#thethatcherlegacy

[antiquatedsimmer]

Summer, 1865 Dear Diary,

The rain finally broke. After a week of thunder, today was warm and Sunny! I've taken to exploring the land when the weather allows. It's all wildflowers and tall grass here, some of it reminds me of the wheat fields we used to hide in as children. I know we’ll need to clear a space soon if we want a garden worth eating from, but for now, I like it just as it is.

I asked Cal to take a walk with me, but he insisted it was too hot. I gave him my best pout, and though he tried to play stern, I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, We compromised on a ride instead. Perhaps that was better anyway. The warm wind tangled in our hair, some conversation in and out of the breeze, and for a time, it felt like we were just sweethearts again. Not a pair of weary hearts trying to remember how to beat in rhythm.

It was a lovely ride. Truly.

But then as it so often does, my mind began to wander. What if I'm letting myself believe a beautiful lie. Could we be happy here? Entirely, honestly happy?

Maybe we are. Maybe I’ve simply gotten better at pretending.

I don’t know. There are moments of happiness and then there are the others. The way his eyes drift past me, like he’s listening for something only he can hear. I keep telling myself I’m imagining things. That it’s just the effects of his injuries or the strain of another long move.

He calls it the Itch, this pull that takes him from me. As if it’s something in his bones, restless, nameless, and hungrier than I can ever be. I keep reminding myself how the war damaged him, how he just needs more time to heal. But doubt has a way of curling up behind the ribs and making a home of itself.

We don’t speak of it, not really. We try, but trying turns to shouting and shouting turns to silence, and I don’t have the strength to climb out of that hole again. We’ve moved too many times already. I don’t want another beginning. I want a middle, and a end.

It bruises me to write it, but it's the truth. If not for Daddy's money, we wouldn’t have made it this far. And that’s a hard thing to swallow when you believe you're supposed to be in love and leading your own life, not scraping by on someone else's.

I lie awake and wonder if what he's chasing isn't a place, or dream but freedom. From me. And if that’s true… I don’t know how to keep him. Or if I should even try.

The page has several dark spots where the ink has pooled. She’s paused. A breath held too long.

This wasn’t supposed to be a sad entry. He laughed this morning. Tomorrow, I will try again.

With hope, Louisa

[antiquatedsimmer]

Brindleton, England 1865

Dearest Father,

We’ve arrived.

Brindleton welcomed us with rain, naturally. The sort that slides straight through your bonnet and carries your patience off with it. Callum swore the wheels were hexed, though I daresay it was simply mud and a little bad luck. Still, we made it. In one piece. Drenched, but intact.

The town is quiet, unnervingly so. Everything smells of pine and salt on old stone. It isn’t bustling like you'd expect in London, not by half, but there's a strange sort of comfort in that. I think he feels it too. Callum hasn't spoken much, but I saw him pause by the window this morning, just watching the sea like it owed him something. He looked… lighter. Not quite happy, no, but not haunted either.

I know you worry. You and Mother both. And you're right, this has been no kind of life for a young wife. Packing up in the middle of the night, always halfway to nowhere. I am tired. But I'm also hopeful.

The cabin is modest. Wooden beams, a stubborn door, windows that groan when the wind pushes too hard. But there's a hearth and up here in the hills you get a beautiful sight of the sea. I haven't set foot in the waves yet, but I think I will soon. It feels like the sort of thing one ought to do here.

I miss you. That hasn’t changed. Some days the distance feels like a punishment. But I chose this. I chose him. And for now, that must be enough.

Tell Mother not to worry. I’ll write again once I’ve found the post.

With all my love, Your devoted daughter, Louisa

[antiquatedsimmer]

1865

Dearest Book, I am worn thin!

I curse English summers. In America the heat was fiercer, yes, but it did not sink into the skin like this. The humid air stirs my gut and clings until the cloth on my back feels part of me.

Callum has gone to the docks in search of work. I keep the house as best I can and labor in the garden, for we must have something in the icebox come winter. He speaks fondly of fishing. The thought of him venturing far out to sea, when I still struggle to keep him from wandering during his episodes does not sit easily with me. But I had best not say so.

Instead, I tried to dissuade him with the excuse that winter work would be slow and we will need the money. I hoped he might choose something closer to home. He only smiles and says, "Surely, in town there will be other employment needed." There is always an answer with him...

Last evening was the worst yet. While preparing our supper, the cloth tucked into the waist of my apron slipped free, met the stove, and caught. The fire rose quick and eager, and by the time it was beaten down, the stove was ruined, the counters blackened, the kitchen thick with smoke.

