Lena’s Life – A Day Without Aunt Cora (8)
It was strange to go to sleep last night without a word from Aunt Cora. But even stranger was awakening and knowing she was gone. Yet strangest of all was stepping downstairs to find my father alone at the breakfast table. The entire house feels empty without her here, there is a sort of loneliness about it, an unsettling quiet. Her presence is completely gone, as if she were never here.
Nothing was so silent as my breakfast with father. You see, we are not much accustomed to talking, and usually Aunt Cora gets all (if any) words out of him. She is good like that. I am not. I sat with my eggs and toast and tried as hard as I could to think of something proper to ask him, but nothing at all came to mind, even by the time I had finished my tea.
He is the sort of man who is not very interested in anything other than what he decides to be interested in. Aunt Cora says when my mother was alive he used to laugh and talk and even sing sometimes. But now he is as silent as a tree most times, very in his own thoughts, and not at all interested in me or mine. I know that he blames me for mother’s death, even though Aunt Cora told me he does not.
Henry found me after breakfast on the front lawn where I had decided to lay and look at clouds to pass the time. It is a Saturday today, so I shall not be wrong for holidaying and not studying.
“I found some more starlings.” he informed me.
“Ugh, not more of them.” I half opened an eye and squinted up at him through the sunlight.
“Do you want to try get rid of them again?” he asked with a sly smile which I could see even through the flowers of light that were cast across my eyes.
“Henry Butcher, away with you.” I chided angrily. He chuckled a little, and then disappeared out of my view. What an astoundingly frustrating boy.
Soon after, the clouds came over and blurred into an uninspiring grey. My morning activity was officially ended, and I found that with no Aunt Cora, I was at a loss at what to do next. There was no sitting with her in the sun, no listening to her read, no walk with her down to the stream, nothing at all. Before my sorrow quite overtook me, I ran to the hay barn where no one would likely find me crying.
Collapsing on a pile of hay, I sat and let my tears fall as I mourned the loss of my greatest companion and friend. Why did Aunt Cora have to leave me?
It was to my absolute horror that I heard a cough some five minutes later. Looking up, I was even more horrified at the sight of Henry standing by the opening. I hurriedly wiped my tears from where they were currently falling down my cheeks.
“Oh, I did not see you.” I tried to make some excuse, fumbling with the pile of hay as I tried to stand back up and get away from that boy as quickly as possible.
“Here,” he bent and held out his hand, helping me to his feet. I glanced at his concerned face, wondering why I had thought the hay barn a safe crying place. Of course he would come here, of course he would find me. “You might need this.” he spoke again, this time holding out a handkerchief. I paused, not sure whether I wanted to take it or not. “It’s clean, promise.”
I carefully took it from his hand, our fingers brushing before I lifted it to my eyes and wiped the remainder of tears from their place.
“It’s going to be awfully quiet without Miss Cora about.” he stated what I’d been thinking all afternoon.
“Yes,” I managed, gathering myself again.
“But then it’ll be over and she’ll be home again.” he carried on, “But awfully quiet while she’s gone.”
“Yes.” was all my petrified brain could muster. Then he left me with his handkerchief to walk around the side of the entrance and away.
This encounter with Henry was a rather shocking one. It is the first time I have seen him as a very nice person, and not some irritating boy who likes to annoy me at every chance. Today he was so considerate and kind I do not know what to think…and now I have his handkerchief. I must clean it and give it back at once. I feel rather taken aback.
My final thought for the day is that my Aunt’s trip away seems only to confirm my aforesaid statements about my life here, and how I can never seem to get away, and get out. How on earth shall I accomplish such a thing with my darling aunt away?
Your’s truly,
Lena Digby