FLOWERS FROM MISS EMILY
by
Alexander. Kalinkin
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Alexander Kalinkin on Smashwords
Flowers From Miss Emily
Copyright 2011 by Alexander Kalinkin
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
* * * * *
In a sunlit cosy room, a lovely young lady read a book, sitting on a windowsill. She wore a modest high-necked dress that emphasized subtle features of her pale face. Now the girl tipped a bit the cover so that we could see its title: "The Poems by Emily Dickinson". The book was pretty new, published at that 1895.
Somebody knocked at the door. However, the girl read on, not paying any attention. The knocking became more insistent.
"Samantha! Are you here, my honey?" an aged woman's voice cried from behind the door.
Samantha lifted her head, but her eyes looked somewhere aside, somewhere in the depth of her thoughts or… rather her remembrance.
* * * * *
In her girlhood, Samantha would often visit her aunt, miss Grayson, who lived in Amherst, Massachusetts. Sometimes she even stayed there since the early spring till the late fall. Dad and mom used to say that it was good for her health. But Samantha knew well: they just had no time for her, working hard to get money for their living. However, that tradition was broken once, in the May of 1885. And Samantha remembered every detail of those far away events.
* * * * *
Everything began from the similar knocking, but… on another door… It was the front porch of a rich two-storied house. Yes, exactly so. A well-dressed fat gentleman with sumptuous side-whickers was knocking at that door. An accurate path ran from the porch across a small park to the calm town street, where a light horse-drawn carriage with an old cabman was waiting for the persistent gentleman.
Idle pedestrians, walking by, cast curious glances in the direction of the house. Samantha and her aunt happened to be there too. They had their usual afternoon walk. Now miss Grayson stopped by the carriage and looked at the fat gentleman. Samantha glanced in the same direction, but noticed nothing interesting and turned to the cabman. The old man quickened and said: "Hi, Sammy! Good morning, miss Grayson! I see, you little niece visited you again."
Samantha gazed at the cabman, but his wrinkled face did not seem familiar to her.
"Good day, John," miss Grayson answered. "I suppose that gentleman is just wasting his time."
Samantha turned her head to the house to see the poor man better.
"I'm afraid, you're right, miss," the cabman said. "The old Dickinson's house is closed to visitors now."
Meanwhile, the fat gentleman spoke to somebody through the closed door. His voice became a bit louder, and Samantha could hear clearly some words.
"Miss Emily, it's so strange to speak to you that way. It's me, Woods... I arrived from Boston... Hmm... What? Yes, I'd wanted to talk about your poems... Yeah... Really? I'm sorry. Then, I have nothing but to say good-bye... Frankly, I'd hoped to be more welcomed..."
Mister Woods turned and went away from the door with obvious dissatisfaction. Having made some steps, he hesitated, halted and looked back, waiting for any sign of attention. Nothing. The same closed door. The gentleman sighed and quickly strode to the carriage.
"Sir, you may visit her brother Austin," the cabman suggested. "He lives next door…"
However, mister Woods was offended and hurried to leave that place.
"To the station!" he shouted with a bit trembling voice.
The cabman reined. The carriage started and ran down the street, gaining speed.
Miss Grayson cast a blaming look at the house, and they continued their walk. Samantha tugged her aunt's hand and asked: "Aunty! Who is that miss Emily? Why has she not opened the door?"
Miss Grayson sighed and unwillingly said: "This is… er-r… one lady… Oh, Sammy, let's go faster. We shouldn't be late for dinner."
"Is she evil?" Samantha asked, looking back at the house.
"Who? Speak clearer, honey," the aunt pronounced in an instructive tone.
"That lady, behind the door," the girl explained.
"That lady… Hmm… She just thinks too highly of herself. Her father was a great man… and her brother is also a very respectable gentleman. But she is too proud. It's simply impolite to treat guests like this."
Samantha hardly listened to her aunt, because just at that moment a fine carriage was passing-by.
"I'd even say, she's crazy or ill," miss Grayson continued. "She goes out very rarely…. Always in that terrible white dress."
The last words drew the girl's attention back.
"Why is her dress always white? Is it beautiful?"
"I did tell you that it is terrible," the aunt answered a little angrily. "It doesn't matter. Let's stop this stupid talk, my honey. And, please, don't ask me about her anymore."
"But, aunty," Samantha whimpered, "she lives so near to your house. One day I could see her."
"Samantha! Please!" miss Grayson looked at her niece strictly. "I'm begging you. Don't even approach that house. Ok? You've got enough games to play."
Samantha nodded and cast another intrigued glance at the house, which she was not allowed to visit.
