My Love, My Margaret

You had never seen rain quite like this.

It smattered against the window, hard and unrelenting. The estate was old, but the windows were new. Previous storms had smashed their predecessors. 

When Alexis was only eight years old, there had been a storm, not exactly like the one tonight, but uncomfortably close. She had been cooped up inside, cranky and bored. She had stared out the window, thinking “Surely this is how I will perish”. Alexis had just discovered her older sister’s Victorian novels, and had quite taken to speaking like a fragile lady. It made her feel very sophisticated. But you can only stare dramatically out a window for so long before you die of boredom, so Alexis went searching for new entertainment. The estate was huge and she had certainly not explored all of it, those few times she’d been there. Five, to be exact. While the estate was her ancestral home, only her grandparents resided there. Alexis lived with her mother out in the city and usually, Nana and Poppop came there to visit. But since Alexis turned three years old, she had spent two weeks every summer at their place. It was only a few years ago her grandparents considered her big enough to be left to her own devices, and she hadn’t made much progress in her discoveries so far.

Alexis quite enjoyed spending time at the estate, but only when the weather was nice. It lay by the seaside and even if the water was too cold to bathe, it was still nice to play on the beach. Once, her grandfather had grabbed her by the ankles and dipped her in the chilly water and Alexis had emerged, screaming with laughter and shock. Nana had paled, then tutted, shaking her head, and produced a blanket for her cold-to-the-bone grandchild. Poppop laughed, his belly jumping with the joy of it. 

Alexis was not eight years old anymore. 

She remembered that day by the beach vividly, but the years had eroded the terror she had felt when submerged. She couldn’t swim, back then, and the salty water got into her eyes. Her laughter had been just as much relief as hysteria. For a split second, she could have sworn she saw bones on the ocean floor. 

She also remembered that rainy day, when she had gone exploring. She had pretended to be a noble maiden, trapped in a haunted house. The fantasy never got too scary, because she could hear Poppop playing his old records and she could smell Nana’s baking just a few rooms away. That suited her just fine, for today she was going to explore her grandparents’ bedroom. It was her favourite room in the whole house. She thought it resembled a queen or a king’s room, with heavy drapes, baroque furniture and a faint scent of lavender lingering. And of Nana’s powder. But the best part was Nana’s vanity. A real beauty, a relic of the 1700’s. The cherry wood was exquisitely lined with gilded, spirally patterns. Alexis traced them with her fingertip, felt every bump and turn. And then she crawled onto the pouf, turning her attention to her grandmother’s jewelry. The family had never been poor, and Nana’s collection reflected it. Gorgeous necklaces, bracelets and rings were scattered all over the board. Nana was a very cleanly woman, but apparently she wanted her gems on display. Best of all though, were the earrings. They were old-fashioned, with clasps instead of studs, so Alexis could wear them despite not having pierced ears. She had dressed up in one of Nana’s nightgowns, since they were long and silky and felt like ball gowns, and then she had gone to town with Nana’s jewelry. Necklace upon necklace, she looked at her reflection and thought she quite resembled a fairy tale princess, though in actuality she looked more like a Christmas tree. Her greedy little hands went for the rings next, but stayed suspended above Nana’s favourite. Her wedding ring. She had taken it off while she did her baking, so dough wouldn’t get stuck to it. Alexis had never gotten to play with it before. She picked it up, reverently, and caught a glimpse of an etching on the inside. “My love, my Margaret”. 

Her Nana’s name was Vera. 

Alexis was now eighteen, and it had been years since she sat foot in her grandparents’ home. Not out of ill will, but because she simply had outgrown planned summers. She had friends to visit, concerts to attend, recitals to perform. Alexis had become a cellist, and a fairly good one too. There was talk of her pursuing a full-time career, and some schools had already reached out to her. But this rainy day, she had to be at the estate, for a week ago her grandfather had died. 

Nana had passed five years before, and Poppop had never been quite the same. He had become paranoid and erratic, jumping at shadows and hearing whispers in the dark. The last few weeks, he had even wet the bed at night. It was mercy for the old man to finally die. Alexis’s mother couldn’t bear to return. She had, after all, grown up in that enormous house. Too many memories to be tainted. So Alexis had offered to go through her grandparents’ things, deal with some documents and light cleaning. The house would have to be sold, or rented out. Even with a massive inheritance, a place like this did not manage itself. With just two people living there, a lot of the rooms had been closed off and forgotten. A firm would have to come and clean properly, while Alexis only dealt with the living quarters.

In the bedroom, with the static sound of rain against glass, Alexis knelt over a worn little notebook she had found under a loose floorboard. The eight year old child inside her was positively ecstatic over the romance of it, while the adult Alexis just felt incredulous. Loose floorboards were not a thing that people used as hiding places in reality. But it had been under the bed, her mop had caught on it. Covered in cobwebs, the notebook had been the only thing there. A pressed violet was glued onto the cover. The pages were yellow with age, and under the smell of dust and years, Alexis noticed her grandma’s powder. So it was her diary. 

She shouldn’t have, but she opened it. The shame, she suppressed. Nana was long dead, she was not capable of caring about privacy. But why had she hidden the diary here? Why not in her drawers? Or her vanity? 

Poppop had never done the cleaning, had he?

Alexis flipped to a page at random, in the middle of the book. The fifth of September, 1916.

“No one can know what I said to you, this night by the sea. Or what you did to me. I will carry it with me, by my heart. I pray I will never forget how soft you were, how gentle. Kissing a cloud would feel harsher upon my lips.

I gave you the ring, not to show the world but to show you that you are forever in my thoughts. Keep it on a chain, I told you, around your slender neck and under your collar. Oh please, keep the chain long so that it will touch your heart. There is where I wish to be, always.”

The ring she had found, a decade ago. It hadn’t belonged to Nana at all. Alexis didn’t dare breathe as she flipped the page. The seventh of November, 1916.

“He has asked me to marry him. Margaret, what can I do? He is charming, and funny, and kind, but he is not you. I see his beard and imagine how it will scratch. He smokes, too, and it smells awful. How can I not compare it to your lavender perfume? He takes my hand, and I wish it was you. I will marry him, my love, but only for show. For I am already a taken woman, and you are my spouse. Carry me around your neck! The world need not know. As long as we do, everything will be okay. Wait for us, my love. In another world, everyone will know.”

The eleventh of January, 1917.

“I have not seen you for weeks. Have my letters reached you? I should not be angry with you, but I am. I never left you, not for a moment. As he courted me, I was with you, thinking of your lily lips and your rosy hands. Where have you gone, Margaret? Perhaps our secret became too much for you. He asked about you, you know. He wanted to meet the best friend of his future wife. I told him so much and so little. What you look like, how you like your tea, when you take your evening stroll along the beach. I smiled to myself as I told him, thinking of how I joined you all those months ago. But now you’ve vanished. Please, don’t make me go through this alone.”

The first of February, 1917. The last entry.

“Tonight, I am a wife. I know this ring. My love, my Margaret. What did he do to you?”