If It Ever Happened At All

The sun also sets. ~ Ernest Hemingway

He slipped through the gate unnoticed

with a smile and his hat in hand.

She was firm and fairly focused,

failed to notice his golden band.

He cleared his throat before he spoke,

“Excuse me for disturbing you.”

The breeze carried tobacco smoke

and the smell of his fragrance too.

 

She shifted her eyes from the page,

moved them slowly to meet his gaze.

A bird fluttered within its cage.

The world stood still, set fire, ablaze.

She felt immediate shyness.

Her face flushed like a blushing rose.

She lowered her eyes to hide this,

staring at the hem of her clothes.

 

He stood there in a shaft of light,

something beautiful and unknown.

“I’m looking for Mr. Goodwright.”

She pointed to the old brownstone.

He thanked her and then turned to leave,

placing his hat upon his head.

A gentle breeze blew up her sleeve.

She licked her lips of cherry red.

 

He walked with confidence and poise,

his eyes the most tremendous blue.

She felt waves of infinite joys

and dreamed a life of tea for two.

Dumbstruck by her reticent tongue,

she was kicking herself inside.

The air escaped each swelling lung.

She hung her head and almost cried.

 

How to explain this instant bliss,

the tides of sweeping emotion,

the way that her soul sought his kiss?

A most incredulous notion!

She felt foolish beyond compare

like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

In an instant, her heart laid bare

ready to fall in such a rush.

 

She watched him walk out of her life

with a sense of portent and dread.

The pain, the grief, the bitter strife

formed a sea of clouds overhead.

The darkness thundered into night.

She was touched by a secret flame.

The rain soaked through her gown of white.

She did not even know his name.

 

The sun cast fire across the sky.

Eliza watched it from her bed.

She closed her eyes, released a sigh,

threw back the needlepoint bedspread.

She set her feet upon the floor,

gathered her senses and her strength,

tied the strings of her pinafore,

pulled back her hair and pinned its length.

 

She pinched her cheeks for a pink hue.

The scarlet flush began to rise.

For a moment, the briefest dew

gathered as teardrops in her eyes.

She stared at her pale reflection.

A ghost looked back for her to see.

She was starved of sweet affection.

She wanted to love and to be.

 

She drifted out of reverie

when a knock came upon the door.

He said, “I am Mr. Every.”

She said, “I am Eliza Moore.”

She offered him afternoon tea

with roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

She was struck and could not foresee

this would be her great unhooding.

 

He was cunning and full of smiles,

made her promises meant to break.

He had traveled for miles and miles

like a slithering rattlesnake.

He was a black cloud in her life,

but she was blind and could not see;

and he never mentioned the wife

nor his children numbering three.

 

Eliza fell head over heels.

He could be so sweet and gentle.

The devil’s tongue forever steals

the dreams of the sentimental.

He promised her he’d leave his wife,

that he would come on Christmas day

and make her his for all his life;

and they would love the world away.

 

Her ballgown was a velvet red

with lace at the collar and sleeves.

She wore a crown upon her head

made of white pearls and diamond leaves.

She was happy and smiled all night.

She had a secret gift to share.

The two of them would soon unite

like roses braided in her hair.

 

Someone engaged the brass doorbell.

She ran to open the front door.

She stood in silence for a spell

then returned to the second floor.

She held the letter in her hand,

felt broken with anger and strife.

“My dear, I hope you understand.

I cannot leave my kids and wife.”

 

Eliza felt hurt and betrayed,

and the ink blurred beneath her tears.

She made a rope of her long braid

and let it hang behind her ears.

She placed the chair beneath the beam

and kicked it back against the wall.

Her life was but a shattered dream,

if it ever happened at all.

 

Her parents found her in the morn.

A furrow lined her slender throat.

A hanging rose beside a thorn,

the shredded heartbreak of his note.

The windows closed, the clocks were stopped,

the mirrors were covered with black.

Candles melted; the roses dropped.

Nothing could ever bring her back.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

An amazing write. My attention was gripped from the start to finish. Such a sad ending. What a bounder he was seducing an innocent any preying on her trust. You narrate a fine story here Linda. I am in awe of your pen and your muse.
Well done.

Chris

[M.E.Lyle]

This is a very sad tale with a an ending just as sad. It's a fine example of Hunter pouncing upon the vulnerability of its prey. This one stirs up the emotional side of my soul.
Thanks for the read.

[Kelly Scheppers]

My attention has never been more captivated, than by the presence of your pen!

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Awww! You're amazing, Kelly. Thank you so much.

[FGFRANKLIN]

I imagine this scene has played out in real life more than once. The traveling salesman image often conjures up such tragic situations. But there are wolves in sheep's clothing everywhere and monsters dressed up like humans. Wonderfully presented and the moral, not wasted nor understated. I enjoyed the read.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Fabian. This is actually based upon a true story. Sadly, yes, these things do happen.

[willweb]

Definitely a sad story and to sacrifice like that for one who made promises he never intended to keep is heart breaking. The poem is like a little poetic novel. Not what I would call a Hallmark Channel movie. Seriously, your talent is amazing. The story though filled with loss and sorrow is wonderfully written. Bravo to you dear poet.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you. Will. This one turned out to be longer than expected; and in truth, probably not long enough. It would have been better served set aside to revisit and perfect. This past week, however, has been daunting; and I just don't have the time. As always, thank you.

[John the Baptist]

How vulnerable the lonely can be. The central figure of this offering is starved for affection and is swept off her feet by a married man who swears he will leave his family for her. In her joy she does not see through him, is too busy walking on the air of her newfound good fortune. Then she find his note reneging on his initial promise. She is devastated, cannot handle it; her parents find her hanging body the next day. Life has its disappointments, something not all of us can accept. An interesting character sketch and good storytelling in this one.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you so much, John. I always love your visits.