The Letters in the Hollow

Dear Stranger,                                                                                                                      

April 14^th 1903

I found your letter, rather strangely I might admit, tucked inside the hollow of a tall maple by the pond. You know the one? I suppose you must for that is where I found your letter. It sits on the small rise above the bank, with low branches great for climbing. 

The letter felt important, though unaddressed. The precise creases and careful handwriting told a bigger story than the words themselves.

I don’t know what made me feel the urge to write you back, maybe your letter was only for you. A private venting of one’s thoughts. But I couldn’t fight that urge and who’s to say it wasn’t fate I came back to the park that day, only to see the slightly yellowed tip of your envelope peeking out, from the hollow’s depths. 

If anything, I’m glad I did happen to come upon it. What you said, in your letter I mean, deeply resonated with me. Your words echoed feelings I'd long kept hidden, a shared understanding I hadn't thought possible. I find myself wondering, if perhaps we are not so different after all. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, even if only with a single tree. 

 I've placed this reply back in the hollow, hoping it finds its way to you. 

Sincerely,

E.C.T.

Dear E.C.T.,                                                                                                                         April 16^th 1903

To be honest, when I went to the park this afternoon, right to the maple you described so clearly, I felt anyone who had never seen the beloved tree would have been able to picture it, I was quite shocked. 

I was quite taken aback at first, because I’d written that letter over two weeks earlier and thought nothing of it. I’d never expected anyone to reply, although I’m rather glad you did. 

I’ve always found solace in that park, and that tree in particular. It feels as if it has been a silent witness to many of my thoughts. To find that someone else found a piece of myself hidden within it, is a very strange, yet wonderful feeling. 

I suppose you’re wondering who I am, as I am wondering about you. I will say that I often visit this park, and feel I will now be visiting it much more in hope and anticipation of a responding letter. 

I have guesses to what your name might be, Elizabeth? Or perhaps Elleanor? That is, assuming you’re a woman and not a man in which case I’d be very mistaken, and sorry. My own name is Nathaniel Bennett, a rather long name I know, but you may call me Nate if it suits you. Most people do. 

And now, I must ask. For the strain of curiosity is now, I’m afraid too much to bear.

What drew you to open my letter? Was it curiosity? Or something more?

I eagerly await your reply and hope that our correspondence continues to echo within the hollow of the maple.

Sincerely,

Nate.

 Dear Nate,                                                                                                                            April 19^th 1903

Your surprise upon finding my letter was similar to my own when I first glanced at the tall maple and my eyes settled upon the envelope peaking-out from the hollow. 

It is a pleasure to meet you, Nathaniel, or rather, Nate. I find myself quite pleased to know the name of the person behind the words, even if only through ink and paper. You needn’t apologize for the guessing of my name, though I must admit, I am indeed a woman and my full name is Emmeline Charlotte Taylor, or E.C.T. 

I find myself intrigued if not curious by your character. I wonder how old you are and what profession you pursue? I’m sorry if I seem rather bold; I find it easier to be bold on paper rather than in person. 

As for me, I am twenty-three and fill my days working at the mercantile in town five days a week and part-time at the bookstore every other Saturday.

As for your question, what drew me to open your letter? 

I suppose the excitement of it all really. Little did I know that when I came to the park that day the secrets I’d bring to light by simply glancing at the hollow where your letter lay. Simply put that tree holds many of my own secrets as well, so I feel your sense of comfort and solitude when visiting.

I am glad our correspondence continues, Nate. I find myself looking forward to your letters with an anticipation I did not expect. 

Sincerely,

Emmeline C. Taylor.

Dear Emmeline,                                                                                                                    April 23^rd 1903

It brings me great joy to finally know the name of the writer writing back to my letters. If I may be so forward, I think it to be a lovely name.

As for your question of my age and occupation; I am twenty-four and I work six days a week at the mill. The job is demanding and often hard, but I feel a sense of accomplishment after a hard day’s work, doing what I do. I know that might seem silly, but it is truly how I feel.

Even though I have yet to meet the person behind the pen, I feel like I can be completely honest with you, something I’ve experienced rarely in my life. You are a true confidant to me and I feel I can confide my feelings to you. I hope this is all not too much, but I felt I had to tell you. 

And no, I don’t think you to be too bold, I feel your question was fair as I found myself wondering about you as well. 

Today there was a new man working at the mill. His name is Thomas Edison believe it or not! Everyone asked if he was a relative to the real Thomas Edison, but he said no. I think he’ll work out just fine at the mill for he is a hard worker and we get along well.