I was shaken, yes, but not so far as to forget myself, nor the natural order of things. Should not a husband offer comfort before censure? Mine, once certain I was unhurt, saw fit to deliver a sermon on carelessness, as though I had not already chastised myself enough to content the Almighty.

It left me more nettled than before. Would he prefer to cook his own meals, then?

Louisa

[antiquatedsimmer]

1865

I've found work at the docks. Mostly grunt labor like hauling gear, pulling nets, and tending to the usual run of deck duties. The pay is light but I can bear it well enough.

The foghorns, God save me. Will take time. Sudden noises don't mix well with me anymore. At least the men's cries and the slap of water at the planks I can set aside when my head is bent to a task.

They sent us to Deadgrass Isle today. It's pleasantly quiet there. Had I known of it sooner, I might have pressed for a cottage, but it stands to reason the only folk living there are the keeper and his family. Their order was heavy, and it took the better part of the day to boat it ashore and stack it in their storage. With no road to the mainland their family must think ahead.

We made back with the sun bruising the rim of the sea. The lads had their jokes about some foul weather waiting at the pier. They were not wrong.

Louisa stood at the very end, straight as a post then proceeded to say nothing the whole walk home.

She broke the moment my foot touched our grass, Went on about how I was to be home at six, not ten! how she feared I had gone off again and how dinner had gone cold. How the worry paced her up and down the floor. We were both in the yard raising our voices when I told her to stop all the damned caterwauling!

Tonight is another night apart it seems. If she cannot master herself soon, I shall go to pieces. This woman will be the ruin of my wits.

- Callum

1865

Callum and I slept apart again. It's been fairly common as of late, though it still leaves an ache in me all the same. He tries me sorely, and I him... Yet tonight, I think the Almighty looked upon us and sent a sign.

I woke ill barley reaching the basin in time, and In the glass I saw a color that would not go from my cheeks. There was a softness under my hand that made me still. I froze then all was plain, the restlessness, the heat, these sharp turns of my temper. I believe I am with child!

I knelt over our basin to pray as a mix of joy and fear came again and again, like a tide.

After this revelation I could not bear to return to that bench alone. I went to him, set my hand on his shoulder, and woke him. He was still very vexed, I saw it in his eye. But when I told him, the anger went out of his face like how a cloud would slip over the moon. He rose at once and drew me in, near lifting me clear of the floor. I wept into his shirt and he set his chin in my hair, saying nothing. This was enough.

Perhaps this is what will finally steady us. Yet....my fear walks alongside my hope. The sea takes its wages, and my dearest Callum will not have me along side him when his dark turns come. And as a wife... I am not always gentle. But if the Lord has given us this child, He has given us our work as well. Busy hands have ever been our surest hedge against the storm, perhaps this little one will hold him and keep him here.

Thank You, Lord. Tonight I may rest.

Louisa

[antiquatedsimmer]

Summer, 1865

Louisa's been hovering again. I can feel her just behind me, breathing down the back of my neck like I might vanish if she looks away too long. She doesn't say it, not always, but I know what she's asking with those eyes.

Why can't you come back to me?

I want to tell her I did, I'm just different.

I wish I were still the boy she married. But the war took him. Left parts of me in boots worn thin, in mud clogged fields and in the bloodied hands of boys who died too far from home.

I don’t know why this Itch waits silent, then it slithers in, Climbs my spine, prickles the nape, slips past my ears, and coils deep in my gut. Like it knows exactly where to burrow to undo me.

We can walk the trails, moves miles from home, talk for hours like we used to and hold each other like we’re still teens, But no amount of affection, ever stops whatever it is that stirs inside me. Whatever it is that makes me get up and run. Why can't what we have be enough?

I’m sorry,

Callum

[antiquatedsimmer]

The Thatcher Legacy - Coming soon!

I couldn't resist starting another decades family after I imagined a whole backstory for them. My Doyle legacy isn't finished but the heavy writing burns me out fast. This time the entries will be written in the form of diary entries & photo heavy, I want to make pretty scrapbook edits♥

The Thatcher legacy starts with Louisa & Callum who married right before Callum enlisted in the Civil War. Louisa (18) & Callum(20) were lovesick and excited on resuming their lives with better opportunities after his return but Callum was sent home after surviving a head injuring that left him disfigured and struggling mentally. Even after proper time to heal, Cal's trauma has effected their relationship heavily, they both Love and Despise each other but will need to make it work since their 1st child is on the way.

[antiquatedsimmer]

I'm stock piling posts but can't stop lookin at her face

[antiquatedsimmer]

I ended up editing the lot a bit more so these photos are out of date, but I still really like them.