Letters

Letters
By Emily Colwell

Once upon a time, there were two young ladies who happened to be sisters. The eldest was called Patricia. She was twenty one, quite beautiful, and because of this her parents simply adored her.

The second daughter, Annikah, was nineteen, and only pretty. Her parents loved her, but tended to forget about it.

These said parents were the wealthy socialites Leadon and Teresa Kurstand. Leadon was the owner and president of a prosperous soap company. Teresa came from a mayflower family with money older than the ship they emigrated on. Her own parents had worried about marrying Teresa off to a Nuveau Riche, but the normal riche boys were lacking in quality, so Leadon was able to sweep them off their feet with his industriousness and good manners. Teresa, instead of being swept, he simply escorted by the arm. She was rarely seen anywhere but Leadon’s arm.

The life of the Kurstand’s was simple. The girls sometimes took classes at a nearby college, where their father paid dues as an alumnus. Patricia went when she felt like it, but mostly skipped to spend time with her friends. Annikah attended religiously, and was well on her way to obtaining her BA in English. Leadon went to work from nine to five on weekdays, then came home and, unless he was corralled into some social thing by Teresa, worked in his office from five till bedtime. Teresa spent her time upholding their social status. Her days consisted of teas and sewing groups, luncheons and matinees. Her evenings consisted of reading, both fine literature and magazines, or watching television, the news, documentaries, or the latest, most popular shows. Her main concern in life was that she be considered an intelligent, well informed person, and desirable to have around. To her satisfaction, she was in high demand as a guest, and as an entertainer, the invitations to her yearly party were as coveted as diamonds. This said party was a weeklong affair, and the week was coming to an end. The whole house was buzzing as people prepared for the last of the six balls. And this is where my story begins.

~o~X~o~

In the north wing, Patricia and I were preparing in separate rooms. I’ve always been slower than Tricia at getting ready, due to the fact that I’m always getting distracted by a book. I was still wandering the room looking for the stocking I had put down and consequently lost when Trish entered through the door that connected our rooms. “You’re not ready yet?” she asked me incredulously as I puttered about with a frown.

“No, I can’t find my stocking, and I still have to put on my necklace and shoes. Besides, my hair took forever.”

“That’s because you insisted on reading while Robert did your hair, and wouldn’t sit still.” countered Patricia, pausing to check her own smooth blonde locks in the Bureau mirror.

“Found it!” I cried, grabbing the sock from the floor where it had fallen from my bed. I yanked it on, hopping on one foot, as I made my way over to the bureau. From its surface I picked up a simple necklace, pearls on a pale blue ribbon, and tied them around my neck. Patricia observed as I did so, smiling slightly. Tricia loved me in the same absent way our parents did, rather like puppy who wandered into a family of cats. I gave myself a cursory glance. I looked alright. My hair, curly and dark blonde, was pinned up tonight, with just a few curls left to frame my face. My eyes are the same cornflower blue as her Tricia’s, though set in a round face. My nose was slightly tilted, my mouth generous, but with one side slightly higher than the other, giving me a perpetually amused look. Tonight, I was dressed in a sleeveless dress of pale blue, with a matching wrap around my
shoulders in silk. I looked good, and Patricia seemed to think so too, from her smile. We both knew that she was the beauty. Tricia looked like an angel in white, like she was wearing tonight. Later, if asked about it, no one would be able to remember what I had been wearing, though of Tricia they would wax eloquent.
We went down together to the party, and immersed ourselves in the crowd. I might not have been as good looking as Tricia, but I had a good group of friends and even a small contingent of admirers, so I never found myself without partners. The friends were good to have around, as the admirers could get tedious. I tended to ignore them and watch the other dancers.

My attention that night was particularly caught by a young man who danced several times with my sister and mother. He was average in height, but his shock of red curls certainly stood out, and he guided his partners gracefully. When I saw him standing with father, I excused myself from the group I was talking with, and went over to where they were standing.