Unfortunately, Brady Everett, is not working-out so well. He was hired on just last week and has already missed three days of work. I know Mr. Hanson, the mill-owner, feels bad for Mrs. Everett who lost her husband last year and I feel bad for them myself, but I expect if Brady continues to miss work Mr. Hanson will have no other choice but to fire him. 

How is your work at the mercantile? Are there any interesting characters or challenges you face while working?

I look forward to hearing about your day and more about the writer who has captured my curiosity through her writing and similar feelings to those I’ve share before.

You’re eager pen-pal,

Nate.

Dear Nate,                                                                                                                             April 25^th 1903

I’m sorry to hear about Brady Everett. I don’t know the Everett family personally, but like you, feel for them and all they have been through. Maybe I will take Mrs. Everett a pie Sunday afternoon.

I appreciate your honesty, and am so glad you find you can trust me with these things.

As for my work at the mercantile, I don’t think it’s quite as exciting as your work at the mill. I like all of my colleagues except for one, Miss Mary. She is very hot-headed and I’m afraid ill-tempered.

Just yesterday she nearly got into an argument with one of our customers. Mrs. Johnson, the store-owner, took over and settled the affair. I sincerely hope she minds her tongue next time.

That is all, I think I have to complain about. Mary doesn’t bother me much as long as she keeps to herself and minds her own affairs.

Mrs. Johnson has me organizing a new shipment of fabrics, folding them and putting them unto their proper shelves.

After work I usually go to my room above the mercantile and often read which is a hobby of mine, I quite enjoy. If I’m not working or reading, I enjoy visiting or taking a walk in the park. 

What about you?

It’s rather crazy to me to think, what if I hadn’t come to the park that day? What if I hadn’t found your letter or I had and not bothered to respond? How different things would be. 

Now I often find myself looking forward to your words and slip away to the park whenever I can. Have you noticed the change in the air? It feels as spring is truly here, no longer a tease of what seemed just out of reach. The birds chirp harmoniously and I find it a great pleasure to spot the first few flowers sprouting out from the ground.

To me, spring is truly a lovely time. Like the light at the end of the tunnel, reminding us that the harsh, cold weather of winter is now a memory and the promise of spring is yet to unveil.

My sister and I often picked the first of the wildflowers in a small meadow near our childhood home and would eagerly bring them back to my mother. I shall always remember the loving smile on her face when we presented her with our small gift. It is truly one of my favorite memories.

Your faithful pen-pal,

Emmeline

Dear Emmeline,                                                                                                                    April 26^th 1903

That sounds like a wonderful memory. The way you described it, I can almost picture it. Two small girls laughing as they picked flowers for their beloved mother, then running to the house to deliver their prized gifts.

I’m sorry to say I don’t have very many happy memories of my childhood to recall. My father left, shortly after my younger brother Michael was born and left my mother with five small children.

Times were tough growing up, I worked hard from a young age just to provide enough so that we may have a meal to eat come supper-time. 

I suppose that’s why I feel such a sense of accomplishment after each day of work. I never had a father figure in my life, and often found myself trying to be a fatherly figure to my younger siblings. 

If anything, though, I’m thankful for it. It taught me how to work hard and appreciate what I had, even if it wasn’t much. All that to say, I find great pleasure in listening to your own childhood memories.

I must admit Emmeline, I often find myself thinking of you during the week. I wonder what you look like, what color are your eyes? 

I find myself re-reading your letters, picturing your face as I imagine your voice. I walk to the park and look around, wondering if you are near, if I have already passed you. 

I must ask, do you feel the same?

I’m sorry if sharing this made you feel uncomfortable for I have only but the best intentions in mind. I felt I needed to share this with you. 

Sincerely,

Nate.

Dear Nate,                                                                                                                             April 28^th 1903

I’m sorry to hear about your father. No one deserves to have to go through what you had to. 

Although I will agree with you on the matter of how it’s shaped who you are today. You overcame the struggle of living life without a father and are better because of it.

Many of us have the valued privilege of two parents-both a father and mother.

It shows what little do we know about the people who surround us in our day-to-day lives.

Take Mrs. Everett for example, if you hadn’t told me yourself, how long would it have been until I knew about her poor husband? I also forgot to tell you, but I took her a pie last Sunday and she was very grateful.

So, I thank you, Nate, for sharing this with me.

Though some prefer to keep hidden their past hurts, I greatly admire someone who is open and willing to share.

