Review, Revision, Edit and Update
My read of this episode No Words felt stilted. The sentences were more grade school than interesting ~ a difficult thing to describe. Sentences beginning with too many 'she's' and 'he's'. Consequently, I revised the structure of the offending sentences in the last several paragraphs.
Grade school writing is much easier, just not as interesting.
No Words
Samuel Forrester, yardman and general gardener to the Beaufort Estate, had stopped at Elizabeth Saunder’s humble home to check on her. She’d been sick and was recovered, but was still home most days. It wasn’t like him to call anyone for help, but it was not like Elizabeth to be so distraught. An independent man, he prided himself on being able to ‘fix most anything’. But when Elizabeth opened her door, face all red and wet with crying, he just felt helpless.
“Come in, Samuel. I’m glad you’ve come, but I’m not much company. I’ve had some bad, bad news from England…………..” Stifling another sob, Elizabeth just waved him in and went to her kitchen. He followed her meekly, wondering what he should do. The raspberries he brought seemed useless, almost inconvenient. “Elizabeth, can you……do you want ………what should I do? Maybe you should sit down? I’ll just put these raspberries in your fridge.” Elizabeth Saunders, Cook to the Beaufort Estate, normally cheerful and amused by the goings on of people, stood at her kitchen window just staring. Dabbing at her eyes, her shoulders shrugged in a sob every so often. “Could you call Martha for me, Samuel? I do need to talk about this but I need a woman friend to talk to.” She laughed in the middle of a stifled sob. “You have no idea how to deal with a crying woman. You confessed that to me a long time ago, Sam.”
~~~~~
Martha was glad to be out of the house. She knew she had been feeling pretty sorry for herself. When Samuel called and said that Elizabeth had asked for her, all her worries had floated away. She couldn't even remember what had been troubling her, only that she had to get to her friend. Scribbling a note for her husband, the butler at the Beaufort Estate, seemed a good idea at the time but on the way past the manor house, she decided to stop in and let him know what she was doing. “Martha, dear? What are you doing here? You should be home resting. You’ve just gotten over that nasty bug.” James was out of his office looking for a cup of coffee when a very worried Martha rushed in the door. “James, dear. I’m on the way over to Elizabeth’s. Samuel called. He’s over there now. She's very upset and has asked for me.” Hand to her chest, Martha stopped for a breath. She noticed her husband's anxious brow. “Oh, don't worry about me ~ I’m fine. Getting out of the house has been good for me. I just stopped in to tell you where I’ll be. I’ve no idea how long.” She did feel a bit out of breath, but felt quite a bit better for her walk. “I’ll be just fine, James, dear. You can get your supper all right? I’ll call you to come get me when I’m ready to come home. Now, I must be off. I'll be sending Samuel over here to talk with you. He could barely talk.” Before hearing his answer, she was off out the door.
~~~~~
The tea kettle was on and Elizabeth was almost settled. Mixing bowls, measuring cups and flour were like medicine for her. Putting her apron on, it was time to bake a cake. There were three old bananas that needed taking care of. Cooking always helped her get her thoughts in order. In the morning, the lid on mail box clanged. Just one letter and it wasn't from Lily, but in a different hand, her return address was on it. She couldn’t talk to Samuel about her sister ~ not yet. But she and Martha had shared many joys and sorrows over the years ~ the only one who would understand. The letter was from Charlie, Lily’s husband. They had never really met because she’d left England before Lily knew him. Elizabeth had only been home for their wedding, and in later years, for their parent's funerals. She wiped away tears before they fell in the cake batter. Who would she write to now? She and Lily had been the best of sisters and penpals for many years now. Would Charlie let her know about her great nephew Clayton. What he was doing as he grew? Would she lose touch with them? Mixing the banana cake more vigorously than usual, she stopped in mid stir as another sob shuddered through her. Angry, she dumped the cake batter into a cake pan, put it in the oven and almost slammed the oven door.
Samuel was just quiet. Watching Elizabeth, he stole quick looks out the front window, relieved to see Martha coming up the walk. Opening the door before Martha had a chance to knock, he almost hugged her. “She’s in the kitchen banging things around. Is James in his office?” Martha hung up her sweater and rushed him off out the door before he could think twice. “Yes, he’s there and he’s expecting you, Samuel. Elizabeth will be all right. Even if she’s had a big fright about something she’ll be all right. Now you go and I’ll call you later tonight.”
~~~~~
Martha called James to let him know she wouldn’t be coming home til morning. She had him tell Samuel what she knew. That Elizabeth’s only sister, Lily, had died of that new Covid variant that was ravaging England. They talked late into the night. Lily’s death had pained Elizabeth to her very core. She would not be able to get home because of all the travel restrictions. Her heart ached when Charlie told her that Lily had been in the hospital for weeks. He'd being unable to see her until the last. When there was no hope. There were no words for her grief, only wrenching tears. She had held herself together while Samuel was there, but seeing Martha, the flood gates opened again. Three or maybe four pots of tea later, and the entire banana cake, Elizabeth showed Martha into the guest room, made sure she had extra blankets and fresh towels. She said she would be able to sleep, but tossed and turned until she remembered all of Lily’s letters in the Eaton's cookie tin in her desk. Settling into a fitful sleep, her dreams remembered their childhood together.
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”
~ C.S.Lewis, A Grief Observed
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