Woman with a letter-Chapter 1

A Chapter by Marie

So this is the creative writing essay that I wrote and then used to continue my story. Our task was too describe a picture. I chose Tom Hunter photograph: Woman reading possession Order.

When the postman had rung at the door, I hadn’t thought much of it, supposing it was one of those telegrams saying that my husband, who had been in the military service for over a year, was in need of socks. I laid the letter down on the carved rosewood counter I’d inherited a number of years ago from my godmother and handed a few cents to the mailman, watching him trudge off into the bitter cold January morning.

Once I’d closed the door on the misty New York that was my home, I grabbed a close by letter opener, revealing a slightly crumpled note in one swift movement. When my gaze fell on the letter I realized that it was much shorter than usual. A little panicked, I began reading, breaking off after only three words. This was serious, very serious. They wouldn’t call me Ms. Henderson, unless…

I could feel the panic building in my chest at the thought of it. Tears blinded me, making everything in the room fade away, from the plain oak dining table to the intricate arabesques on the walls. It was a soft gurgle from Hazel, my youngest daughter that made me realize that I had to pull myself together again.

I snatched Hazel from her cot, picked a few warm blankets and my shabby lace shawl out of the precarious linen closet, taking care to push the antique door shut as noiselessly as possible. I turned around to glance at Dawn, sitting peacefully on the carpeted floor, unaware of my distress. Looking away from her angel face, I strode out of the room, past the grandfather clock, down the groaning stairs and into the laundry room. Closing the door behind me, still firmly clutching the note and its envelope in my free hand, I lay my daughter down on the table, which I had already covered with the wool blankets. Then, my hands trembling I took the telegram out once again, but this time another piece of paper fell to the ground. Without picking it up from the floor I read through the letter, this time in its whole:

Ms. Henderson,

Your husband has died on the battlefield.

Our sincere condolences

Admiral Newbury

I stared, unseeingly, out of the window, repeating the words in my head: Henry’s dead. As awareness seeped through my body, the tears I had tried so hard to hold back in the living room, now rolled down my cheeks, their warm, salty taste comforting on my lips. The door creaked open, revealing a small face framed by abundant, blond curls.

“Momma what’s wrong?” I asked.

She didn’t react at my question. Waiting for her to respond, I observed the disordered room. I’d always had a liking for this part of the house, with its daffodil walls, the gentle smell of Pear’s soap and its disarray. Instead of answering she bent down picking up a wrinkled sheet of paper that had been lying on the floor.

My fingers brushed the dust-covered floor as I took the note that had fallen out of the envelope between my hands. I read through it twice, each time the words had a new meaning to me, the sight of Henry’s neat script making the pain in my heart vanish for a moment. I placed it delicately on the shelf where I usually put the soap and ironed clothes and spun around towards my daughters, my girls, Hazel and Dawn, my only reason to live.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong” I replied thinking about the last line in Henry’s letter: Be strong Rachel, be strong for Hazel and Dawn.

I gathered up the blankets I had brought down and hugged Hazel to my chest, closing the pantry door on my mixed feelings. This would be easy, I would do all I could to forget Henry, and soon I wouldn’t even need to try to seem like everything was fine. It was going to be all right, I would get through this, I assured myself every now and then…

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