Ena

What shall we
do?
Where shall we
begin?

I think of things now and feel
uncomfortable
in my skin.

My sissy. Ena.

I don't like to think of you as a person
I met. That implies that at some point
You were a stranger, and
That word looks ridiculous on you
Like Autumn would on June.
Although, you're the closest thing to both
I've ever known!

Come to me and sit closer and
Cherish those pictures, those
Moments.
Everyone had such a wonderful
Time. Except for Time of course,
He left too early to enjoy himself much.

You
were more like that summer, a sort of
Season or weather that came by and
Tempered me.
At first you were
Winter. I thought I might know why, so

I
Loved you anyways. I never imagined
Such a thaw, such a metamorphosis.
By all things glorious in Nature,
I only saw your eyes!
Why, I saw spring!
Just look, you'll see;
They're nearly the same thing.

Then Time decided to stop by again,
And make an apearence, just to say
"Goodbye."

I couldn't have thought of a more appropriate beginning.

And when I found out,
All those months and months later, that you were just about to
die. That's when I remembered.
I watched someone save you, I could have sworn it was an
Angel, but I don't like to swear.

Ena, you live. And that's enough evidence of a
miracle
for me.

My sissy. Ena.

What shall we
do?
Where shall we
begin?

My oh my, I smile with a tear
to think you'll never
be the same again!

Somebody Intervened.

And He'll never leave you.
No, through thick and thin,
He'll be there to make you
laugh!
Again!

When I am so very far,
May my prayers be your friends.

(This is for you Ena;
if you haven't seen this
http://www.twloha.org/, you will not
believe this. But it's for you now!
Go, laugh, be free, worship Him!
Your love for Him will keep you
Obedient.
Your Faith in prayer and seeking
will destroy all evil planned
Against you.
Go, find someone like who
you were, and
"Write LOVE on his or her arm."
Be who Christ was through me to you,
for them.)

The Ivy

Upon the lattices were ivy, and upon the ivy blooms. It was spring and in such weather it was only natural for two to spend an afternoon outside. The far gone outskirts of Cambridge were refreshingly cool in the early spring, but not cold. St. Patrick's was not but a week past this Monday afternoon in which all was fading into a rosy pink as evening approached. She sat, her back against the lattice of the porch, her hair intermingled with the flowers of the creeping ivy, blossoms beautiful orange-pink. He lay looking up at the clear, colorful sky, his arms behind his head and his eyes half closed now, breathing in deeply the scent of the flowers or her perfume; it was hard for him to tell which was which.

He smelt spring, and it was intoxicating.

—My dear, it's days like this you don't have to speak much to know that God made Love.

—Ah yes, or to consider what is lovelier: this moment or the feeling of this moment? I daresay I would be content to sit here and admire this vision of beauty forever; for here I have both of God's great masterpieces before me. This great earth and this silly boy who calls himself a man!

—Oh hush now! If you wanted to poke fun at me, you had all morning for that. It's past four, now's time for peace, lady love.

—Ha, well, if that wind had not seconded your opinion I would not have consented, but indeed, such a relaxing wind never before overtook my face and hair—and these blooms have a bewitching effect on me!

—What do you make of this, Katie: tomorrow, for all I know I may die at sea. A week from now, I may well be dead at the hands of the French. What can we do? God made death too, did he not?

—I don't quite know. Since the war began, I've always wondered the same thing; though I never thought to really give it an examination.

—Well I have, and I'm convinced He couldn’t have. No person would be more duplicitous, more of a great schemer and devil if he were to say "The thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy, but I come to give life and that abundantly" and then do otherwise. How could our Good Shepherd take on the aspects of the thief? Is not that thief, Beelzebub, Lucifer himself? That deluder is not God, but the opposite of God; thus I say, no. God did not make death, but evil did and continues to do so."

—Why, I think you're right James! I always knew it deep inside, but now it’s clear. "God is Love," and Love cannot kill. Love births and creates and inspires!

...Oh Jamie boy, would you look at that!

—What is it dear?

—Get up. Isn't that Mr. Leedsworth's car?

—Why, yes it is! He said, squinting as he lifted his torso off the tender grass and looked.

—Whatever could be the matter? She spoke anxiously, as she rose to her feet and began to walk over to the road.

