Whispers

“Whispers”

By Carol Ann Keefer

             The lake lap as it caresses the shore and her hair danced in the warm breeze. In the distance, a house surrounded by an assortment of trees giving rise to an illusion of an island. There Isabella lives, or shall I say more like a prisoner, locked in a room whose windows face the forbidden lake. Gone is her innocence, strip away, like weathered stones that make up the mountains that protruded against the horizon.  Isabella strains to see the outline of the hills, another reminder of long-gone days, whispers of voices taunt,  her now feeble mind.

             “Morning, Sir, “ with a curtsey, the maid vanishes, leaving behind a silver tray, atop a teapot, two porcelain cups. Stiffly, William leans over and pours a cup of tea, taking in its amora, gingerly takes a sip.  Age it seems had finally caught up with William, gone are the days of his youth, left are but little reminders of yesterdays.  Sipping tea, he watches, waits for a sign, a movement from underneath the covers, something move,  was there? Or merely the breeze. Birds were calling in the distance, swooping down from the clear blue skies to the lake. A once joyous time as William laying on a blanket, straw basket full of delicious surprises, with Isabella lying beside him. 

             “Sir?’ the maid is interrupting his dream, “Yes.” Sitting down his cup,

                            “Please pardon, me, sir, but you’ ens, have a visitor down in the parlor.”

             “A visitor, you say?’- “Yes, sir,” closing the door behind her.

             William, takes another sip, a long drawn out moan causing him to glance over to the bed, pressed close to the window. Was it?” He held his breath and waited. 

             “Sir, pardon, but you’ ens  guest is waiting.” – “I know.” -- “But”- “But nothing, be gone.”

             In the quietness came an echo as the wood creaks with each critical step down the narrow stairs, like a descending bridge joining two separate worlds together. There in the dim candlelight, a silhouette emerged out the corner, a small form, yet appearing familiar to William's weak eyes.

                            “Morning,  Uncle,” a child-like voice utter, standing only five feet tall, Penelope, stood her ground.

             “To what do we own such a pleasure, dear child? His dressing gown ruffles across the hardwood floor, sitting down on his throne.

                            “I just stop by on me way home,” nervously twisting her golden curls.

“Home, you say?” - “Yes, home?’ – “Wel, now, that is interesting,” stroking his thinly gray beard. 

Twelve bongs rang out in the parlor, startled Penelope, as Williams tightly lips form a curious smile. “Now, child, don’t be frightened, it’s what we fondly call Big Ben.” – “Oh, me see.”

“Come, child, you should remember Big Ben from your stay here.”

             “Yes, Uncle, it’s just that me have forgotten how loud it is “

“Let us see, child, you mention that you came for a visit?” 

             “Yes, Sir. Me comes to see” - “See whom, dear?” “To see.” “My dear Isabella, perhaps?’ – “Yes, sir,” Penelope whispered.

“I regret to say that she is not to be disturbed.” Tapping his pipe against the desk, “So you see, child, that we aren’t up to any visitors, nor, relations.”

             “Yes, Uncle, me’s  was hoping to give her a message.” – “A message?”

“Yes, from mother.” “Well, child, you can simply tell my dearest sister that it will not be at all possible for Isabella to receive her message.”

             “Bye, Uncle” – “Good day, child.”

             Penelope carefully follows the path through the trees. Passing by the lake, she notices a small, thinly shape standing on the edge of the shore. Almost a ghosty appearance, then it was gone. Dismissing her experience as she continues down the road to her parents' neat and tidy home just down the valley, an almost duplicate of her Uncles’ house. 

             “Sir?” - “Yes?” – “Will you’ en  be wishing  afternoon tea upstairs?”

                            “No, I think to have it out on the balcony.” – “Methinks it a good idea, sir.”

             Doors open wide, allowing the warm breeze to descend across the worn-out floors, a breath of fresh air to a stale room, boarded up for too long. Silhouettes dance in the light ghostly shapes of long-gone days, music plays in the faint distance. Forgotten times that faded in the memory of those who call this place home. Those memories are calling out from the deep silence.

Flowers bloom in the garden with a faint sweet smell adding a touch of sadness into a stone-cold heart that beat inside William,s chest.   Narrow eyes watch with anticipation of seeing a familiar figure, what’s that?—a light-hearted little chuckle whispering among the trees. Stiffly, Williams gets up, a wooden stick guides every tormented step, following the direction where the musical sound was illuminating. There who’s that, can it be? A quick blink, and then, “Who are you, my dear child?”

                            “Me name is,” the wee child giggled, tiny footsteps echoing across the cobblestone.