"By the way, tomorrow I'm going to introduce you to one sweet girl," the aunt promised.
* * * * *
The sweet girl's name was Lisa. She lived nearby. Lots of lovely dolls and toys settled shelves of her nursery. Lisa was a seven-year-old highbred girl. She even curtsied, greeting Samantha and introducing herself. Samantha curtsied back and quietly pronounced her name. Lisa, lowering her timid look, came closer to her toys, as if she sought a defence from their side.
"Would you like to play my dolls?" she asked.
"Yes, they're so cute," Samantha answered.
Lisa looked at Samantha, studying her better and broke into a smile at last.
"You may choose any but Alice. Ok?" she said and took her favourite doll Alice. Samantha came to make her choice.
Soon, the girls became good friend. They dressed their dolls in different outfits, talking freely about everything. And, of course, Samantha couldn't help but asked about the strange lady from the rich house.
"Do you know who lives in that beautiful big house near to the park?" she asked Lisa.
"One old lady and her sister," the girl answered.
"Old lady?" Samantha got amazed.
"Yes," Lisa confirmed. "She's old and sick. My mommy, she is a physician, by the way, brought her some medicine. Let's rather play. Which hat do you like most?" Lisa pointed at two toy hats: white and blue.
Samantha shrugged and looked aside, at the window. Then, she turned back and said: "The white one. Lis, my aunt said that lady wears only a white dress. Is it true?"
Lisa thought for a second and answered; "True. She also gathers plants on the hills… I don't know… Maybe she's a witch?"
Oh, it was a real MYSTERY! Samantha's eyes lit up with curiosity at once.
* * * * *
So, it was not surprising that the next day Samantha sneaked into the park nearby the mysterious house. A path wound from the house across a sunny green lawn and hid among trees. Well-tended beds of first spring flowers stretched along it.
Samantha peeped out from the trunk of a tree. Windows of the house reflected bright sunrays, and the girl had to cover her eyes with her palm.
Suddenly, the rustle of dry leaves sounded somewhere behind. Samantha whipped round. A woman in a white cotton dress was walking towards her. Samantha flinched. She was about to run away, but... the woman's eyes beamed with a kind glow, and the girl lingered.
"Hello. What a wonderful day!" the woman in white said.
She did not look so enigmatic at all. Yes, her dress was white but plain. She was not so old as Samantha thought before: perhaps, about fifty or something like that. At last, Samantha dared break the silence and pronounced quietly: "You're not a witch…"
The woman smiled. "Of course, I'm not. Don't be afraid. I'm Emily. What's your name?"
"My name?" the girl said timidly. "My name's Samantha… I came to my aunt, miss Grayson. She lives near… Yet, I live in Boston."
"Boston," miss Emily repeated. "Samantha, do you like flowers?"
Samantha nodded in answer. The first confusion almost left her.
"Me too," miss Emily said pensively. "They're so happy to see this spring and... you.... Perhaps, they even think that you're a big flower or a little sunbeam."
"Flowers can't speak, miss," Samantha said confidently. "And they can't think either."
"Oh! They can," miss Emily assured. "They can both speak and think. We simply don't understand their language."
Samantha stared at that adult woman and could not believe the words she had heard. "How do you know that?" she asked, not tearing her look from miss Emily.
"I've been trying to listen to their voices for a long time," the woman spoke seriously. "Let's come to those lovely tulips and listen to their talks."
Miss Emily headed for the nearest flowers. Samantha hesitated. The woman turned to her and smiled invitingly.
"Miss Emily," Samantha pronounced suddenly. "Why do you always wear the white dress?"
Miss Emily's face got a little pensive again. She averted her beaming eyes. Samantha approached her and touched the woman's hand. "My aunt said it's because you're too proud... but she's wrong."
"You know, Samantha, in early spring trees often dress in white attires and…," miss Emily paused, "and I just love it... That's all."
The girl looked at tulips. "Flowers are like faces, but they don't have mouths. How can they speak then?"
Pleasant amazement glimpsed in miss Emily's eyes. "Maybe they speak in another way?" she supposed.
Samantha glanced up at miss Emily, still distrusting.
"When you're happy," miss Emily said, "then all around see you and understand you without words. Look at them. What do you sense?"
Samantha studied the flowers. Her lips fluently bent into a smile, and she said: "They're happy... They're happy, miss Emily! I understand them!"
"You have a light heart, Samantha," the woman said. "I'd like to present you with a small gift."
With those words, she detached a rosebud from her dress. It was white and seemed to be a part of the dress decoration. She held out it to Samantha. The girl stared now at the flower, now at miss Emily.