“Ah, here’s the other one!” her father exclaimed as I approached. “Annikah, do you remember Uncle Henry and Aunt Joyce?”

I nodded, smiling. Henry and Joyce Halleck weren’t really my blood relations. They were the Childhood friends of my father, and I had met them quite a few times when I was younger. Uncle Henry played hide-and-go-seek and gave tickly kisses when he caught you: his beard would always scratch your cheek. Aunt Joyce would let you help in the Kitchen, and always had a hug ready. They moved out to Vancouver when I was five, and I had missed them horribly.
“Well, this is their nephew Paul. Paul, this is my Youngest, Annikah.”

I looked up at the young man before me and stuck out my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Paul.” He was very, very good looking. That hair! And those eyes! They were the warmest, sweetest chocolate brown I had ever seen, and they smiled right into mine as he said. “Likewise, Miss Annikah.”

The band struck up a Sinatra song, and he looked to my father. “Mind I steal Miss Annikah away for a dance?”

Of course he didn’t. Paul walked me onto the dance floor, and we started to move along to the music. As we danced, he began to talk. “So, how old is your sister Patricia?”

My heart sighed. I knew where this was going. Another boy, going to find out about the Beautiful Angel by asking her unalarming, unintimidating sister. However, I wasn’t going to let this one just grill me without getting something in return. “She’s twenty one. How old are you?”

He grinned. Goodness he was gorgeous. “I’m twenty three.”
“Do you live here in Toronto?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I’m actually over in London, Studying at UWO, but even then that’s just because the school is there. I really live in Vancouver with my parents.

“Your parents live in Vancouver too? Do you get to see Uncle Henry and Aunt Joyce very often?”

Paul laughed. “I would say so. They are my parents! My mum and dad died around when I was ten, and they took me in.”

“I’m sorry.” I said contritely. We danced silently for a moment, before I added “I can’t help being a little jealous, though. When I was little, I used to imagine that they were my parents, and how there would be tickly beard kisses and hugs every day.”

He laughed again. “I don’t blame you. My parents, I mean, my dead ones, were really busy and fought all the time. They didn’t really pay much attention to me. Then suddenly, poof! I’ve got two parents who are crazy to spend time with me and have fun with me. It was hard at first, but I wouldn’t change things for the world, now.”

The dance ended, and he stepped away. “Oh, I was going to ask you…” he said, turning slightly pink. “Is Patricia seeing anyone?”

I sighed slightly “No.” I replied. Not exclusively, I added to myself.

He grinned like a Cheshire and I felt my heart crumble into dust and burst into flame. I hated my sister in that moment. “Great!” he said, like I had just made his evening.

Mine, however, had been ruined. I left the party and went to bed. I lay there for a long time, listening to the music below and trying to figure out my confusing feelings. I fell asleep with the image of Paul’s smiling face imprinted on my mind.


Two weeks later I was wandering about the house, looking for my copy of pride and prejudice. I had misplaced it that morning, and since I couldn’t remember where I had it last, and it wasn’t in my usual places, I was checking everywhere. In desperation, I even walked into Patricia’s room to ask her. I found her, lounging on her chair. “Patricia, have you seen my-” I began, but then noticed that she was reading the very book I was looking for. “Oh. You have it. Well, if you’re reading it-“

“No,” she said languidly. “You can have it. I don’t know how you can read stuff like this.”

I ignored the jibe, and walked over to grab the book from her, then noticed a letter in her wastebasket. “Who’s that from?” I asked curiously.

“That boy from the ball, the red head.”

My heart thumped. “Paul Halleck. That’s his name. Did you answer it already?”

“no.” she said, as if it was obvious.

“Are you going to?” I asked.

“Of course not! He wasn’t my type, and I’m too busy.”

“Humph.” I replied. “That’s not very polite of you. He took the time to write you after all, and he was really nice at the ball.”

She gave me a look, hearing something in my tone. She grinned slyly, and picked the letter up out of the waste basket. She stuck it in the book, then handed to the book to me. “You write him then!”

Feeling my face turn red, I turned and went back into my room.

