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Mysteria
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since 2001-03-07
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British Columbia, Canada

0 posted 2002-05-22 08:00 PM


The Scarlet Letters
© Mysteria 05/2002
2,006 words


Marty Castle felt really excited that night as he packed his simple belongings in his knapsack ready for the trip in the morning.  He combed his wiry bright red hair with the brush before packing it, and left an old one out for the morning.  His mother was long asleep, and he tiptoed around his small bedroom picking up and putting down things he had owned since he was a small boy with a new tenderness.

His friend, Dick Westerly, had fixed it all for him during his last trip at sea, and when they would both leave tomorrow, Marty was to sign on as a steward on Dick’s ship, the “Yorkshire Bell,” starting on her long voyage to the Antipodes.  All the necessary papers were in order, and he would see the village for the last time, and it would be a long time, perhaps he never would return he wasn’t quite sure in this excitement.

Kathie Temple, his sweetheart, had arranged to see him off, but not openly, and Marty had taken his leave of her in the old orchard that night and felt somewhat ashamed of what they had done but they were after all both consenting adults.  He felt more of a man now as he had been her first, and when he actually did come back they would get married no matter what their parents said.  He figured it was going to be okay anyway as after all they had been careful and really she was only 16.  Old Mrs. Castle had never approved of Kathie, and it was no good provoking his mother.  An old family grudge against the girl’s parents seemed to be all the foundation for this disapproval, so the love affair had been kept clandestine.

Morning dawned bright and clear.  Dick called Marty and talked to Mrs. Castle while her son finished off a quick breakfast.  She was assured that an eye would be kept on Marty during this first voyage.  She was not to worry any.

Saying goodbye at the garden gate, Marty set off with Dick on the two-mile walk to the railroad station to catch the early express to the coast.  Passing down the village lane, Marty spied Kathie who was pretending to look at the flowers in her front garden, but actually waiting to get a final glimpse of her sweetheart.  She was wearing her favorite dress, a lovely scarlet one, that was so bright.  Martin had always loved her in that particular dress, as her dark curls, falling to her shoulders, made a perfect frame for the color she wore.  Dick commented on how pretty Kathie was and how nice she looked in that dress, but looked away quickly as I guess he felt he was intruding on a special moment.  I thought it strange he knew her name as I had never mentioned it to him but then Kathie was a beauty all right and it seemed everyone in the village knew of her.

Marty and Dick reached the ship without incident and signed on for the voyage.  The head steward was a reasonable sort of a man and assigned another experienced man to show the newcomer his routine duties.  Before long things came quite easily to Marty and he found a little leisure in which he could enjoy the ocean scenes.  He began to actually love his work at sea, much to Dick’s surprise, and Marty had made many friends.

At long last they reached Sydney, Australia, and Marty was glad to find his hated geography lessons coming to life.  

Returning through the Suez Canal the ship received bags of mail.  Marty was saddened to hear that his mother had died of a heart attack.  He seemed broody after this and did not seem anxious to touch on England’s shores at all.  When the “Yorkshire Belle” was being unloaded in the London port, Marty did not take his few days leave as Dick did, but stayed for the reloading which was done at breakneck speed before the ship moved on her way again, this time to Hong Kong and other places in the Far East.

Dick had received what seemed like stacks of letters and there had been one letter at all from Kathie, although Marty had written to her several times on the first trip out.  Now he gave up entirely and did not write again.  It seemed that he had nobody in the world anymore, except friends in the many ports he stopped into.

His friend Dick had married that first year out at sea when he was offshore in England, and his new wife lived with her parents on a farm in the port they had first shipped off from.  He mentioned they had their first child, Elizabeth, and joked about her being the product of his first stay on shore.  Each time he went home, it seemed he announced a new child was being born.  He seemed happy enough, although he never talked about his home life much, and if I asked, he seemed to change the subject.  Marty quit asking until he volunteered any information as he figured maybe it wasn’t going too well when he went home.  

So again, when the ship touched the port in England, Marty was at loose ends as Dick went home to his family.  He was always glad to get moving again, and the sea became his very life and home, and he seemed only happy as long as he was sailing.

Quite a long time afterwards, Marty had forgotten the number of years that had since passed, but it was necessary for this ship to undergo some important repairs when in her own port.  So at long last Marty decided to visit the old village, which he did, having time on his hands for those few days during the ships maintenance check.

His old school friends did't even know him at all.  Marty had indeed filled out, and he was taller and broader, also more self-confident.  He visited his mother’s gravesite in the old churchyard.  It was only then he realized it had been over eight years since he was last in this village.  He laughed a bit as he left the graveyard, a nervous laugh, as he realized he had been there for two hours just looking around.  He had a fascination with graveyards since he was a child and thought how silly it was that he had spent hours finding the oldest gravesite again as he did years ago, so he left.  

The pain, grief, and guilt over his Mother’s death were a bit overwhelming so he decided to find a pub. Walking along he spied the local pub, which looked exactly the same as it had years ago.  At least the pub and the churchyard were familiar he thought.  After a long beer, for even the proprietor was new, and nobody hailed him from the bar, Marty wandered outside again and began to stroll through the village lanes.  

He was passing by a small farmhouse, where he could see what appeared to be a perfect family setting.  It looked like a grandmother was drinking tea on a chair outside, while a woman with beautiful long curly dark hair appeared as if she was hanging her washing on a line strung between two trees near the orchard opening opposite the house along the far side.  