"It's from my conservatory," the woman explained. "I cut it this morning and decided to present to you."
"How could you know that I would come?" Samantha asked.
"Flowers let me know about your visit," miss Emily answered.
Samantha carefully took the rose. "Thank you, miss," she said. "But, please excuse me, I have to hurry. My aunt always worries when I'm out for too long."
"Yeah, of course," miss Emily replied, immersing into her thoughts, "go, sweetheart, go."
And the girl ran. However, soon she stopped by a tree and looked back. "Thank you for the rose!" Samantha cried out.
Miss Emily lifted her eyes at the girl and smiled.
* * * * *
Indeed, Samantha couldn't see and even imagine some remarkable events of miss Emily's life. That night miss Emily entered a bedroom, closed the door and stood motionlessly for a little while listening. But only a wind was rustling behind the window. An oil lamp standing on a writing table dimly lit the plain furniture and walls with some framed pictures. Miss Emily slowly walked to a bureau, opened a drawer and looked inside. There were an accurately bound batch of letters and a thick manuscript book. Emily thoughtfully touched the letters with her fingers as if she tried keys of a piano... Just for an instant, the lines of the letters got fuzzy and she clearly recollected those far away days in Philadelphia …
It was in the church. Numerous candles were burning evenly. The congregation was listening to a sermon. A clergyman, a tall middle-aged man with vivid piercing eyes, was speaking to people: "Jesus called a small child over to him and put the child among them. Then he said, "I assure you, unless you turn from your sins and become as little children, you will never get into the Kingdom of Heaven...""
Miss Emily drew the hand back. Her lips were trembling. She closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks "My clergyman," she whispered. "My shepherd from the girlhood... You've passed... and no letters will come from you anymore... Not one..."
The woman turned to the window and a bit calmed down, watching the yellowish eye of the moon among waving black branches. She sighed, took the thick manuscript book from the drawer and headed for the writing-table. "Lightly stepped a yellow star to its lofty place..." The book softly fell on the table. She sat down and started to write as the moon yellow eye gazed at her from behind the window.
* * * * *
The morning came and knocked at a window of another house with its sunrays. A white rose crowned a glass jar on the table. Samantha's curious face showed up nearby. Her bed was just beside the table. She removed her quilt and, being dressed in her pyjama, ran towards the bookcase. A minute later the girl already painted the white rose in her album.
The whole room was filled with sunrays when the door quietly opened, and miss Grayson peeped in. She seemed to be very surprised to see her niece up so early.
"Samantha!" she exclaimed. "Are you well, my honey?"
"Good morning, aunty!" the girl replied, not lifting her head.
Miss Grayson entered the room.
"Good morning... What're you doing? Why are you sitting here like that?
Samantha finished her painting, smiled at aunt and showed her the picture in the album.
"Look, aunty! White rose!" she explained.
Miss Grayson stared at the album, and her mood got obviously worse and worse.
"You didn't answer me," she said. "Why are you still in your pyjama? A good lady should..."
But Samantha didn't give her to mention all the list of the virtues.
"This rose is a present from miss Emily," the girl boasted. "She is not so proud as you said... And she's not crazy at all... She is just different... special... sort of a kind fairy..."
A short pause hung. Miss Grayson, simmering, looked now at the rose now at Samantha. At last, she said: "I… I've prohibited you to go to that house. Why? Why have you done that?"
"I'm… I'm…," Samantha was vainly seeking for words.
Miss Grayson sat down on the edge of Samantha's bed, trying to regain her temper.
"But she is kind!" the girl cried out, "Aunty, you simply don't know her. She's presented me this white rose!"
"Kind!" miss Grayson exclaimed. "You've seen how kind she was! Do you remember that gentleman? O, yes! She's very kind indeed! I wish you only the best, Sammy. But I see you prefer listening to that crazy witch, not to me! I told you not to go there!"
Samantha dropped her eyes and frowned.
"Did I say that or not?" the aunt asked strictly.
Samantha unwillingly nodded and pronounced: "Yes, you did. But she's not a witch."
"Ah! Enough!" miss Grayson said. "I'll send you back to Boston! To your dear mommy and daddy!"
"I don't want to be sent," Samantha said. "I don't want to sit at home all day long again. Mommy and daddy are too busy..."
"Well… Ok," miss Grayson softened. "Then, you should come to the church and ask our Lord to forgive you for what you have done."
Samantha nodded in answer.