The car had its fancy windows broken, and the spokes of several of the wheels were shattered. The horses had stopped out of fatigue. They were somewhat loosened from the reigns and drinking from the visitor's drinking trough, which was full of that morning's rain water.

—Katie, you wait now! You haven't a clue what is happening. Wait for me to call your father. Really dear, I'm sure there's little we can do now anyways.

—Oh James! It's his daughters and he, they're here…and oh James they're dead! She cried as she ran back from the car, tears flowing down her flustered countenance.

—Mr. Elias! Mr. Elias! Shouted James inside the house, his head in the door.

—Oh my God, they were robbed it seems, or worse! Where is my father? Oh we must get the constable!

—Mr. Elias! James continued as he made his way to the edge of the stairs. A strange, sinister stillness was the only reply.

—Katie, is your father generally accustomed to taking afternoon naps?

—On a Monday? Good heavens no! James, I'll see to him, you go and get your arms! Find the gardener. He's the only one else on the estate today; everyone else is at Aunt Rilda's. She spoke as she rushed up the stairs.

—Daddy! Daddy!

—Katie, not so loud! What if there is trouble afoot!

—There's not a soul up here James. Oh, what is happening? Oh father, please be safe! James! Go! To your arms, quickly! I'll stay right here at door.

He was already off and running towards the stable when something struck him as terribly wrong. The back gate was open, but last time he checked the gardener was tilling in the cabbage and lettuce patch on the southeast end of the estate.

He dashed to his stall. To his relief, save Katie's mare and the mule, his horse was alone, just as usual when only her father was home. He grabbed up his belt and loaded his guns in military speed. He latched on his horn and cocked his rifle, already in a sprint back to the porch.

—Katie? He whispered loudly.

No one was at the door.

—Katie? He nearly shouted. He leaped up the steps, and ran up the stairs; as he did he heard a stifled squeal and the back door slam suddenly.

—Oh!

His heart was in panic; his face was flush with dread as he flew to the kitchen. But just as he entered, a flaming bottle crashed through the French door, exploding and engulfing the elegant curtains in a blaze. In that instant he saw the silhouette of four men. One obviously had Katie, the other two were armed with more napalm, and another one had two more men at his knees bound.

There was no other exit to the back. His only option was to exit from the front and come around the side, but they would be expecting the move. However, there was no other option. He approached the door, which was now mysteriously shut, with caution, kicked the door open, and put forth the rifle, aiming intently.

Two more crashes erupted, then a gunshot, then another gunshot!

—KATIE!

He rushed around the corner to the open gate, when from behind an incredible grip suddenly yanked him backwards. His fingers were on his saber and he swung mercilessly backward, aiming at nothing. There was a scream, and then tumble, and then the weight of at least fifty and two hundred pounds came falling on top of him. Suddenly, he felt an excruciating pain and his vision became white. Heat was the only clear sensation he could make out.

Moments later, Katie's shrill screaming filled the air. James managed to regain his vision and when he brought his hand to his face he noted it was covered in crimson.

—Good God! He whispered.

He fumbled for his sword frantically in the grass for what felt like half of an hour. Suddenly it occurred to him that it was probably in the fellow's chest. Pushing up and away carefully, he came out from under the villain and looked around. The house was completely ablaze, the sound of horses whinnying and hooves galloping were the only noises besides the crackling laughter of the menacing flames.

He rushed to the back of the house. The scene was only worse than he had imagined. The gardener and her father lay, with their faces in the grass, blindfolded, bound, and gagged. Both had been shot clear in between the eyes, getting blood all over the fence and gate. The rest of the scene was too brutal to depict in words.

It was clear that they chose to stab Katie to death. She had been stripped of her top garments, her undergarments exposed to the now brisk evening air. Curiously, they left her head completely unscathed. Her look was strangely peaceful, and she was looking in his direction, her eyes reflecting the frolicking fire, glistening.

All of a sudden it became clear to him that she was still alive!

—Katie! Oh Katie!

He threw himself to his knees, reached to pick her up and move her further away from the edifice-turned-inferno, but she reached out before he could and motioned to him, as if to say "no, stop." He stopped and stared intently, placing his hand gently on her arm.

Her breathing was slowing; he held her hand up to his lips and began to weep.

—Oh how can this be? Oh my Katie, my Katie! What in the devil has happened here! Oh what cruel design could have brought this to pass?

All of a sudden, she looked up at him very purposefully. Then, with what strength he could not understand, her arm became rigid and she touched her hand to his cheek and held it there affirmingly.

