Short Story: Drowning (An Epistolary)

Epistolary: involving or concerning letter writing, a literary work consisting of letter writing

Dearest Aunt:

I have reached the seaside and checked into the cottage. It is marvelous, with a view of the blue ocean and the lighthouse on the island yonder. As you know, it has been years since I've been to the beach. I longed to sink my toes into the sand, hear the waves crash onto the shore, and feel the breeze ruffle my hair. How long has it been? Thirty, thirty five years! Oh, how I've missed this!

The caretaker is kind. Her name is Mrs. Phillips, an elderly lady whose son is the keeper of the lighthouse nearby. She greeted me on the path and showed me around the place. Mrs. Phillips used to be a nurse and she commented on my 'pale pallor' and 'listless demeanour'. A seaside holiday was the perfect solution to whatever ailed me, and she said that she hoped that the time away will help put more color into my cheeks.

There are still good people in the world, like Mrs. Phillips and yourself, Aunt. Very few, but still good.

I managed to set up my easel and begin a painting of the lighthouse. Mrs. Phillips was enthusiastic about it and chattered on about its history. Apparently, her son is the third generation of its keepers, with her husband and father in law (God bless their souls) in that job previously. The fourth generation past was a businessman who provided the funds for its construction. The lighthouse needed constant repair, for the site gave it no favors, with its ocean spray and frightful storms and hurricanes. It constantly floods, according to Mrs. Phillips, even now.

"It constantly drowns," I observed, as I began the background of my painting.

"Aye, but it always rises again. We shore up its foundation and fix the bulwark. Its light is too important to put out," she gently admonished me.

"So much work."

"But it is so worth it."

I was too tired to argue. How long, Aunt, have I constantly repaired the foundation of my life, only for it to crumble yet again?

She chattered until supper time, then invited me to dinner with her and her lighthouse keeper son. I demurred, saying that I should finish my painting as long as I had daylight to see it, and that such things should be captured in the moment while they still could. She refused to be deterred, so we compromised, in that I should join them for breakfast instead. It was only then that she was satisfied enough to let me be.

Mrs. Phillips is a good woman, even if her good intentions are a bit overbearing.

As I write this, I have made good progress, though the angle of the sun is low and dusk is on the horizon. Though my limbs are heavy with exhaustion, my mind is oddly free. The waves call to me, even after all this time, and I have missed their song. Their depths churn at the surface, but underneath all is peace.

I should take a walk to shake out this lethargy in my joints, then return to finish the painting. It should invigorate me enough to carry me through. Take care, Aunt, and farewell.

_____

(Additional note from Mrs. Edwina Phillips of Carpenter Point)

Dear Mrs. Tannenbaum:

It is with heavy heart that I write an addendum to this letter from your niece. As she has written above, we had agreed to meet for breakfast. She did not show, so my son and I went to the cottage, thinking that perhaps she slept in late. After all, as she has also noted and which you well know, she arrived here rather pale and lethargic looking, and as a nurse, I quickly surmised that she was in ill health. If she was in rest, I resolved to let her be, but keep a keen eye upon her, for her appearance and her behaviour concerned me.

Yet we found the bed yet unturned, the cottage undisturbed. More alarming, the easel which she had begun her painting of the lighthouse still stood in its place from the previous evening. How it hadn't fallen to the sand with the night winds is a mystery. Your niece's letter to you, however, sat unsecured next to her paint palette. She had indicated (as above) that she had gone for a walk, perhaps for inspiration.

So my son decided to search along the ocean shore. I went to town and rallied my acquaintances. She couldn't have gotten far.

As of this hour, we have not found her, but rest assured that we will not rest until we have.

Sincerely,
Edwina Phillips
_____

Carpenter Point Lighthouse Keeper's Journal, Master Jonathan Phillips

It is with heavy heart that I must make this entry.

Earlier this morning, we found her body, washed upon the rocks near the lighthouse. Some obvious misfortune had found her upon her walk from this evening past. Perhaps she had some malady and fallen into the ocean. Perhaps she encountered an unsavoury ruffian along the path (though I find that hard to believe, as safe as the Point is from crime. Everyone knows everyone, and the night watchmen patrol this area constantly)

In any case, a cursory examination showed no foul play, no apparent injury. I was struck by her look of marvelous peace upon her face, as if she had seen an angel in her final moments. Mayhap she had. Mother had commented on how frail she had appeared yesterday, and how she seemed to rally during their spirited conversation at the shore. The seaside agreed with her, and her painting seemed to give her a new purpose.

When we discovered her, I immediately sent a man to the constable, and another to the doctor, and another to fetch Mother. The next few hours were spent with the various inquiries, and attempting to retrace the poor woman's final steps. Mother was rather distraught, and said that she should have insisted on dinner with us last night, otherwise this tragedy might have been averted.

Our unfortunate guest arrived with very little in her possessions, and other than her easel and paints, and the letter to her aunt, there was not much to go on. Her aunt has been contacted, but it will take time before she arrives to claim the body. In the meanwhile, the town coroner will keep her as long as it takes.

The painting is unfinished, but I believe had it been completed, it would have been quite a masterpiece. There is much debate over what we should do about it. Should another artist complete the work? Leave it as is? Should we give it to the aunt, who is apparently the last of her kin? I have not seen such a rending of the lighthouse in such exquisite detail, even in the limited time of its creation. A right shame that such talent was taken from us too soon.

In any case, life can be cruel, and even in a serene place like the Point, the ocean is a harsh mistress, and claims Her children before their time.

Jonathan Phillips