"Now dress yourself quickly and come to my room," miss Grayson commanded. "I'll help you to comb your shaggy hair." Miss Grayson stood up and headed to the door. In the doorway, she glanced back. Samantha sniffed sadly, staring at the rose.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, in the Boston, mister Woods' train arrived to a platform of the station. The steam dispersed, revealing an animated crowd, and Woods could spot a brisk short gentleman among the people. It was his companion, mister Nails. Woods quickly stood up, took his travelling bag and headed towards the exit.
Woods alighted on the platform, where Nails cordially welcomed him. They shook hands. "Nice to see you!" Nails greeted the companion.
"Good morning, Nails! Thanks for meeting me."
The friends were walking along the edge of the platform.
"How was your trip?" Nails asked. "Did you succeed in getting her manuscript?"
Woods paused for a second and then answered in a suddenly angry tone: "Wildness! Provincial wildness! We were speaking through a closed door! Just imagine that!"
Nail cast a studying look at his companion and said: "Frankly, I don't understand why you were going to that strange lady at all?"
"It's hard to explain," Woods sighed. "I just wanted to see who could write those poems. Sort of stupid curiosity from my side."
"Why don't you visit every poet, who sent strange verses to our publishing house?" Nails grinned. "They would be happy. Believe me."
Woods laughed. "Yup. You're kidding as ever, Nails! But that's true. I seem to be... enchanted by her poems... Yeah, it's sort of magic..."
* * * * *
A wisp of light smoke rose from burning candles of a church. Samantha stared at the candlelight. Her lips moved, whispering: "Forgive me... Forgive me... Forgive me, my Lord." The candlelight seemed to be closer and closer, slowly dissolving to a dream-like vision.
Now it was not candles, but trees shining with morning light. Miss Emily, in her white dress, came to a tree and picked a rose up from its sunny branch. A clear voice of a clergyman spoke to the congregation: "Therefore, anyone who becomes as humble as this little child is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven. And anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf is welcoming me..." Miss Emily held out the rose to Samantha.
The girl's eyes filled with tears. She smiled and looked aside, at miss Grayson, who resembled a stone statue at that time.
They went out of the church and walked down a calm street. Samantha couldn't restrain her feelings anymore and said: "Anty! God has forgiven miss Emily and me! I felt it!"
"What are you talking about?" miss Grayson got amazed. "Miss Emily?"
"Yes! She's kind!" Samantha spoke ardently. "God loves her as His child."
"Don't speak like that, my honey," miss Grayson knit her brows. "You don't understand. You should read more the Holy Bible..."
Samantha nodded, but her thoughts seemed to be far away from here.
* * * * *
When the girl came into her room, she froze on threshold in amazement. The table was clean. Her rose disappeared!
Samantha rushed to the door but stopped. She understood suddenly that her rose had been just thrown away. Despair fogged her eyes. Samantha slowly came to her bed and saw the album lying on the pillow. The girl hesitated, but just for an instant. Then, she snatched the album and ran off the room.
* * * * *
The sky turned grey and cloudy as if it could feel Samantha's mood. Clasping the precious album, she ran through the park. When the girl went out to a path, she saw a woman in a brown dress. The woman was walking away from the house. She resembled miss Emily, but… that brown dress and some other details confused Samantha. At last, she dared to cry out: "Miss Emily!"
The woman looked back. Of course, she was not miss Emily. Now Samantha saw it clearly: her figure was a bit plumper, and her hair was darker. The woman stopped, staring at the girl and, then, headed towards her.
"Are you looking for Emily?" she asked.
"Yes, madam," Samantha answered. "I'd like to show something to her. Do you know where she is?"
The woman's face brightened. "Perhaps, you're that girl who loves flowers."
Samantha timidly smiled.
"I'm Lavinia, Emily's sister," the woman introduced herself. "She's told me about you. My sister is in. Follow me."
Miss Lavinia and Samantha walked to the backdoor of the house. Samantha looked over at the windows, expecting to see miss Emily over there.
"She's in the kitchen," Lavinia explained. "The weather is cold today, and my sister decided to bake some muffins. She must be finishing now. Do you know she bakes the best muffins in Amherst? There's been a time when she won even the town competition."
"Really?" Samantha was sincerely amazed.
They passed into a dim-lit corridor.
"Yeah... But all these are useless now," Lavinia sighed sadly. "Who will be eating them? Me? There are no children in the house... We live like nuns... Oh, two old maids... What could be worse? She will be happy to see you."
It was a warm simple kitchen with a stove, where a fire was burning, and the table, on which some plates stood. Along the walls, there were some shelves with different pots and pans.
Miss Emily, in a white apron over her dress, was sitting by the window. She heard the girl's voice in the corridor. Her brows a bit rose in amazement when the girl and miss Lavinia appeared in the doorway.