Suddenly, he saw the entire day play before his eyes like a drama; although, instead of watching from the ground-up and seeing the players act across a lifted stage; he was up on high, watching life occur below.

~

It was spring again.

He watched as they had both awoken and helped the gardener bring in the milk from barn. Katie had made the three of them a generous breakfast. Her father, probably awoken by the smell of the bacon, entered later. All of them had good laugh as Katie jested that she had only made enough breakfast for herself and the two other "early birds." Her father just turned and began back up the stairs! Were it not for the gardener and James earnestly pleading with him to return, he would have surely gone!

He watched as they had sat in the den watching the spring rain become a drizzle and the drizzle break away into sunshine. They thumbed through the week’s post and discussed politics. The conversation turned from America and Napoleon, peace and war.

He watched as he announced his reason for visiting on such short notice; how he would be deployed to Newport and join his company of marines who had been ordered to take sail to the Netherlands. She looked heart-broken but proud. She knew that tears were not becoming. How beautiful she looked as she took his hands in hers and assured him that they would have the loveliest of marriages upon his return! Those two pretty hands! Those two worried, cheerful eyes. Oh what an eclipsing paradox to see: faith and love intermindlged with dread and uncertainty! She was no longer a girl then, she was a woman in all a woman’s splendour.

He watched as they spent the after noon walking about the estate's groves, avoiding the mud, and talking about literature and the latest news among their friends at Cambridge. They talked of Ovid and Virgil, Dante and Milton. They both shared equal disdain for Shakespeare. He watched as they made their way, singing cheerfully a chorus they both knew from church:

"Rose of Sharon, Saviour dear; did not shame to call me near. Rose of Sharon, Immanuel. Snatched me from out of the flames of hell! Sing joy-ous-ly! Sing joy-ous-ly! Gracious Love that rescued you and Gracious Love rescued me!"

He watched their ride on the horses, their late supper for two, their tea time with her father, and their moment alone in the ivy.

~

At this point he had stopped his weeping. A peace came over him, and he felt his heart swell with gratitude to have loved and been loved.

A cool wind blew over his face, and the scent of spring blew the smell of smoke away—

Her hand fell to the ground.

He turned to her immediately. Her eyes glazed and head turned; her final breath seemed to whisper, "thank you."

The soldier stood and took off his cloak, covered Katie and began to move her, her father, and the gardener away from the house, which any moment now would collapse in on itself. As he picked up her up from the bloodied turf, he noticed some ivy blooms had fallen from her hair onto the ground. He paused with her in his arms, and prayed a prayer. Then, he quickly finished moving the three of them to the edge of the nearest Ash grove.

He left that ground with his beloved stolen from him, his rose of Sharon unjustly killed.

The sky was darkening, and the heat of the rapacious flames shot shudders through his spine. Evening had come, and it was time for him to make his way to Newport; he wondered what all of this would mean for his deployment, and then—he felt an inexplicable sense of fatigue.

He reached behind his head to touch his neck only to wretch and fall to his knees gasping for air. Fighting back white from clouding his vision again, he quickly unsheathed his small knife and began to frantically cut his coat from his body, jerking until it came off in parts. He ripped off the back segment and threw it on the ground in front of him.

There lay the truth. He had cut himself deeply from his neck to his shoulder during his brawl and was losing blood quickly. He worked his way onto his feet...the chorus from earlier haunting the heavy air...

"...Rose of Sharon, Saviour dear;
Did not shame to call me near;
Rose of Sharon, Immanuel..."

All sound stopped. Even the flames seemed to halt their dancing. He stumbled over to the stalls, slowly. Crawling, walking, stumbling, falling.

"Snatched me from out of the flames of hell—
Rose of Sharon..."

He changed his mind. He knew he would not make it to town in time to seek help. Thus, with every last ounce of strength, he stumbled over to the remaining lattices, picked some blossoms from the ivy, and made his way to the Ash grove. Eyes on his dear Katie, the soldier held out the tiny blossoms in front of him, arm outstretched although his shoulder pulsated with pain. And there, at the feet of his beloved, Captain James Nathaniel Everet, fell prostrate.

He watched his hand lay the flowers gingerly at her feet, and looked up at her faded auburn eyes. With a final, choked breath he managed: "You're welcome."

(For Autumn, February 2007)