaw for her, you know. She's so young, and that baby. That beautiful baby...

...When I asked you to stay, I told you that we could add more wood to the fire, that you could help me to keep it burning. I told you it's so cold out there in the woods, that you should stay, stay inside and keep warm for the night.

Do you remember what it was that you told me? You said, "just like the fire burns and keeps you warm, as long as I have your heart, I will be warm." It was such a beautiful sentiment to say at the time. We embraced again, and you left into the storm, disappearing into the white. I stayed in the room and tidied the dinner trays. I did not have much to do so I turned on the television. There were some familiar faces but I didn't care for them. I just missed you. And I wished that you were here, with the fire still burning brightly against the red bricks of the mantle, and I wish I could've-

"Louisa. It's time for your evening pills."