"Sister, you have a visitor," Lavinia said cheerfully.
Miss Emily nodded in answer, and Lavinia left the room.
"Good day, miss Emily," Samantha said.
"Hello, Samantha." Emily smiled. "Come in. Take a seat. You came just in time. I have something for you. Wait for a second..."
Miss Emily stood up, came to the stove and bent to the fire.
As Samantha studied the kitchen, miss Emily turned to her with a pan, on which there were some appetizing muffins. They smelled heavenly. Samantha gulped. Miss Emily made a professional gesture, and now all the muffins were on a plate. The woman set also a saucer and a jam dish on the table before Samantha.
At that sweet moment the girl recalled about her album. She opened the precious page and silently passed the album to miss Emily. For some instants, the woman studied the picture. Her features smoothed. Her eyes beamed again like at the day of their first meeting. A bud of the white rose in the album was painted like a funny smiling face.
"I'd want to present it to you, miss," Samantha said.
"Thank you, Sam...," miss Emily answered, still keeping her look on the picture.
"My aunt threw your rose away," the girl complained. "She's evil. I don't want to go home at all. May I stay with you? You don't have children anyway."
Miss Emily got sad at once. She averted her look, closed eyes and shook her head negatively.
"Don't you want me to stay in here?" Samantha asked.
Miss Emily put the album on the edge of the table.
"You aunt, Sam," she began. "She loves you actually. Maybe you don't understand this yet...But she's not evil. She's just too scared."
"Scared? Of what?"
A bitter smile touched miss Emily's lips. "Of your freedom, I guess... Sometimes, we may go so far that our return looks almost impossible. See this emptied house... That's it. That's the way of mine... That's the way your aunt is afraid of... You can't imagine how hard it is not to have a single soul to share your feelings... your love with."
Samantha noticed tears sparkling in the woman's eyes. "Miss Emily, I am with you," she said timidly.
"No, Sam," miss Emily sobbed. "I mean... I mean you should think of your aunt. She loves you... As those flowers in my park. Do you remember them? We all need to be loved... Be her flower. Ok?"
Samantha nodded, still staring at Emily. Suddenly, she asked her: "Then… miss, why didn't you open the door for that gentleman?"
Miss Emily gave a quick glance at Samantha.
"Sorry. I just saw it by chance," the girl explained.
The woman did not answer. An awkward pause hung. At last, miss Emily sighed and pronounced: "Yes... Sam, your aunt... She must be looking for you already. But... Wait a minute." With those words, she stood up and unhurriedly left the kitchen.
After a couple of minutes, she returned with a small lovely bouquet of dry flowers. The bouquet was tied with a thin ribbon. Samantha rose, beaming and not believing that it was for her. Miss Emily handed the bouquet to the girl and said: "This is my small present to you, Sam. It's small enough to be our secret."
"Thank you, miss," Samantha pronounced. "They're so beautiful! Excuse me, but I have to go."
"I'd want to answer your question, Sam," Emily said. "That time, I didn't open the door to the gentleman because... Honestly to say... I was just scared." And she smiled with relief as if she threw a heavy load from her soul.
"Really? Was you?"
"Yeah," Emily confirmed. "It may sound somewhat strange but it was so. I used to be alone... in this world of mine... Oh, Sam, you should go. You should run to your aunt and... Please, remember of flowers!"
Samantha hurried down the path, turning back from time to time. Miss Emily stood at the backdoor. Now the girl came to the tree, where she hid just some days ago. She turned again and saw miss Emily closing the door. Samantha wanted to return but stopped and looked at her bouquet.
Soon, she ran down the street, holding tightly the small bouquet.
She almost bumped into miss Grayson by her aunt's house. Samantha slowly lifted her head and saw the furious face of her aunt.
"Where have you been?" miss Grayson asked strictly.
The girl dropped her eyes and hid the bouquet behind her back.
"Well. I know, you nasty girl!" miss Grayson said.
Samantha closed eyes tightly and blurted: "Aunty, please, forgive me."
Miss Grayson froze, staring at her. "Forgive? You disobeyed me again! No! You will go to your parents right away! Well. Not now, but tomorrow!"
"Yes," Samantha said in an unusual for her meek tone. "But forgive me, aunty. And... please, don't be afraid of loosing me." The girl opened her eyes and smiled innocently.
Now miss Grayson's face expressed rather a sincere concern.
"I'll be with you," Samantha added. "I love you, aunty."
Miss Grayson gulped. "Are you alright, my dear?" she asked. "I think we should go home..."