~o~X~o~

Tricia and I were wrapping making Christmas cards when Sandra, our housekeeper, knocked on the door. “Miss Patricia, there’s a young man named Paul Halleck here to see you.”

My head snapped up and I stared at Sandra in shock. I blushed and looked over at Patricia, who was frowning slightly in confusion. “Why does he want to see me I wonder? Aren’t you the one who’s been writing him Annikie?” she asked. Before I could say anything, she rose and gracefully made her way out of the room.

I followed behind a minute later. They were in the parlor, and I staked myself just outside the door, peeking around the corner to see the man that I had been writing under false pretenses for so many months. He was clutching a bunch of papers in his hands. I looked closer, and swallowed convulsively. It was my letters. He began to speak, and I listened closely.

“Patricia, I had to come see you!” he said earnestly. “I’ve loved your letters, but the longer we write, the more miserable I get. All I can think about is how much I wish we could talk in person, and finally it got so bad I just had to come. You see, I couldn’t explain this very well in writing. But, the thing is, your letters have shown me a wonderful, intelligent, and funny girl, a girl who I’ve fallen in love with!”

I nearly gasped, and Patricia, who was looking very confused by this time, tried to interrupt, but Paul raised a hand. “Let me finish. I know we haven’t talked about this in the letters, but I wanted to ask you in person. Would you ever consider me as something more than just a good friend, enough to start seeing me?”

The boiling emotions within me finally burst, exploding from me in a gigantic shout. “NO!” I yelled in fury, stomping into the room. Both Patricia and Paul looked at me in utter confusion. “No way in hell is she going to date you. She didn’t even like you enough to write to you. She didn’t send you those letters, I did. So if the love that you have is for the girl who wrote those letters, the letters that I wrote, then its mine, and Patricia can’t have it!

I stopped then, my chest heaving as I huffed, my anger making my breath come heavy. The two of them sat in shock, not saying anything, and I quickly came to realize what I had just done. My face turned hot and red, and I backed up a step. “Oh.” I said softly, as the enormity of my falsehood and outburst came to settle on my soul. I turned and ran from the room.

I went and hid in the music room. The grand piano in the corner has always been a spot where I could think, so under I went, and sat beneath it, my knees to my chest, my head on my knees. All I could think about was the pain. I loved him so much. Why did Patricia always get the things that I wanted? What was I going to do without his letters to keep me going? I don’t know how long I sat there, crying. I only stopped when I heard footsteps coming into the room, and that beautiful, honey warm voice calling out to me, slightly unsure. “Annikah? Are you in here?”

I had to answer. “Yeah.” I replied quietly. But I stayed where I was, out of embarrassment.

He walked over: I could only see his legs at first. He sat down on the piano bench. “Are you going to come out so I can talk to you?”

“Can’t you talk to me where I am?”

“I can’t see you where you are.”

“What does that matter?”

“Well, it’s why I came to your house in the first place.”

I crawled out, even though I knew my face was blotchy from crying and bright red in shame. “You did not. You came to see Patricia.”

He smiled at me, and I felt the tears start again. I wiped them away angrily. He patted the space on the bench beside him, and I sat down, but didn’t look at him.

“I came to see the girl who for the past six months has been writing me these letters.” He began, then said softly, “I talked to Patricia.”

“Did you now.” I replied, my voice choked.

“She told me what she knew. Did you really dance around with the letters when they came?” He asked, his voice tinged with…something, maybe wonder. I stood and glared at him, meeting his eyes for the first time. They hadn’t changed since that night, when I first met him. “Don’t make fun of me!” I hissed, and he shook his head. Reaching out he took my hands. Immediately all the anger drained out of me, and I relaxed somewhat. Not all the way, though. All the way and I would have thrown myself into his arms and held on so tight they would have had to bring out the jaws of life to pry me away.

“I’m not making fun of you.” He assured me quickly. “I was just surprised, that’s all. The thing is, I did the same thing, whenever I got a letter. My roommate thought I was insane.”