             “Now, child “ watchful narrow eyes on the child's’ every step

                            “You’s can’t catch me,” playing cat and mouse game among the shrubbery.

     “ Child!, come here at once.” – “Yess?” - “What is your name, child?”

                            “Me’s name is” - “Is what, child?” - “You’s know.”

             “Now, listen to me, child. I do not know your name. “ – “Me’s name is Bella.”

                            “Bella?” - “Yes’s B-e-l-l-a” 

             “No” escape from his thin lips, like a slow air leak; “No, my child, you can not be Bella.”

 “Pardon, me, sir.” Placing a silver tray with a teapot, two identical cups, and an added favorite, Turkish delights on the wrought iron table. The maid, drawn back into the house as quickly as she escaped from its clutches. Faint whispers faded into the background, overtaken by the cries of the birds flying against the cloudless sky. Willams's attention pulled away from the child, and in an instant, Bella is no more. Dismay from his encounter, he askes. “ Ma, am, did you see that wee child that was just here a few minutes ago?” 

             “Pardon, sir, what did you’ens say?” - “ I said, do you or did you not see the small child?”

                            “No, sir.” – “You mean to tell me that your eyesight is worst than mine?”

             “Sir, me’s didn’t mean any disrespect; me’s don’t see a child,” wiping her hands on the crisp starch apron. - “Very well, then, take your leave.”

William's weight is barley a feather, upon the old wrought iron chair. Suddenly there came a sweet amora, engulfing his weary body as his eyes started to flutter for a brief moment, the music of laughter drifting in his ears. A rhythmic ticking of a clock pulls him back to a place of innocence. Memories of long-ago days, a child comes bouncing up into his arms, snuggling her face into his chest. Love spills over as laughter, carried into the home. Joyous times for William and Isabella, young and in love, as they cherish their sweet little girl, Bella.

             Out of his dream,  with reality chasing away those tattered memories, his narrow eyes searching once more for that child who brought back painful feelings that he had hidden. Gone are they now, no need to remember, gingerly sipping his tea. “ Humbug,” chewing a Turkish delight, pure and simple ‘Humbug!

             Upstairs a stirring sound is muffled within the four walls of a darkened, dank room, through a tiny slit, light seeps through with the creaking of the door. Within a few quicken steps carefully placed the drapes, flung open, blinding the eyes of a mere shell of a human being.  Pouring a glass of cold water, the maid lifts it towards the dry cracking lips of Isabella.

             “ Ms. Isabella,  try,’ as she gently coaches Isabella to open her tightly closed mouth.  “ I will,” Isabella coughs.  A few drops of water trickle down Isabella’s throat, begging for more cold water, it was a slow process, giving time to swallow, in between, Isabella takes long shallow breathes.  Dauntless, task, one that the maid had hoped to accomplish before William had a chance to intervene. 

             “What are you doing?” rushing by Isabella’s side, bringing to a halt what the maid was doing.           “Me’s sorry, sir,  me…” – “You thought what?” – “Methinks  to give a cold drink to Ms’s.”

             “Dear, I, um..” – “You what dear?” -- “I am sorry.” Isabella becomes despondent as she lowered her eyes.

                            “There you see ma’ma, Look what you had done.” –“Me’s done nothing wrong!” sitting the glass on the table, shambling across the floor, with one pull the door echos in the hallway. Dust settles as William brushing Isabella’s gray strands, to see her pale green eyes. “Dear, please do not tire yourself further” “But i..”-- “Now, my dear, who takes care of you?” – “You do, William,”... --“ Yes, and who better to know what you need or want?”

             Lifting the glass to her lips, she takes a few more sips, causing her to start coughing, with a faint wave, her husband stops and waits, tap, tap on the floor, which made Isabella reluctant for excepting any more water. Wiliam, stiffly, walks over to a small table and chairs off towards the other side of the room, waiting to see what she will do or say next.  A lite tap on the door, as the maid brings in two bowls of potato soup, setting down the tray, with the other bowl in hand, she starts feeding her mistress. Slowly, Isabella swallows the soup, waving her hand, taking the dish, placing it back on the tray.

                            Night falls Isabella nestles down for sleep, William leaves the one lantern lite, as his dressing grown ruffles across the floor, closing the door lightly behind him. His anticipations are dash into pieces once more as he aimlessly wanders within his four walls, Distant memories play taunting dreams, as the face of that child that he saw early laughs in the background. “Humbug!” his hoarse voice screams, “Humbug!” Words that bounce off from his darkroom. An endless cycle, one he has been playing for these many years, life had become dull and lifeless. The only glimmer of hope is nothing more than an illusion, that like his poor Isabella.