* * * * *
Meanwhile, in Boston, mister Woods read again and again a letter that he had written to miss Emily. He thought, rubbing his chin and then jerkily crumpled the sheet of paper.
"Rubbish!" he growled. "How? How can I speak to her? She is like a foreigner!" Woods shook his head and strode across the room. "I must have her poems," he said firmly. "I must share her world with our readers, anyway. People will love it!" Woods decidedly came back to his desk and took a blank sheet of paper to write another version of his letter.
* * * * *
At that day, in the parlour of Dickinson's house, miss Emily also read a letter, but that one was from her past. Some other old letter lay on her laps. The woman finished reading and shifted her look to a weak flame, glowing in a marble fireplace. Lavinia's voice jolted her out of her remembrances. The sister sat in the armchair, doing her embroidery.
"I've seen that girl today," Lavinia said. "Samantha's her name. She has been with miss Grayson at the station."
Emily turned to her sister and smiled faintly.
"As I understood, she is going to Boston," Lavinia continued.
Emily nodded.
"What a lovely girl she is!" Lavinia said. "I thought she would visit us from
time to time. But..."
"Vinnie," Emily interrupted her. "Do you remember the last time he came?"
"Who? That gentlemen with side-whiskers?"
Emily grinned. "No, that one has been just... a merchant. He came for goods for his store. I mean, in summer of 80. Do you remember him?"
"Charles?" Lavinia cast a glance at her sister.
Emily bit her lower lip and pronounced: "Once he preached in Philadelphia... He was speaking so well... and his eyes connected with mine so... And then, I returned home and wrote to him... and he answered..."
Lavinia put her embroidery aside and slightly touched the hand of her pensive sister.
"Don't be so sad, Emmie," she said. "Nothing would come out of that anyway. He was a clergyman, and he was married."
Emily shook her head. "No! No, Vinnie, you don't understand me... I've been seeking in him for something else...It was not what you're thinking about. It was... love but not that kind... He... He was... my Shepherd!"
"Oh, Emmie!" Lavinia sighed. "I'm afraid you don't understand yourself."
Emily looked at the letters on her laps again and then at Lavinia. "Vinnie, promise me to burn all these letters, when I die."
"What you are talking about, sister?" Lavinia's eyes became troubled.
"Last year the great darkness of death came to me," Emily said. "It looked right at my eyes... I won't go through all these anymore."
"But, sister, you feel much better," Lavinia tried to comfort her. "You can walk in the park as before..."
"Vinnie, promise me to burn all the letters and all my papers," Emily demanded.
Lavinia nodded sobbing. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
* * * * *
It was a second-class compartment of a railroad car. Samantha watched as hills, trees and houses of Amherst were passing by behind the window. Miss Grayson sat opposite to her, reading "The Gospel".
Samantha's fingers held the small bouquet: the miss Emily's present. The girl smoothed the thin ribbon on it. Now her fingers stopped. Samantha peered down at the ribbon and found a small rolled note. She cast a glance aside, at her aunt and then quickly unrolled the note.
There was a poem, written with a cursive hand:
"The Bee is not afraid of me
I know the Butterfly
The pretty people in the Woods
Receive me cordially -"
"That's true. She is a real fairy," Samantha thought. She immediately sensed a severe look of her aunt.
"What is this?" miss Grason asked, nodding at the note.
Samantha quickly concealed the poem. "Nothing, aunty..." Then, she turned to the window again.
* * * * *
She loved watching street outside her room in Boston. If we could accelerate our time by some miracle, windows of our houses would resemble windows of a train or any other transport. Yes, our houses travel, but in time. Samantha liked letting her imagination fly away. Behind the pane was a tree with beautiful many-coloured leaves: yellow, red and still green ones.
Samantha leant across a table and wrote the first lines: "Dear Ms Emily..."
* * * * *
A year passed, and the same handwritten line "Dear Ms Emily" slowly smouldered, disappearing in a flame of the fireplace of the Dickinson's house. It was that doomed 1886. The flame danced, licking woods and words... New and new paper sheets, covered with writing, fell upon the fire.
Lavinia, dressed in all black, was sitting in the armchair, in front of the fireplace. A pile of papers lay on her laps. She took another sheet of paper, skimmed over it and gave it to the greedy flame. Tears welled into her eyes. "Emily... Dear Emmie," she mumbled.
Now she took the thick manuscript book, opened it and read... Her breath became steadier. She was engrossed in the past. She turned a page and read on...
"Oh, no, sister," she said quietly but firmly, "I promised you to burn all the papers but not this book... not this." She put other papers aside and thoughtfully gazed at the manuscript book.
