Chapter Four: The path of true love
Connie was almost delirious with joy. She was going to marry the most handsome, kind, gentle and talented man in the whole Island, and possibly the whole world! She admitted privately that there may be one or two more impressive men somewhere, but one would probably have to search other continents, before squashing the thought as unworthy.
And was that the sound of his voice she heard? She grinned to herself - he still sang sea shanties, but tried to cut out anything he thought too crude for a woman's ears, in deference to her. Secretly, she quite enjoyed hearing the songs that men sang when women weren't there, but she wouldn't dream of telling him so.
"Ahoy there, my lovely Connie! And what a beautiful day for planning our wedding! I have taken the liberty of bringing you a bridal gift, my darling. I hope you like it, but I can always exchange it if necessary."
Connie opened the box in delight, and gasped as she drew out a beautiful flowing dress, the colour of the sea in spring.
"It is so wonderful, and you are so generous," she said, leaning in to kiss him. "It is exactly the colour I love best."
Seal barked happily as they embraced.
"I cannot wait for our wedding, my darling," said Peter. "Only one week from today."
"Certainly, when one has no family, weddings are a lot easier to organise," sighed Constance, having one of her moments of melancholy. "I do wish that my mother and father could have met you and given their seal of approval - as they certainly would have, by the way."
Peter looked at her gravely. "I too wish my parents could be here. After my father drowned, my mother moved back to London, and I have not seen her or my sisters for many a year."
Connie sighed again. "My father drowned too, not three miles from here. He drowned in a great storm." She did not want to give more details. After his death, many people had come up to her and called him 'hero', and all the while she had thought fiercely to herself that she wished he had been no hero, but had left the captain's children to drown, and come home safely. She could barely admit to herself even now how her sorrow had driven her to such cruel thoughts.
Peter looked up sharply. "My father too. He was captain of a ship called the Mary Rose. She foundered off some rocks on this very island. My sister and I were on board, and would have drowned too, but by the grace, we were saved by a local man. A fisherman, I was told, but after we were rescued, my mother brought us home as soon as she could, and I was never able to find him and thank him."
It was as though he had poured a bucket of ice water over her on the hottest summer day. She gasped, and swayed on her feet.
"You? You and your sister were those children? That man who rescued you was my father, and the best man who ever lived. For years I hated you for his death, and I hated myself for hating you."
Peter's face had gone white. "Connie..."
"No. You have said plenty. Go. I cannot look at you."
Peter stepped back, shocked.
"Very well. I am sorry for grieving you so sorely, Connie. I can only apologise for bringing such grief into your life, and bringing sorrow to your heart. I cannot blame you, but I will wait for word from you before our wedding."
"Wedding?" Connie fair shrieked this word. "There will be no wedding. Leave now, before I set Seal on you."
Seal was whimpering, and looked in no state to drive off anyone, but Peter just nodded and left.
Connie stood and watched him go. When he was out of sight, she wept. She did not know how long she wept for. She was not aware of moving, but she found herself mechanically plucking fruits from her trees and bushes. How could he, her love, her soon-to-be husband, have caused her father's death? She felt as though the world had tilted on its axis. How could love come from death? Was she only to lose one love to pay for another?
She fell into her accustomed rhythm of harvesting, and felt her breathing slow, and her mind begin to quiet. She remembered the look on Peter's face when she had told him to leave - told him she would not marry him! He had caused her more pain than he ever knew, but had he not lost his father too? And the pain she caused him was not unknowing or unhelped, but deliberate - she had not looked to be cruel, but the pain and rage had made it all too easy.
She went to bed uneasy in her mind that evening. The raven cawed outside her window all night, and Seal was uncustomarily morose. She recalled a phrase she had heard once; the long dark night of the soul. Well, she was looking at her soul, and while she was not in the pits of despair as she remembered she had once been, it was still not a comfortable feeling to look at oneself, and see one's faults honestly. She had been unfair, and unkind - and wrong too, for she did want to marry him. Even as she had shouted at him, he had respected her wishes, and renewed his loyalty.
It seemed an age before the sun dawned again, but when it did, she had made a decision.
She sat down at her table (for yes, she had a table now - Peter had brought his friends along to build her a small hut in her field, and had fixed some broken furniture for her - for, as he had said laughingly, until he gave her a mansion, they would need somewhere to live), and laboriously scratched out a letter.
Mye dearest Peter
Please forgive mee, afore I did notte treat you Kindly. I have Wronged you, and offer you my Contrit Contrishun Sincere Appologies. You are a Goode man and True, and it woulde bee more honour than I am Worthe were you to forgive mee and marrye me as you once honoured me by askinge.
Yours Forever
Constance Cabot
She sealed the letter, and tied it to the raven's leg, sending it flying with her hopes of happiness.
By her foot, she heard a muffled bark. She looked down, and Seal dropped a stone by her foot, and wagged his tail.
"What's this," she smiled at her dog. She looked more closely at the rock, and realised that parts of it gleamed red... like rubies. Seal barked again, and nudged it with his nose.
"Rubies?" she gasped.
Seal yipped excitedly, and ran in a circle.
"A wedding present, perhaps" a voice seemed to whisper in her mind's ear. She looked around sharply, but there was no-one there but the wind.
