Heather of the Moors

Her name was Heather, like the heather that was scattered endlessly across the beautiful moors.

The moors of Dartmoor called to Heather, both in her waking hours and her dreams. Each night they beckoned as she slept in the comfortable bed that had once belonged to her parents. And each morning as she awoke, the smell of heather and a fine mist seemed to permeate throughout the room, although she knew well enough that it was merely the remnants of her dreams that lingered so.

Born in the year of 1908, Heather had been named for the lovely, flowering plant that grew upon the beautiful and haunting moors of Dartmoor, and as a result, she longed always to be near them even though she was now forty-eight years of age. The moors were a part of her, and she, a part of them. It was as if they were conjoined, co-existing. Their beauty filled her with a purpose and determination, and her heart was most at peace when she was near them.

This early September day, she was packing the same thing she packed every Saturday. Inside the old wicker basket, she carefully placed a small blanket, a book, an egg sandwich, two wine glasses, and of course, a lovely bottle of French wine. Although she took the trip to the moors alone, she always packed the spare glass in case anyone came along in need of refreshment.

Despite the temperature of nearly 21°C, Heather pulled a knitted sweater from where it hung upon a hook near the door and exited the stone cottage. Sometimes it became quite chilly as she lingered in the afternoons, reluctant to leave as she read. Pausing at the edge of the cottage, she pulled a pear from the blooming pear tree that grew just outside her bedroom window. She smelled of its sweetness before she added it to her basket’s contents.

The walk was a goodly distance, so it was a short while before she cleared the moor’s crest, inhaling of the pink and lavender colored heather that filled its' lush greenery. It was a wild and perfect arrangement of nature painted upon the moors. She always thought to herself that no artist could truly capture the actual beauty. She knew this to be undeniably true because the moors’ beauty was something one inherently felt in addition to what one saw.

Placing the blanket on the ground, she carefully unpacked the basket. Choosing to partake of the wine before eating, she pulled the cork from the bottle and poured herself a glass. Immediately and despite the overwhelming, earthy scent of the heather, she could smell the blackcurrant and black cherries infused in the wine. As she tasted of its rich, velvety sweetness, she sighed, enjoying the sensuous warmth that invaded her body. Picking up the book, she read several chapters before pausing to eat a bit of food.

As she finished the sandwich and continued to sip the wine, he appeared in the distance just as he always did each time she came to the moors. She lifted her hand to wave at him in greeting, and he responded with a slight nod of his head, never venturing any closer. From what she could make out about him despite the distance, he was tall and slender with dark, wind-tousled hair, and he always wore riding breeches and boots along with a jacket that she imagined was a woolen, hounds tooth one. He carried a riding crop even though he had no horse. He made an attractive figure, at least from afar, and she wished that he would draw closer and introduce himself. After all, they were almost friends as they had seen each other on the moors nearly every weekend for over a year now. She watched as he disappeared over the crest of the moor. There would be no introductions today despite the desire for such.

A bit later and after finishing the glass of wine, she placed her book on the blanket and stretched to lie down beside it. Her dreams had been particularly intrusive the previous night, and she had tossed and turned, not sleeping well. Yawning, it was not long before her body relaxed. Lulled to sleep by the wine, the wind, and the redstart birds flitting across the skies above, she slept for a long while.

“Miss. Are you unwell?” a deep voice invaded her afternoon slumber.

Heather reluctantly stirred and opened her eyes. Her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise as she realized he was kneeling over her, obvious concern etched across his handsome face.

Quickly she lifted herself up and replied. “Oh, my goodness. I am perfectly fine. I am so sorry that I gave you a fright.” She did not realize the lovely picture she made with her red hair loosening from the bun at the nape of her neck and in charming disarray as it fell about her shoulders. Her cheeks, slightly reddened by the wind and sun, were flushed a soft, pink hue.

He leaned back on his haunches and smiled at her. It was a beautiful smile. “I’m so glad,” he said, the thickness of his accent marking his words. Without a doubt, the timbre of his voice was both alluring and melodic. Was she still asleep and dreaming? If so, she hoped she would not awaken for a while.

The dawning awareness of embarrassment flooded her, making her cheeks a brighter shade of pink. “I’m so sorry. I am fine – I promise,” she managed a smile in response to his as she straightened where she sat.

“Aye, I can see that you are,” he said with a touch of humor in his green eyes that were the color of the sea. She thought to herself that she’d enjoy finding what secrets lurked therein, and her cheeks grew pinker still at the thought.