"Perhaps, I should ask advice from my brother or from someone else," Lavinia thought. "I have no idea how to handle that kind of things... But I should find how to do that... how to tell people..."
* * * * *
Lavinia went quickly through the park towards the next-door house. She was immersed in her feelings. The manuscript book, carefully wrapped in paper, was in her hand. Suddenly, she stopped and lifted her eyes. In front of her, on the same path, Samantha stood. The girl's eyes were reddish from tears. Yes, she obviously knew the terrible news.
Lavinia averted her look. Tears misted her eyes again. Samantha came closer and embraced her tightly. Sobbing, the woman stroked her hair. They both slowly walked across the park.
At that day, they visited Emily Dickinson's grave at the West Cemetery. By the tombstone, they saw the familiar gentleman with side-whiskers. He mournfully froze with flowers in hands when they came. Mister Woods glanced back to the sound of approaching steps, sighed heavily, put the flowers on the grave and walked away.
Samantha also laid her bouquet of first spring tulips by the tombstone...
* * * * *
Lavinia and Samantha walked out from the cemetery. The girl's eyes became alarmed. Lavinia noticed that. "What, Sammy?"
Samantha nodded at mister Woods standing in some distance. He was obviously waiting for somebody. "That gentleman," she said. "Miss Emily was afraid of him."
"Really?" Lavinia got amazed. "But... he put flowers on her grave..."
Woods saw them too. "Miss Lavinia Dickinson," he said, coming closer. "Hello. I'm Woods, a publisher from Boston... Please, accept my sincere condolences... I'm sorry…"
"Yes. Thank you," Lavinia answered.
"We were pen friends with your sister actually," Woods explained. "It's the heavy loss for me..."
Lavinia couldn't speak for some time, restraining tears . Samantha frowned at mister Woods. "How this gentleman dare to call himself a friend of miss Emily!" she thought fretfully.
"Sir, you said, you're a publisher," Lavinia pronounced at last.
"Yes, I am," Woods confirmed.
"Perhaps, as my sister's friend, you know, she wrote poems," Lavinia continued.
"Of course, I do," Woods answered.
"They're very valuable for me, as remembrance of her," Lavinia said. "She left lots of them... in here." The woman lowered her look on the packed manuscript in her hands.
Samantha glanced at the manuscript, at mister. Woods and at miss. Lavinia. She tugged at Lavinia's sleeve. The woman turned to her. "What?"
"May I look at them, miss Lavinia?" Woods requested.
"Oh, yes, please," she answered, handing the manuscript to Woods and bending to Samantha.
As mister Woods carefully unpacked the book, Samantha whispered into Lavinia's ear: "Please, don't give him this."
"But why?" Lavinia stared at the girl in amazement.
"He's not a friend of miss. Emily. He lies," Samantha whispered.
Lavinia cast a confused glance at Woods. He intently read the manuscript.
"Sammy, he's a publisher," she whispered. "He knows better what to do with poems. Ok?"
"I don't believe him," Samantha frowned.
Woods sighed, closed the manuscript and wrapped it back.
"Well," he said. "I understand it's not a proper time to ask you but... May I take this for a while? Oh... I forgot to give you my calling card... Just a minute." And Woods started to rummage in his pockets. At that very moment, Samantha suddenly snatched the packed manuscript and was about to run away, but mister Woods caught her by the hand. "Stop!"
"Samantha!" Lavinia exclaimed.
"I don't understand," Woods said, strictly looking at Samantha. "What's going on? Who are you, girl? And why have you taken this book?"
But Samantha did not answer.
"She's Emily's friend too," Lavinia explained. "Sammy, you shouldn't do this anyway. Mister Woods may help us."
"Just one question, Sammy," Woods said and pointed at the manuscript. "Is it yours?"
Samantha shook her head negatively.
"Then, you should give it back. Do you agree?" he asked.
Samantha was ready to burst out crying. She handed the manuscript to miss Lavinia and rushes away. Lavinia and mister Woods followed her with anxious looks.
"Poor girl," Lavinia pronounced. "She was a real friend of my Emie."
Samantha walked down the drowsy streets of Amherst and tears choked her.
* * * * *
Nine years passed since that sorrowful day. Another spring and another May came. Boston buzzed like a hive, warming in rays of the generous sun. Samantha, an eighteen-year-old lady now, was strolling down a line of shops. Multi-coloured storefronts and shop signs floated by.
At last, she found what she had been looking for. A bookstore!
A little bell jingled at the door, and Samantha came into a softly lit room. She headed toward the counter, where a fidgety lean salesman was calculating and writing something.
