Chapter 27 #2
Edith heaved a sigh of relief when she saw her grandmother’s urn atop the desk.
She rushed over and scooped it into her arms. The motion made a stack of papers flutter, and her eye caught on something that made her heart drop into her stomach.
There was a queasy feeling climbing up her throat, and her ears rang.
Sticking out from under the pile of ledgers was a simple cream envelope.
Written in violet ink was her name. Edith would know the handwriting anywhere.
The grand looping script, slashed across the page as if the writer was in a hurry.
Her grandmother always said her hand could not move as fast as her brain did, and that was the only acceptable excuse for messy handwriting.
Edith picked up the envelope. It was as if she were no longer on the boat, but suddenly back in her grandmother’s room.
Edith could see her sitting at her writing desk, the image so vivid.
The desk, cluttered with knickknacks and books.
Papers scattered. At her grandmother’s elbow, her inkpot, filled to the brim with her favorite violet ink.
Edith held the letter in her hands, turned it over, fingers tracing reverently over the broken wax seal. Her grandmother had written her a letter. Her father hadn’t given it to her. Edith’s grandmother’s last words, and he had taken them. Just like he’d taken the ashes.
Once, she might have let him get away with it. But not anymore. She was going to steal back what was hers. Starting with this. She slid the single sheet of parchment from the envelope.
Dearest Edith,
You didn’t think I’d leave you without one final piece of wisdom, did you?
It feels very Arthurian to be writing this letter as if I’m already beyond the grave.
I’m imagining myself resting in Avalon, peering out at you through a veil of still water.
My hope is that you are reading this letter somewhere exciting.
Perhaps amid a dangerous quest? I know you must be awfully sad that we did not seek Excalibur together.
But the dreaming and the planning and the wondering …
those times with you meant the world to me.
I don’t mind that I will be greeting death with the great mystery of Avalon still intact.
What a shame it would be to have learned everything there is to learn.
The magic is in the mystery after all. But while I am content to have spent my waning days dreaming, oh Edith, I want so much more for you.
If I know you, and trust me, I do, then you’ll be feeling rather guilty to be going on the quest without me.
Do not. You did not know me when I was young.
I was a reckless, wild, terror, and I had my adventures.
It is your turn now. Find Excalibur, or don’t.
I want you to do every mad thing you can think of.
Every mistake you make, I’ll be all the more proud of you.
After all, Malory wrote that “a good heart will always mend a bad fortune.” And you, Edith, have the best heart of all.
All my love, for all time,
Your grandmother
Tears ran down Edith’s face. She wiped them away before they could fall and smear her grandmother’s words.
Her beautiful words. Edith had never felt so loved and so foolish in equal measure.
Everything she had done to try to redeem herself, to bring honor to her grandmother’s memory, none of it mattered.
Not really. Her grandmother had not seen her life as one that needed vindication, and she had not seen Edith as a burden.
All these choices Edith had made, she told herself that she was being selfless, doing right by the people around her.
But that was just a shield. All her decisions, except for when she finally embarked on the quest, had been driven by nothing but fear.
And that was the only reason she was alone on this boat: fear.
She could tell herself she had left for Thomasin’s own good, but she knew deep down she was just being a coward.
That was not the way to honor her grandmother, who was wild and kind and loving.
Just like she wouldn’t have wanted her ashes to remain safe yet sequestered, she wouldn’t have wanted Edith to do the same to herself.
Because that’s what Edith was doing, wasn’t she?
By running back home with her father, she was just putting herself back on the mantle where she would never be hurt.
This was how she would honor her grandmother, how she would make up for all her failings.
She had to keep living wildly no matter how scared she was, and no matter how many times she got hurt.
Time had run out for her grandmother, and Edith couldn’t fix that.
Before her grandmother’s passing, Edith hadn’t been ready to go on the quest. She had always thought of that as her biggest mistake, the most obvious example of her worthlessness.
But what if it was okay that she hadn’t been ready yet?
If she had gone on the quest earlier, she never would have …
Thomasin’s face flooded her mind. She never would have met Thomasin.
Edith stormed from the room, letter and urn in hand.
Her fear had come between her grandmother and the quest. Edith owed it to her to do better.
She could not let her fear come between her and Thomasin.
She could not make the same mistake twice.
Thomasin was everything she ever wanted, and Edith had walked away because someday Thomasin might not love her anymore?
That was ridiculous. Even if Thomasin did stop loving her, Edith did not want to miss all the days in between.
She suddenly didn’t care how many days of loving Thomasin, of being loved by her, fate might grant her.
If it was only a handful, then Edith wanted them all.
She might not have any treasure to offer Thomasin, but she could offer herself.
Edith could give everything she was to Thomasin. Maybe that would be enough.
Edith had to make things right. For Thomasin and her grandmother.
She was so glad that her father had taken the ashes, because it had made one thing painfully clear to Edith.
It was better to try and fail with people who loved her than wither away on a mantle with people who only ever tolerated her.