I looked at his face, my eyes wide. “What dance?” I asked finally.

He grinned and squeezed my hand. “The Charleston. What about you?”

I smiled shakily in return. “The Polka mostly. I like the Polka.”

He laughed. It made his eyes crinkle, and it seemed to me they gave off sparks. He looked at me, then shook his head in wonder. “I kept picturing your sister. I never even thought of you.”

I removed my hand, and my heart sank back into its bitterness. “I know. It’s the same with everyone, even my parents. Patricia is amazing, I’m average. She stands out, I blend in.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I remembered you, and that you were cute, and fun. But when I was putting a face to the girl I was writing, hers was in my mind, because I thought that was who was writing me. Annikah, why didn’t you tell me?”

I laughed caustically. “From the start, it was Patricia, not me, who you wanted to know about. Don’t you remember? I just figured that if you knew who was writing you, you wouldn’t write anymore. It wasn’t me you were interested in.”

He grabbed my hand again. “You’re right, Patricia was the one that captured my interest at first, but I like getting letters. I would have been surprised, to find out you were writing to me, and a bit disappointed that Patricia had blown me off, but you had me in that very first letter. You were so smart, and funny, and I would read your letters over and over again. I can even quote you now!”

I laughed. “I can quote you too.”

“The thing is, it wasn’t a face that I came here to see. It was the person that I came to know through those letters. The one that can make me soar or crash with only a word, the one that has been with me and encouraged me for so long now I don’t know what I’d do if she stopped writing!” He finished emphatically, and I buried my face in my hands, afraid to believe what I was hearing.

“Oh, Paul, I was so afraid you wouldn’t want to write anymore! I loved your letters more than anything!” I replied from my poor shaken soul.

“Really?” He asked, sounding delighted. He took my hands away from my face so he could look in my eyes. “Then we’ll keep writing, right?”

I nodded fervently, tears dripping off my nose and chin, and he laughed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. I stared at it in surprise as he used it to wipe off my face. “You carry around a pocket handkerchief?”

“Yeah, I know it’s old fashioned.” He said wryly. “But you have to admit it comes in handy.” He looked at me, and beamed, impulsively grabbing me into a bear hug. I held him back, burying my face in his wrinkly shirt. We sat for a minute, then he released his hold and I came away reluctantly. But he kept one arm around me. My heart was starting to hope, just a little bit, that things might work out.

Then suddenly Paul stood up and took my hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, startled, as he led me out of the music room and asked Sandra to bring our coats.

“In letter 12, you said that there was a really great Ice cream place called Coldstone not too far away, and that someday we’d have to go there. So we’re going.”

The coats had come by that time, and Paul gallantly helped me into mine. “We are? But it’s December!”

“Yes, we are, and yes, I know.” He said firmly, and led me out to the car. Opening the door for me, he made sure I was all tucked in before going around to his side. I leaned over and unlocked it for him, and he grinned at me. My heart joined the engine as it thrummed to life, and we drove off into the street.

I worried slightly at first that we wouldn’t find anything to talk about, but then he stuck in a CD, and music filled the car. It was a bunch of guys singing Broadway songs punk style. I looked at him and laughed. “What is this?”

“They’re called Me First and the Gimme Gimme’s” he said, smiling. I laughed again.

“That’s great! Do you like Broadway, or the band?”

“Both!” he replied. “Though Broadway came first. My Mum, Joyce I mean, she got me into it, since she directs musicals all the time.”

We talked about music and Broadway till we arrived at Coldstone. I was definitely more relaxed now, almost giddy from all the emotions I had gone through in a single hour.

“Pick whatever you like.” said Paul magnanimously, and soon we had our ice cream and found a table to sit at. The conversation flowed with no effort at all, and I was struck so many times by how familiar he seemed to me.

“You are just like yourself.” I said, trying to put it into words. He laughed, but said he understood.

“It’s the same with you. You sound just like your letters.”

