Last Love

Eleanor sat up in her bed. “Would you like more tea?” one of her maids asked. “No.” The word barely audible against her faint breath. “I want to write,” she mumbled, “get me my quill.” The maids rushed to her side with quill and parchment, fear in their eyes. They knew that Eleanor was in pain and that writing would only cause her more, but they would not deny the frail young women her wish. When she was healthy, Eleanor would write daily to her friend Fredrick. She would wait by the window for the postman to see if Frederick had written back yet, and twirl around in delight when one of his letters arrived. They had been writing to each other since she was 14 and met at a ball while Eleanor was visiting her distant cousin in London. The two spent all night laughing and sneaking around before Eleanor gave him her address and departed. The two had been writing to each other ever since. However, Eleanor never told Frederick about her illness; she harbored a secret crush on her friend and was scared if he knew about it, he would pity her. She was hoping that she’d get better and then be able to have the life she dreamed about with Frederick, but after the doctor’s visit yesterday, she knew it would not be possible. She spent all morning in bed trying to figure out what to tell Frederick until his letter arrived. 

Dear Eleanor,

How are you, dear? I am quite well, for I have decided that today I will no longer live in fear. You see, I have been harboring a secret since our first meeting that I have decided is doing nothing but standing in the way of my happiness. Eleanor, I am enamored with you! Every morning I awake in sadness, for I am ripped from my dreams where we are together. I wish I could live in my dreams and be by your side for real. I replay our first meeting begging my younger self to be less stupid, and instead of calling you my best friend, call you my love. Your eyes are brighter than the stars, your cheeks are rosier than roses, your skin is as fair as snow. 

I accept that you may not share my feelings, and I am happy to lock them away, never to be explored again. I will cast aside all the love that has been building over the past four years and accept that we are nothing more than friends. Your friendship has been my primary source of happiness, and I could not bear to lose you. However, if, for some reason, god has chosen to smile down upon me, and you share my feelings, I beg you to tell me. Tell me, and I will come to you, and we can live together in bliss. I will spend the rest of my life loving, supporting, and doing anything I can to make you happy. I truly hope this letter is a blessing and not a curse. I await your next letter with fear and excitement. I love you, Eleanor.

Sincerely, Frederick 

As Eleanor read the letter, she wept. This had been all she wanted, but she knew she would not make it long. She cried herself to sleep earlier this morning, so her request to now to write came as a shock to the maids, but they all peered over her shoulders as she began to draft a letter to Frederick. 

Dear Fredrick,

I am writing to you because I haven’t left my bed in days. It hurts to move, it hurts to speak, it hurts to write, but I cannot bear the thought of myself dying without a final goodbye. I want you to know the secrets I have harbored in hopes that you will rush to my bedside and I will not have to be surrounded by faces of pity, but rather yours that I adore more than the finest jewels. I have little time left to live. It is an incurable disease that has stumbled doctors, but I have made peace with it. However, I cannot die peacefully without telling you that your feelings are reciprocated. I have loved you since we first met. I have prayed that you have shared my feelings, and alas, my prayers have been answered. I do not wish to burden you with my illness. I do not wish to create a life with you, only for it to be ripped from your fingers when I die. I only wish to see you in person one last time before I am forced to leave this earth. My love, won’t you obey my final wish? I shall no longer await the postman but rather you. And once I have seen your face and have told you, my love, in person, I will be content with my time here. I truly love you, Frederick.

Sincerely, Eleanor

The maids mailed Eleanor’s letter, and life continued on. Eleanor grew sicker, and her hope of seeing Frederick before her death lessened every day until midnight a month later. The maids came rushing as they heard Eleanor’s cough grow louder. Her head was burning, her face was pale, and the maids began to fear the worst. They placed ice packs on her head and blankets around her shivering torso. Then they called for the priest and held Eleanor’s hands as she tried to grab for her quill one last time. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. One of the younger maids went to open it, assuming it was the priest, until she opened the door to find the most handsome man she had ever seen. “Where is she? Where is my Eleanor? Please tell me I am not too late?” said Frederick. “Right this way.” she said as she led him to Eleanor’s bedroom. When Eleanor saw Frederick enter, she lit up. He grabbed her hands and whispered something none of the maids could make out in her ear. With that, Eleanor smiled and closed her eyes. Frederick placed a tender kiss on his love’s forehead as life left her bodied. Frederick began to tear up and placed his head on Eleanor. “Goodbye, Love.”