Now the salesman lifted his head, pleasantly smiling at the lovely client. "Hello, miss! May I help you?" he said.
"Good morning," Samantha responded. "I'm looking for a manual of pharmacy."
"Pharmacy? Just a minute, miss..." The salesman turned to shelves laden with numerous books.
While he was seeking for the book, Samantha's look slid over teasingly bright covers. Suddenly one of them attracted her special attention. "THE POEMS by Emily Dickinson," Samantha read. She took the book, not believing her eyes, and opened it to a random page. Oh! It was exactly that one which was written on miss Emily's note. She knew it by heart. Samantha read the next one... A bitterly sweet wave of remembrance surged and mixed all her thoughts.
The bell in the doorway jingled again. A stout grey-haired man with sumptuous side-whiskers quickly strode across the room. Samantha just glanced at him and returned to her reading, but something in that man seemed to be familiar, something touched her memory...
The salesman also looked back at the man and nearly dropped the book he held in hands.
"Oh, mister Woods! I've had no time to complete the report yet," he gibbered. "Very little is left to do actually... I'll calculate everything and show you it in the best form. Sorry, I'm helping... our customer... this lady... She needs a manual of pharmacy... for exams, I guess."
Mister Woods composedly nodded and asked: "Hasn't Nails come yet?"
"No, but he promised to..."
"Good," Woods said. "I'll be waiting for him here."
The salesman returned to his search. Mister Woods, with a pompous look, was browsing books on shelves. Samantha cast another glance at him, trying to remember.
The salesman came to the counter with two books. "Miss, I've found even two manuals of pharmacy," he said joyfully. "They're written by different authors... Oh, I see, you're fond of poetry." The salesman shifted his look to Woods and added: "By the way, the publication of the book in your hands became possible thanks to mister Woods' cares. He was a close friend of the poetess..."
Samantha's eyes lit up with the recognition. Yes, she had seen exactly that gentleman in Amherst!
"Stop it, Chapman," Woods snarled. "I've been just lucky to get the manuscript. That's all. I knew the poetess very little..."
At that moment, Samantha gathered herself and, blushing badly, pronounced: "I remember you, Sir. You visited miss Emily and... had a talk with her... on the threshold..."
Woods gazed at Samantha. "But how... How do you know this?"
"I was just a little girl," she explained, "little and stupid one. Don't you remember me?"
"Er-r... No... I don't," Woods answered, studying the beautiful features of the unknown girl's face.
"Perhaps, that's good," Samantha said with a timid smile. She closed the book and passed it to the salesman. "I'll take this."
"Yes, indeed," the salesman quickened. "What about the manual?"
"No, thank you," the girl answered.
"Sorry, miss," Woods pronounced. "I don't know your name... It's my store and I'd wish to present this book to you."
Samantha looked at Woods - at his serious calm eyes.
"Chapman, mark it in your records," he said.
The salesman hastily leant over a thick book of records.
"Thank you, Sir. But I could buy it myself."
"That's Ok. What is your name?
"Samantha."
"Samantha?" Wood's eyebrows a bit rose. "O, Goodness! Just one little question then. Did you see how miss Lavinia Dickinson gave me the manuscript?"
Samantha blushed more than before and nodded. "Excuse me, Sir. I've been..."
Woods smiled broadly. "That's Ok, Sammy. Miss Emily would be proud of you. But I... I hope this book helps you to trust people more."
"Thank you, mister Woods," the girl quietly said.
Then, Samantha hurried down the street, almost running, clasping the book, remembering and looking happily at the blue sky.
* * * * *
Yet, it was the same sunlit cosy room. Samantha, in her modest high-necked dress, read Emily Dickinson poems, sitting on the windowsill.
Someone knocked at the door. The girl read on, not paying any attention. Knocking became more insistent. Samantha lifted her head but looked somewhere aside, not at the door. She immersed in her thoughts for a very little while.
At last, Samantha rose, slowly walked up to the door and... opened it.
Alexander Kalinkin is a writer, a poet and a Russian-English translator. He is also the author of the "3 Light-Hearted Secrets", a small collection of short stories available at Smashwords for free. Some of his works were published in small press of USA and Russia. Alexander also writes screenplays for animation films (co-author of series "The World Picture Gallery with Aunt Owl", "African Savanna Stories" and "Lessons of Wild Life" were aired on TV channels of Russia, Ukraine, Poland and some other countries).
For more information, you may visit:
His web-site "Fairy Tales for Everyone": http://fairy.bchost.com/
LinkedIn: http://ru.linkedin.com/in/akalinkin