The Sea

The Sea:

The heavy clouds, almost black in their thickness, sat ominously over the rolling waves, which the steady wind chased towards the shore, then hurtled at the rocks on the feet of the small, steep cliffs. The wind blew so strongly that the spray easily reached the cliff tops, and blew into the face of the silent figure who stared longingly over the waves.
         The figure was that of a young woman, barely twenty. She stood still, constantly staring into the distance, not moving, even as the wind rippled her walking coat and the rain stung her face. The salt from the spray mingled with her tears as they ran silently down her cheeks. Normally she would have been cold, but the bleakness of her soul made it seem as summer breeze compared to the unadulterated iciness of the arctic itself.
         It was December now, and the wind bit and tore at everything in its path, causing most to take shelter in their homes, or in the village tavern, The Marie Celeste. But no matter the weather, everyday for the past week, anyone looking out of the warmth and towards the cliff tops would see her. Always alone and staring relentlessly into the stormy winter seas.
         Why? You may ask. What could drive her to expose herself to all the harshness of the icy westerly winds that drove through the village?
         The answer is simple enough, but to truly understand you must first know a little of the past, but more specifically, the past of Miss Cordelia Raeburn.

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         Mr Merrick Erskine had called again. This would be the fourth time this week, and it was only Friday. Cordelia’s heart skipped a beat at the thought, as she watched the lean figure swathed in black suit and pristine white shirt head back off towards the village. He carried himself with a pride and certainty even now, with the wind lashing at him and trying to force him off the path in a seemingly purposeful manner.
         He had been visiting with her and her family for a few weeks now. Today however, he had little time for her past courtesy and a lingering Maybe…she thought, maybe he was asking father if… the thought was too good to be true. She could, however, think of no other reason for them to speak. Mr Erskine was a seafaring man, a fisherman, and her father a tailor. There would be no reason for a private meeting at her father’s house about a suit, and none for her father to summon Erskine about fish.
         She sat down at her desk, and looked into the ornately carved, oaken-framed mirror. Edged with images of leaping mermaids and dolphins, it reflected the style and tradition of the coastal village. Everything the villagers could want or need was found from within the boundaries, except for a few more luxurious items that were traded for at midsummer when peddlers from far and near would travel the district hawking their wares.
         She started brushing out her hair, and the mixture of reds and golds shone through in the light from the window, making it seem as if the very rays of the sun came alive in her hair. The waves framed an oval-like face, and eyes the same hue as a sapphire stared at her from the reflection. She sighed, once again thinking and hoping that it could be true. That Merrick could want her, out of every woman in the village, that he would want her as his wife. Oh, please let it be, she thought, getting up once again to the window and staring at the road, though no sign of Merrick remained, let it be true…

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         Indeed it was true. Merrick Erskine had been to see her father, to ask permission to ask for her hand. With her father’s blessing, the two were wed barely three months from that day.
         They moved into a small cottage near the harbour, from which Merrick could easily get to work on his boat, and not have a long walk after a hard day out at sea. Both of them loved the sea, and had done all their lives. They also found a love and solace in each others company that few people ever truly find. They spent an amazingly happy year together. Cordelia tending to the house, while Merrick tended to the more financial matters. All was as it should be. Before everything changed. Before the storms of the terribly harsh winter that battered the cliffs, and stopped even the hardiest of sea-birds from flying, forcing bird and human alike to take shelter.
         It had been a week full of harsh storms and unrelenting winds, and only on the ninth day did it seem to reach its lull. Money was running short, and Merrick insisted on heading back out to sea the following morning if the weather held. They both knew the risks of the weather, and even as improved as it was, it was still in a treacherous state for any sailor, let alone a fisherman with only a crew of four.
         It may have been because of this that they spent a sombre night, but one in which all the love the other felt for the other was vented, silently, almost telepathically. Instead of retiring early, they stayed awake half the night, in one long embrace, talking of anything and everything that was meaningless. They went to bed in the small hours of the morning, and they once more, like they had many times, lay with each other, but instead of the usual mix of excitement and games, this time there was only passion, and a deep, wordless expression of their undying love for each other.

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         Cordelia walked to the harbour with him that morning. Though the sun was rising, nothing could be seen of it behind the dark clouds that smothered the sky. The wind had lowered, however and the rain had stopped, if only temporarily. That was one blessing at least, and gave a glimmer of hope for her and Merrick as they said their quiet farewells on the worn planks of the jetty. They stood, and embraced, then he boarded with a cheery smile that did not quite reach his eyes, as if he was reluctant to think of what he was about to do.
         But set sail he did, and Cordelia watched from the shore by the jetty until the little vessel was starting to sink into the horizon, then she walked up to the rocky outcrop of the cliff, where she stood until long after it was completely out of sight. He was due back in three days time.
         
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Three days and he had not returned. Four: still no sign of her husband or the boat, and the weather had not stayed in its relative calm for long.  So it went and the days turned slowly into weeks and every day Cordelia could be seen out on the outcrop, waiting for Merrick. Even when she felt a stirring inside her that foretold of the child she now carried, she still braved the winds and rain of the west coast in wintertime. He would never come back, and somewhere deep in her heart she knew that. She wept for him, and his unborn child, and for herself, caught in the very depths of pure despair.

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So it came to be that we found Miss Raeburn, and so she could be found for many years to come. Every day for nearly half a year she would stand upon the bluff and await his return, and thereafter, every year on the day that he had left her for the last time, she would stand. Longing to see the single mast of his fishing vessel sail over the horizon, coming home to her, and their little son, Matthias.
She would stand as still as if she were a statue of living stone, that if you looked closely enough, you could see the tears mingling with the salt of her oldest friend and bitterest enemy, the sea.