My energy level had depleted by half since returning home. Time alone was definitely draining my battery instead of refilling it, but I’d come to Amherst on a mission. I had to learn to be happy on my own.
“How did you do it, Emily?” I wondered aloud. The isolation didn’t feel as relaxing as I’d imagined. More like being punished or put in a weekslong time-out.
Images of her bedroom, where I’d stood only a short time ago, flashed into mind. She’d written the majority of her poems, more than 1,800 of them, there. Surrounded by floral print wallpaper, before awindow draped in green, on a little desk facing the glass. She’d thrived in solitude.
I was sure I’d perish.
Perhaps the key was staying busy. Wasn’t that the key to everything? Don’t want to think about a nasty breakup? Find something to do. Trying to avoid the other half of the cupcake you’re saving for later? Find something to do. Embracing spinsterhood with dignity?
Find something to do.
I changed into a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt, then went to survey the yard. According to Olivia, all the plants I’d purchased needed full sun, and thanks to yesterday’s rain, they’d all had plenty of water. I walked the area contemplatively, and I found the perfect spot, free from the crawling fingers of shade, about fifteen yards from the patio. The grass looked slightly different there, and I wondered if someone had once had the same idea. The possibility another garden had grown where I planned to plant mine brightened my mood, and I clung to the thought.
Maybe that was another reason Emily hadn’t minded the years she’d spent alone. Maybe she’d found ways to connect to the people who’d come before her, and those who would follow, by reading, writing, and growing beautiful flowers.
My desire to emulate the poet in all her quiet, nature-loving glory filled my heart in a burst. If I could tap into the peace she found while gardening and roll that into contentment elsewhere as well, I’d be happy with my long single life.
The sun brightened, and I lifted my chin to absorb its warmth. Emily’s words floated through my thoughts. And a smile formed. Yesterday’s clouds were gone. I would embrace this day. “Superior glory be.”
I started by rooting through the little toolshed I spotted beneath an oak at the side of the manor. I found a shovel and old floral-printed gardening kit with gloves that fit my hands. I couldn’t imagine Grace caring if I used them. I’d asked about possibly planting a garden on the night I’d made my reservation, and she’d thought the idea was lovely. Iremembered specifically because she’d used the wordlovely. It’d struck me as almost a bit odd and rather proper. Then again, she’d taken on a more formal air altogether when it came to our correspondence about the manor, which had made perfect sense. I certainly didn’t email customers or vendors in the same tone I used when posting in IBOOM. Her spoken language matched her email correspondence, making her persona on IBOOM the anomaly. Something I never would’ve known had I not come to town.
I got busy pulling weeds around the patio’s edge and removing the grass covering the site of my future garden with the shovel. My back, shoulders, and arms ached from the effort. Carrying the heavy bags of mulch and topsoil from the front yard to the back only added to my discomfort. But I persevered.
I scooped mulch from the broken bag into a pail, then lined the sacks of topsoil on my newly degrassed patch of land and split them open with the shovel. Each whack felt deeply satisfying.
Hours later, when the prep work and my aching body were finished, I considered dying on the spot. At least it would be easy to bury me. I was already covered in dirt. I rolled onto my back in the grass and remained motionless for an undetermined amount of time, willing my noodle arms and legs to firm up.
“I don’t know how you did it, Emily,” I said, pushing myself into a sit. “I’m dehydrated. Exhausted. And filthy. Not my idea of a good time.”
Clouds raced over the sun, and I forced myself upright. I hadn’t come this far to quit, and I refused to be defeated again. Plant by plant, I kept going until my energy fully depleted and my arms had pinkened from the sun. I transferred veggies into the garden, small shrubs and flowers into a narrow mulch bed around the back patio. Then I carried all the trash to the bins out front and flew a mental flag of victory.
I couldn’t feel my legs as I wobbled into the manor. My clothes were black with dirt and mulch, and my unruly curls stuck to the drying sweat on my neck and cheeks. I’d need two baths to feel clean again.
The climb to the second-floor bathroom nearly finished me. I sank dramatically to my knees, hanging both arms over the edge of the claw-foot tub.
I turned the knobs and tested the water, wincing at the cold and waiting for it to warm. I rested my cheek on the cool porcelain, but the water didn’t heat up.
I groaned, wrenched upright, then grimaced at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I couldn’t take a cold bath, and I couldn’t call Davis for help. If he found me looking like this again, he’d think I was the human incarnate of thatPeanutscharacter, followed perpetually by a cloud of rolling dirt.
Not that I cared what he thought.
I turned off the water and went back downstairs to reconsider dying in the garden.
Twenty minutes later, I’d washed my face and hands in the sink and put my letters, destined for Willow Bend, in the mailbox at the end of the lane. I turned the flag up to let the postal worker know they were inside; then I spread a blanket beneath a tree and took a seat. I unpacked my bag, a pen and paper, cheese and crackers, apple slices, and bottled water. I needed sustenance and rest before dealing with a cold bath.
I chose a purple gel pen and gave the fountain pen a dirty look. I needed to unload my troubles, not compile them. Gentle wind fluttered the page as I began to write.
Cecily,
It’s been a long while since I’ve written proper letters. Probably since we had pen pals for third grade English class, and mine never responded. Please respond.
Life in 1855 is lonelier than I expected. I’m not sure how Emily found inspiration in solitude, but maybe I need to be patient and let myself adjust.
I paused to stack sliced cheese on a cracker and munch. All around me, the slowly changing leaves on ancient oaks danced on the breeze. Hearthstone Manor stood in the distance, the sun shining beautifully overhead. Why was being here so difficult for me? Everything was exactly as I thought it would be. I just hadn’t anticipated how much I wouldn’t like it. Hopefully I’d find my rhythm soon.
I sighed and stuffed an apple slice into my mouth, then began to write again.
I have to call Davis, the handyman, soon, because there’s no hot water today, and there’s something wrong with the furnace as well. I get the feeling he doesn’t want me here, though it doesn’t make any sense. Why would he care who rents the place? Anyway, I’ll keep you posted on that. Hopefully everything will be working when you come to visit. Until then I’ll be counting the days.