It shows their own similarity in their failed attempt at perfection or a perfect life. 

In a way, it shows they are a more relatable person then you may have thought.

As for your confession and question-don’t think I forgot;

My eyes are green and my hair a chestnut brown.

I’m glad you think of me for I think of you also.

I want to say, Nate, that I’ve enjoyed our friendship and appreciate your honesty to me. Even though I’m… 

I’m glad you find me as someone you can confide in and I must say I feel the same way about you. I’m sorry to say I have to go… out with a friend.

Sincerely,

Emmeline

Dear Emmeline,                                                                                                                   May 1rst, 1903

Your last letter and it’s abrupt ending has left me with a sense of unease and a longing I can scarcely describe. I find myself wondering who this “friend” is and what you meant to share but kept hidden from me. Please Emmeline, know that you can trust me with anything. I would never betray your confidence. 

I’ve spent the last few days re-reading your heartfelt letters, each word a living testament to your kindness and spirit. I find myself thinking of you always, not just as a pen-pal, but as someone…someone I deeply admire. 

I realize this may be hard to believe, being as we’ve only met through pen and paper, but through your thoughtful words I feel like I truly know you. Perhaps better than I know many who have been in my life several years.

Your stories, your thoughts, your memories, have captured my heart in a way I never thought possible.

I’ve never been one for grand declarations, but I must speak plainly. Emmeline, I think I’m falling in love with you. Not just for the words you write but for the person who writes them.

You’ve brought a ray of warm joy to my days, chasing away the cold, sullen shadows that once lingered.

I find myself thrilled with the possibility of seeing you each time I visit the park in search of one of your letters.

So, I must ask you this Emmeline with a deep longing in my heart I can only express to you now. Would you grant me the pleasure of meeting you?

I understand if this is too much too soon, but know I only have the best intentions at heart. I ask you consider this with an open mind, and I eagerly await your reply. 

It would fill me with great joy to behold the face of the writer behind the pen who has captivated my heart if only with her words. 

Sincerely,

Nate.

Dear Nate,                                                                                                                              May 4^th 1903

I want to start by apologizing. I should of never led you on the way I did and I guess part of me wasn’t ready to face the reality of life itself. 

So instead, I led you on and I’m afraid by doing so I’m only hurting you more. Let me get right to the point; Nate, I’m engaged to be married to John Williams.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I should have told you right away. Who was I, an engaged-woman, writing and leading on a man despite my best efforts, I grew to love as well.

I want you to know, I will always think of you as one of my greatest friends. Maybe in another life, who knows, but as far as I know now, we could never be. 

Sometimes marriage isn’t about true love and forever happiness. No matter how much you wish it were. 

I’m afraid I can’t write to you anymore, under the circumstances. I’m arranged to be married in August, but even so I couldn’t live with myself if I only kept leading you on. Dragging you into this make-believe fantasy I’d tried to create.

No, it’s not fair to you nor to John, because, like it or not he is my husband-to-be.

I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you. You don’t deserve any of this, Nate. 

I will always remember you, 

Emmeline.

Dearest Emmeline,                                                                                                               April 15^th 1905

Can you believe just two years ago you found my first letter in the hollow of a maple that offered us both peace and solitude? 

I know it’s been a long time since either of us wrote after, well your announcement. I want you to know I kept all of your letters and often re-read them.

Sometimes it makes me wish I could just go back. Or maybe if I’d tried harder, things could be different…

I hope you’re doing well and your happy, despite everything. 

Today I went to the park, for the first time in a while actually. I’d come back because I’d heard our beloved maple was being cut down. 

I was standing at a distance and would you believe, I saw you.

You were with a tall, rather handsome middle-aged man and turned to him with tears in your eyes as the maple landed with a final thud.

You may be wondering how I knew it was you, being as we never met face-to-face, but I’ll I can say is somewhere inside my heart, I just knew.

As soon as I saw your electric green eyes and chestnut hair half-pulled-back from your face, I knew.

I knew I was finally laying eyes on the woman of my dreams. The one who filled my thoughts at night. The one I’d longed to meet. The one I only ever wanted to call my own. 

I’m happy for you Emmeline, truly I am and I wish you the very best life.

As for me, I’ve stayed single. No one can compare to your soft way with words or knowledge of understanding you possess, in my opinion. Maybe I’ll meet the one for me someday, but I know no matter what I do, I shall always love you, Emmeline Charlotte Taylor.

You will always be the stranger I grew to love. Yours,

Nate.