Inspired by stories and poetry speaking on the plight of sailor’s wives…
May 3rd, 1871
You did not return to me.
I am beside myself in worry. I have paced the shore and cliffs this day and more. No ship or light have I seen. No word or rumor have I heard. Why for do you tarry? When hither will you come? Do not tempt the feckless seas!
This day has wrought freely upon my brow all the mischief a lonely heart may inflict. The agonizing solitude of your absence these many months has carved my being hollow. I have seen to the house. I have maintained our affairs. Our gardens are alive with beauty that only serves to mock the desert in my soul. On occasion when in town, I present the happy congenial lie. Yet when I chance upon a window or looking glass I am arrested in dismay. Those eyes. My eyes. There is but little life or light. And they are an appropriate shade of blue.
Fear not, my love, this splash of pain and pity. Like you, I too am strong and steady in a gale, though mine be naught but the howling keening winds of an aching solitude. We are, you and I, of necessity, prisoners apart: you in your ship, borne away amidst mountainous thundering seas, and I “marooned” alone on a sad and distant shore. But in this flickering guttering candle light I feel mine is the harsher penance. I have no ship to sail or seas to fight. I can only stand and wait, peering into the darkness, fearing what I’ll see. Hurry love, hurry home to me.