             Drapes, thrown open, window push up to let in the fresh air of autumn, humming a little ditty, shambling across the hardwood floor, the maid gently nudges, Isabella from sleep. 

             “Times  to get up, Ms.” -- “What time is it?”  “It’s wee in the  morning and time for you’ ens  to get out of bed” – “But I…” “I know Ms, but, you’ ens, sleeping for too long now, and the Mr. is still sleeping, methinks you’ ens need to get out of bed..” – “ Thought what?” – “Mes  just thinks you’ ens get a bath.” –“But where is my medicine?” –“No’s worrying about medicine any longer, Ms., it’s only made you’ ens weary.”

             With her arm underneath Isabella’s right arm, her feet touch the cold floor. Ms. Charoltte guides her to the tub, where fresh warm water was waiting for Isabella. Gingerly, Isabella sits in the bathtub, and the water caresses her fail body. The tension lifted, giving way to sensations that Isabella had forgotten. With a few quick deeps breathes, Isabella started to feel alive, as she had never felt before all these many years. Once cobwebs were clouding, her feeble mind, replaced with wonderment and joy. 

             “Ms, your breakfast is served” Ms. Charoltte places a silver tray with an array of fruits, teapot, and one cup.  Refresh, wearing a light blue dress, rose-colored slippers; Isabella takes the chair next to where her husband William used to sit. Manners Isabella, manners, her mother would always say, with Isabella’s napkin neatly placed on her lap, she takes a bite of strawberry.  “Thank you, Ms. Charottle.”—“You’ens welcome, Ms. Isabella.”

             “Excuse me, Ms. Charottle, but where is my husband?” – “Oh, I’s sorry, Ms, he caught the fever as you did.” -- “He’s ill, then?” – “Yes, ma’ ma.”  The maid, Charlotte, saunter across the floor, descending the narrow steps towards the kitchen. Giving thought about her poor husband, Isabella felt liberated. Slowly the cobwebs of confusion were being swept away, and new freedom inch its way, giving rise to forgotten hope. 

             “Ms. Isabella, you’ ens have a visitor.”—“A visitor?” – “ Yes, ma’ ma.”

             Brushing aside an ignoring silver strand of hair, Isabella gracefully goes down to meet her guest. Her heart leaps with joy as they warmly embrace,

             “My dearest sister, Martha, to what do I own such a pleasure?” as they hugged once more,  enjoying each other.

             “Please, please, my dearest, Martha, let us go out into the balcony and take in some fresh air.”  Arm in arm, like two schoolgirls,  they walk out to the iron-wrought table and its two sturdy chairs.  Basking in the warm autumn air relishing each minute that they have together.

             “Martha, my dear..” -- “Isabella, it’s been too long.--.” “Martha, how are you?..”—“I have been..” – “It’s good to see you, my dear..” – “Sister..,” they chuckled. “No, no,…”- “You begin, Martha.”

             Ms. Charoltte places a silver tray atop with fresh lemonade, Turkish delight, two crystal glasses, politely giving them a chance to by themselves. It’s been too long, Charlotte whispers, straightening up the drawing-room getting ready for more guests when the time arises.   Taking their time, soaking in the rays from the sun, sipping on the lemonade, Isabella relented about how much she regretted about being sick for so long, “Hush, dear,” Martha whispers.  Tears fell, down Isabella’s soft pale skin, a softness that Martha had never notice before, this was not the sister that Martha had known.  Isabella is much quieter, and she seems much failer, now that Martha, with steady eyes, can finally see.  

             “Isabella, are you feeling well? Martha, taking a closer look at Isabella’s face, when did she look old?’ – “Yes, my dear little sister, I am fine,” dapping the corner of her mouth. “Well, dear older sister, I am excited to see you again, it has been way too long.”  Ticking of the clock, a reminder just how quickly time passes, for the two sisters, it was as if the years are peeling away, revealing that love between sisters that expands through time. Chatting away, like sisters usually do, no emergencies, or worries, just picking up from where they had just left off, pressing onward from one topic to another.

             “Martha, do you remember the time when….” – “Now, Isabella, don’t go on ruining our fun by bringing up something terrible.” – “Martha, I was just wondering..” – “ Isabella, that was a long time ago.” Words fell silent, for neither of them wanted to talk about the lake and what happened there so long ago,   Isabella finds herself once again  focusing on the lake, as the waters caress the shore, in the distance, she hears a child whispering, calling her name “Isabella.”

The End