letters on the wind
She waited anxiously all day to see if he’d written back. Throughout the day, she made any number of excuses to escape to her room to check and see if a response arrived. She really wasn’t sure why she felt so disappointed when by the end of her day, there still wasn’t any word from him. It was more than likely that he was still at work. After all, the season changing from fall to winter was an incredibly busy time for the sweeps. He would reply when he had the chance to. She hoped.
It wouldn’t do to dwell on it though. That much she knew. So Mary let her hair down for the night, crawled into bed, and did her best to ignore the comments Reginald made from his corner. As she drifted off to sleep, she knew he was right. It mattered to her what Bert thought and nothing was the same now that they were cross with one another.
The next morning as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, Mary noticed something sitting on her desk that hadn’t been there when she went to bed. Suddenly wide awake, she all but jumped out of bed towards the desk. She scanned the letter quickly while she dressed for the day.
‘ Dear Mary ’
She smiled and wondered for a moment what it might be like to hear him saying those words. The thought was brief and as she read on, she forgot she’d even had it. His letter was even less informative than hers had been, but perhaps she had that coming. No matter how short, it still didn’t fail to make her smile. A real smile. The kind that made the corners of a person’s eyes wrinkle slightly.
In her mind, she was already formulating her reply. Before she even had a chance to take a seat at the desk, however, the baby in the next room began to wail. This set off a chain of incredibly busy days and it was nearly a week later that she was actually able to sit down and put her thoughts to paper.
This time, she didn’t hesitate when she neatly penned the words Dear Bert across the first line.
I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to write back, Bert. The morning I saw your letter started a string of days crazier than any mayhem witnessed by a park keeper. Gratefully, things have calmed since. I think in addition to things calming down, the winds are preparing to change…
She hoped, though she wasn’t about to admit, that the winds might take her back to London. Back home. ( Back to him. )
It’s true I know how the winter goes for you and the sweeps. But I also know you, Herbert Alfred. And your track record with winter wear is not what I know you think it is. Please, if for no one else then for me, make sure to at least make it out of the house with a coat.
Was it obvious that she cared about him? About his well-being?
I don’t know when I’ll be coming back to London. Hopefully soon. If not, I will try to be better about writing, though I’m afraid I can’t make any promises given how.. unpredictable my job can be.
She wanted to say something about the way they left things. But it would open an entire can of worms she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.
Know that I miss it. London is my home and you’re the closest friend I have. I’ll try to come home soon.
She signed it ‘ Mary ’ and sent it off without putting it in an envelope before she had a chance to think about the last two sentences of the letter. And before she had a chance to panic at what she said, the baby started to cry again.
Mary’s next letter came with the winter. By the time Bert arrived home that night, there was a good six inches blanketing all of London. He had spent the better part of the day clearing walkways and knocking snow from awnings or roofs rather than his intended job for the day. But it was no matte, and work all the same. Work which left him satisfied, yet exhausted by the days end.
Not expecting to see a letter from Mary any time soon, the weary sweep went about his evening as planned. A hot soak to melt the chill that had settled in his entire body. A bowl of soup for supper, followed by a cup of tea and the newspaper he hadn’t had the time to read that morning.
It wasn’t until he was prying himself off of the couch to go to bed that he even saw the letter propped against his breakfast dishes from this morning, left on the table as he scrambled to get out of the door that morning.
Bert slid over to the table and picked up the letter, holding it carefully, though for what reason he wasn’t quite sure. It wasn’t as though it was fragile in any way. The man pulled out the chair beside him and sat down. He contemplated adjusting the lamps to see better, but that required more effort than he was willing to put out at the moment. His eyes would adjust. Sliding a finger under the closed, folded back of the envelope, he retrieved the small contents therein. A single small slip of paper, folded in half, but he was still overjoyed to receive it. She wrote with bold strokes and better penmanship than he could ever manage, and it made it quite easy to read in the dim orange light his flat provided. Mary was well, of course, though apparently incredibly busy. He knew that she preferred that over inescapably bored, so he was sure she was happy. And, as far as he could tell, still in Austria. he mentioned the winds changing, but he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her, so if they had changed, (and they might have done, as this was last week at least) she certainly wasn’t brought home.
He thought about replying straight away, but the man was so exhausted, anything he put to paper would likely be an incomplete thought, an unintelligible mess, and so he put it off for the morning. The metal legs of the chair scraped against the wooden floor as he stood, followed by the shuffling of his slippers against the ground as he made his way to bed, hoping he could find something interesting to write about in his sleep.
The next morning, the snow was worse. Having continued through the night, the entire street was left buried, cars and trees only half visible. Never mind doorways, most were blocked in and he could only imagine what his neighbors were dealing with in trying to escape their homes. shortly after waking, he received a call telling him to stay home from work, and he gratefully agreed. It wouldn’t keep him inside, not when there was so much to dig out, but it was a better thing than a commute into the city, and climbing roofs all day.
He bundled up and downed a cup of coffee quickly, almost heading out the door before he remembered the letter sitting open on the table. He grabbed a pencil and paper and without even sitting, scribbled a reply.
“Snowed like a fiend all night. Worse than that time we built an igloo city in my front yard, d’ you remember? Hopin’ yer doin’ well, and not stuck in th’ ‘ouse like all the neighbours are. No work today, goin’ to dig out the Adam’s an’ Mrs. Mulaney’s walkways.
Talk to you soon.” He finished, looking over his letter briefly before scanning over hers one last time. He smirked when his eyes fell on her comment about him never properly bundling up. She always scolded him for it, but then again, he never wore more than a coat and scarf most days, so he deserved it.
“P.S. don’t worry, I have my scarf.” Bert folded the paper and penciled Mary’s name across it before making for the door, leaving the letter exactly where it was. He knew it would be gone by the time he got back.