There were flowers planted everywhere and this reminded Marty so much of Kathie’s front yard as he had seen it so many years ago when he had first sailed out to sea, and lost the one person in his life he had ever loved.

A small girl was playing on the ground by the side of the lane, and she looked up as Marty approached her.

“Hello, Mister,” she said in the softest voice.  She had a mass of bright red curls circling a cherub’s face, covered with dirt.

“Hi! And what’s your name little girl?” he asked cheerily.

“My name is Kathie, and I’ve got a sister and two brothers.  My sister and my brothers are younger than me, I’m 8.  Angela is 6, and the twins are 3, and my mommy’s name is Kathie too.”

Just as Martin looked beyond the child’s head, he saw the woman fling a large garment over the line.  It looked something like a housecoat, he had heard of these, and the color brought back a flash of his memory.  The garment was just the same shade of red, so much more like scarlet, that same color his Kathie used to wear. The woman hanging the laundry was wearing the brightest red apron Marty had every seen, and had a mass of dark curls piled up on top of her head.  Beside her stood a girl about 6 with dark curls, exactly like Kathie’s, and on the ground by her feet were twin boys, both with dark hair about 3, like the little cherub had said.  Martin just stood and watched.  The little girl finally said, “Do you want to come and meet my mommy?”

A man came out of the door of the house, carrying a wicker basket of more clothes it appeared, set it down, then gave the woman a kiss on her neck.  When he moved aside to spin her around and hold her close, Martin saw that it was Dick and Kathie!  So this was the woman he had fallen in love with on his first leave in London?  How could this possibly be? How could he have met her the very year they had shipped out? So many thoughts were rushing through Marty’s head he felt somewhat dizzy.

Had he stolen the letters intended for him on the ship and corresponded with her, or had she never written him at all, and fate took its course when Dick when home on his first offshore visit that spring.  Well this was dandy; his best friend was married to his only sweetheart.  Suddenly he remembered 8 years ago on their first sailing when they had gone into port at Santa Cruz and Dick was the one who went to collect at mail call.  He returned with the letter for him about the death of his mother, but no letters from Kathie.  He vaguely remembered him walking away with a package in scarlet wrapping paper, and he was sick at the thought that they could have been his letters all bound into a bundle, and Dick had taken them. No, Dick would never do a thing like that.  He had met her obviously when he was home on leave, and the package had been only more goodies from his mother who continued sending them along as we sailed.  Still the image of that child stuck in his mind and he remembered so long ago that sweet, tender goodbye in the orchard with Kathie, and wondered was that his child?

He felt a queer pang in his stomach but he ruffled in his pockets before he hurried away.  He had a longing now to hurry, this village made his heart ache more than he could take so he handed the child a small coin, and said, “Here’s a sixpence, little Kathie and you take care of your sisters and brothers won’t you?”

“Yes, mister I will”, responded the sweet little replica of Kathie.

“Kath, who are you talking to?” yelled the woman, as she walked toward the gate.  “I’ve warned you over and over not to talk to strangers, come right here at once.”  The children ran immediately to their mother.  Marty had not noticed the small boys hovering near to their sister, who had all of Dick’s features.

“Oh, mommy,” he heard the child’s clear treble.  “He was such a nice man, and look, he gave me some money for myself.”

The woman glanced up the lane but all she could now see was the figure of a tall, well-built man, walking away, his head slightly bowed as if he might be in the throes of some pain, or, she thought sympathetically, perhaps he is just thinking, and then she put a hand over her mouth to silence a shout, as she had noticed his red hair in the sunlight.

~*~ The End ~*~


A little note:



Nancy Ness (one of the administrators of this site) and I were walking around in this graveyard in MA, and I came across these people all buried together under a fantastic tree without leaves, in what appeared to be a "family plot" although their names were all different.  So, these character's names are real but the story is fiction of course, and just my imagination working overtime at that graveyard.  I think Nan was starting to worry about my fascination with graveyards, and finding the oldest grave (hence poor Marty's fetish).  I bought a t-shirt that day with a big red "A" on it, with the "Scarlet Letter" below it, to which I said, "well duh!", and then a laughing Nan explained the story behind the Scarlet Letter to me,   .  This is when and where this story started to take shape but not in the days of the witches but instead I took it overseas.  Hope you enjoyed it. I guess A is A wherever or whatever the time right?


  

~* Carpe' Diem *~



[This message has been edited by Mysteria (05-22-2002 08:40 PM).]

© Copyright 2002 Mysteria 1997 - All Rights Reserved
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart
1 posted 2002-05-22 09:09 PM



Brava! Keep writing!  I love the way the Prose Forum has been bursting with new talent and new stories!  What a wonderful abundance of talent we have!  This was great.  You let that mind wander wherever it wants - in fact, I think you need to plan another trip to the plains of the midwest, I'll bet I and my friends could get your muse going!

Mysteria
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Member Laureate
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328
British Columbia, Canada
2 posted 2002-05-23 03:38 AM


You never know Sunshine ~ actually I prefer writing prose to poetry but will get back to the forums soon, just have lots of stories to tell at the moment.  Thank you I think that meant you liked it

  

~* Carpe' Diem *~

Janet Marie
Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554

3 posted 2002-05-26 10:50 PM


Graveyard inspiration usually ends up being vampire poetry...lol...
this was a delight to read...you took us so far with out taking forever to travel there...why..I didnt even get sea-sick
very cool writing and pic...I hope you will continue to tell your stories.

I remembering being one and the same ...
closer even than the heat and the flame.

Tom Kimmel

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