I blushed, remembering that he had said he was in love with the girl in those letters. I didn’t dare to hope that he would love me too- It’s not the same in person, especially since he didn’t really know to whom he was writing. But, somewhere deep enough that it could exist without notice, hope remained.

Ice cream finished, Paul stood up and asked, “Feel like a walk?”
I looked at him incredulously. “It’s freezing outside, Paul!”

He grinned at me, a cheeky, pleading light in his eye. “Please?”
I groaned and got up. “I bet you use that look on your mother.” He took my hand, and we walked out of the shop, crossed the street and started into the park. I was surprised that even with the tingles going up and down my spine from the feeling of his hand in mine, I was still able to concentrate enough to walk straight and listen to what Paul was saying.

“Are you that cold?” He asked, looking at me carefully. I shook my head, smiling up into those eyes. Those brown, brown eyes…

“What?” Paul asked, his face turning pink. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I blushed too, and looked away. “I’m not sure I should tell you. Your head might swell.”

He bumped my shoulder with his. “Come on. What was it?”

“I was just thinking that your eyes are beautiful.” I looked up to see his reaction. He was beaming. “Thank you!”

I shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal, it’s not like you didn’t know you’re good looking already.”

“I didn’t. No one has said anything like that before.” He still looked inordinately pleased.

I glanced at him, shocked.
“Really?”

“Really.” He replied. “Why, do people tell you you’re beautiful often?”

I laughed at this. “Of course not. I just figured that they would you.”

He shook his head. “They don’t.” He looked down at me. “And you shouldn’t laugh at my question.”

“But I like to laugh at ridiculous things!” I countered, but when I saw his serious face, I sobered. “I didn’t mean to intimate that you are ridiculous, I just think it’s funny that you thought that people might go around calling me beautiful.”

He stopped, and put a hand on my shoulder. Turning me to face him, he looked me in the eye. “It isn’t ridiculous at all.”

I raised my eyebrows, and he gave me a look. “Don’t blow this off, Annikah. I’m being serious. You might not get stared at like Patricia, but you definitely get second glances. People might think you’re just cute at first, but as they get to know you, the fact that you are a beautiful person on the inside has a way of reflecting on the outside. Either that, or I- I mean, people- just are noticing the beauty that they missed on the first look.”

His eyes held mine firmly, and the warmth of his gaze, his hands, his words, sunk into me. I moved forward and wrapped my arms around him. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but I couldn’t. What if he didn’t love me anymore? What if he wasn’t sure? So I simply sighed. “Oh Paul.” He held me back, smoothing my curls with one hand, and kissed the top of my head.

We walked back to the car, and drove home. He parked in front of the mansion, then looked at me and smiled. “It’s been a crazy day, hasn’t it.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” I replied dryly.

We sat for a moment, not saying anything. Then, feeling something from him, a vibe I guess, I said, “You have to leave now, don’t you?”

He nodded. “I have to catch a plane. I’m going home for the holiday, but I wanted to talk to you first. Here’s my address there.” He handed me a piece of paper with his spiky scrawl on it. I looked him in the eye. “You want me to send the letters there now?”

“I’ll be back in London on the tenth of January, so until then, yeah.” His eyes held mine, and we were silent. I felt tears coming, but I fought them off.

He looked away finally, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to go.”
“I don’t want you to go.” I said at the same time, and we laughed. “I’ll miss you.” I said simply. He nodded again. “I’ll miss you too.” He whispered. Then, turning to look at me again, he leaned toward me and kissed me. I moved till my arms were around him, and we held each other tight for a moment, before I broke away and ran up the walk to the front door, and inside. I closed it behind me, and looked through the little window. His car was already gone.

~o~X~o~

December 10th, 2005

Dear Paul,

I love you. Very, very much. I wanted you to know.
Yours, if you want me,

Annikah

PS: what do you want for Christmas?

~o~X~o~

December 17th, 2005

My Darling,

I love you too. For Christmas, write me a love letter, and send me your picture, so I can show my parents my beautiful girl.

Yours Alone,

Paul