Champagne-coloured Farewell

I could no longer breathe. Still, my legs kept chasing the lengthiest goodbye my sunken heart had ever encountered. Was I to smile, to scream, or to cry as my love reciprocated the symbolic hand gesture? As fast as I ran, the train was much faster. The desperation resonating through my heels and the clunking of the rails submerged my last whisper.

“I love you”.

Nevertheless, amid the crowded station, the outline of my unheard words were captured and understood. The man I hoped to see again gently pressed his hand atop the buttoned pleated pocket of his uniform, where the heart lies. My legs ceased to move and I simply stood there, staring until the train appeared to be only but an ink stain in the barren distance. My thoughts halted. The surrounding cries were muted. The pounding in my chest and the ringing in my ears only amplified as a sudden wave of fear overcame my body. A warm stream of tears gently caressed my rosy cheeks only to be dried by the blinding sun, and although it happened to be the hottest day of the summer yet, goosebumps invaded the surface of my skin.

The minutes that followed felt hollow until I heard a man’s voice.

“Ladies and folks, prepare for the next battalion to embark here at the Windsor Station. Train departure is set for the 14^th hour”.

I journeyed back to reality and subsequently loosened the gripping on the champagne-coloured envelope that laid between my clenched fingers. Signed Your Future Husband, he had made sure to hand it only seconds prior to his courageous embarkation. I chuckled to the undersigned, but it was my nerves. The last few moments had made me feel as if barricaded in a haunting dream where emotions are constantly circling, lost in a maze.

“Future wife”, I thought to myself, letting a faint smile escape from above my freckled chin.

Indeed, if my darling had not needed to leave home for the Great War and battle on the lands of violent confrontations, we were to be wedded tomorrow – a day I had longed since our first encounter. War began less than a year ago and many a man had come and gone since. Arthur and I knew the dangers of war, and had learned of the descriptive bloodshed imagery provided by historical agendas. Such enlightened the outrageous absurdity of political matters. Still, my love felt the urge to accompany his brothers along the cratered battlefields for means of employment.

I sighed. Although I knew I needed to exit the station, an unavoidable pressure settled within my mid-gut. Anticipating walking into an empty home leaves one feeling uneasy amidst the unknown of the future. I glared once more at the distorted patches of land residing on the outlying horizons before making my way. Despite the tumbling senses in my body, one could not ignore the beauty in the village on that particular day. I recall greeting familiar faces; I could hear the birds chirping just as much as I could hear the bees humming, and the bridges crossed led way to melodies of serene cascades upstream.

It had been quite some time since our farewells at the Windsor station. Although they were not numerous, each time I opened one of his letters I hoped there would be mention of his return. Alas, it seemed the war was dragging on longer than anyone could have imagined. Policies of conscription were being debated as numbers of survivors plummeted. More men were needed on the front lines. In the midst of casualties and forceful debates, I grew to appreciate. Indeed, each time I received a letter I held it close to my heart and thanked the Lord for his blissful protection.

That is, until April. It had been almost three months since his last written words. I supposed it was a result of his new assignment. I told myself I needn’t worry as it would only cause me distress – a concern for my health, my mother stated. I still remember arriving home from the store. I had ran into some old friends who, like me, had plenty to tell.  I felt delighted and rushed home to grab a pen and paper to let my darling know of the news and stories that were shared. Before I could sit down, I heard a knock at the door. “Who could that be?” I thought to myself. I opened the door only to wish I never had. Two men dressed in uniform were standing on my doorstep. My limbs went numb and I fell to the floor, letting out a heart shattering cry. The men apologized for my loss, commended my fiancé-to-be for his service and handed me an envelope containing what I assumed to be his last written words.

The envelope sat on the table and remained untouched. Each time I would attempt to reach for it I was reminded of that champagne colour. On the day of his departure, Arthur had handed me a symbol of the love we shared. The letter enclosed in the envelope contained his heartfelt vows. Although we had not gotten the chance to wed as we had hoped, he finalized his letter by promising it would be the first thing we did upon his arrival. I kept that letter and would read it aloud every night before bed. It gave me strength and courage in navigating life’s new challenges; almost as if the man I loved was nearby, holding my hand.

This new letter, I thought, was destructive whether I opened it or not. It symbolized a tragedy and as such, needed to be kept away from sight. I placed it in a drawer and told myself I would know when the day should come, that I should open it. That day came years later on a rainy summer afternoon. One could hear the laughter of children outside, playing in the puddles of water. I delicately opened the envelope, only to find pages with different handwriting. I gasped.

His last words to me were those professing his love for another woman – a military nurse. Her writing was that of his death. My Arthur died in the arms of a newfound love. A storm of confusion and mismatched emotions imploded within my body. Does one deem to remember a man as he used to love her or as the man who betrayed her undyingly truthful soul? Was I to sense anger for my darling’s rejection? Or was I to feel a sense of relief knowing that God possessed the power to mark the last breath of a man in the arms of love among war?

I think now, I must love the man in all of his madness. After all, he gifted me his child.