Heather hurriedly pulled the extra wine glass from the basket. “Where are my manners? Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked.

“Most certainly. Thank you,” he said and settled down to take a seat beside her. “Tis a most lovely day for a picnic, is it not?”

Heather nodded and shyly looked up at him through thick lashes as she poured the wine. Thank heavens she’d packed the extra glass.

He graciously accepted the offered drink as he said, “My name is Colin. It’s nice to meet you, although I feel as though we’re already acquainted.”

Heather settled into her spot on the blanket, grasping her glass. She smiled at him, a lovely smile, nearly as intoxicating as the fruity scent of the wine. She was more than delighted to at long last meet the stranger whom she’d only previously admired from afar.

“My name is Heather,” she told him.

“Indeed? Heather, as in the beautiful heather that grows all about us on the moors? How enchanting.”

Her smile grew as she sipped her wine. She noticed that his clothing was not something that the average gentleman would wear; it was dated, but somehow, it suited him quite well. She thought that he must wear the old clothing on his walks in case he dirtied it beyond repair.

Heather eyed the riding crop. “Have you lost your horse, Colin?” she asked.

“Aye, but I’m sure she’s awaiting my arrival back at the stable. She’s a bit of a spirited, strong-minded one.”

Heather immediately wondered where he lived – she’d never really thought about it before. He must live nearby, but she wouldn’t ask such things of him now.

Colin sipped his wine, his green gaze rarely leaving Heather. She was keenly aware of his regard, and where she’d thought the wine had warmed her before, she now knew that this man’s gaze held much more intensity and warmth. Indeed, he was akin to a full bottle of the luscious French wine, invading her senses and making her acutely aware of all things.

The two continued to chat although a calming silence settled between them, and they found a peace in each other’s companionship with little need to speak. As the afternoon passed, they drank the entire bottle of wine, and Heather found herself laughing more than she had in the long, preceding months following her mother’s death. There was a vitality that seemed to emanate from Colin, and she was fast growing accustomed to it.

“As much as I don’t want to, I’m afraid I have to be going,” he said much later.

“Of course,” Heather said, though reluctant for their interlude to end. “Will I see you again?” she asked.

“That, my dear, is entirely up to you,” Colin smiled and replied.

Heather gave him a perplexed look. “I’m not sure what you mean. I’m confused.”

“Aye, but you will know soon enough,” he said as he rose. Her green gaze intensified as he tipped his hat and added, “Next weekend, if not before, my sweet Heather just like the flower.”

Heather shivered as her mind searched for words. A chill went down her spine even though the temperature had not yet dropped enough to put one in the air. What on earth could he mean she would know soon enough? And that it was entirely up to her?

Confusion and surprise were clearly reflected on her face, but she finally regained a measure of composure and spoke, her voice only above a whisper in the afternoon breeze. “Well, if it’s to be my choice, we will assuredly meet again, Colin. I shall eagerly await next Saturday. Until then.”

Colin’s smile broadened, and he winked at her. “Aye, sweet Heather. Until then, I’ll see you in your dreams, my sweet,” he said as he stood and picked up his riding crop.

Heather watched as Colin walked away, surprised by his mention of her dreams. She watched as he turned to glance back at her every few steps, as if he, too, did not wish to leave. Eventually, as he neared the spot where he had always stood from afar, his visage slowly grew more faint until he disappeared completely before  reaching the crest of the moor.

What had just happened? Where had he gone? It was as if he had vanished into thin air and no longer existed. Was he a ghostly apparition or the manifestation of something her heart desired? Was he some figment of a dream and not real?

Her heart beat rapidly and her mind raced while she repacked her basket and folded the blanket as she prepared to return home. Had she beckoned this handsome, kind man to fill her lonely days upon the moors? If so, she was not sorry. Indeed, she was pleased beyond measure and only wondered why it had taken so long for him to appear. Her heart told her that either way, he had been all too real, at least to her. Slowly she headed home, a lovely blush upon her face.

Stopping as she neared the moor’s edge, she picked several stalks of the earthy smelling heather. They would make a beautiful addition to the antique vase beside her bed. And each time she looked at it, she would see Colin’s face and feel the intensity in his green eyes. It would seem like an eternity before next Saturday, but she knew she would assuredly see him again. She felt it in her soul just as she felt the life and breath of the moors. Indeed, she already knew that he, like her, was a part of the moors she so loved.

It would be a long while until the following weekend, but she would wait patiently. The arms of Morpheus had never been so appealing before, and tonight she could not wait to look for Colin in the midst of her dreams.