“2CELLOS – I Will Wait [OFFICIAL VIDEO].” YouTube. 9 July 2014.
THE LINK BETWEEN MUSIC AND STORY:
This is not the first time this song and this story have appeared together on my blog. The song was a Wordless Wednesday many months ago, and the story was my first Thursday Three Hundred story. I am attempting to get the first two Thursday Three Hundred stories edited and into book form. This week I have been working on Hope at Dawn. When it is done, I will begin on editing And Then Love. I hope that they will be available in April. I am also working on some other projects that I plan to give your snippets of on Mondays in the coming weeks.
I am also working on some other projects that I plan to give your snippets of on Mondays in the coming weeks, but for now, I hope you will enjoy this look back at that first writing-exercise-turned-serial-story story.
(note: Hope at Dawn is a non-Austen-inspired regency short story of about 6,000 words. The author of the letter in the piece below is named Nicholas Sidemore. This is his and Kathleen’s story.)
EXCERPT FROM Hope at Dawn:
Kathleen Witherfield pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and leaned against the side of the boat. The lantern swayed on its hook causing shadows to dance about the cabin. Although it was well past midnight and she should be sleeping, she was not. A mixture of excitement and trepidation swirled within her making sleep an impossibility.
Reaching beneath her pillow, she pulled out a worn letter. Carefully, she unfolded it and smoothed it on her lap. The light that flickered overhead was poor, but she did not need the light to read what was written on the page.
I cannot describe the despair my heart feels tonight as I pen these words of farewell. They are not words I write willingly. Would that I was able to provide for you in a manner your father deemed acceptable! But, I cannot. I can only promise to strive to do so, but what security is there in that? I do not blame your father for refusing me.
Maybe he could not blame her father, but she could. She had been furious at her father’s refusal and horrified at his proposed alternative. Rupert Dunnaby was a liar and a cheat, and she had known it almost from their first meeting. Unfortunately, her father and brother had not seen Rupert as she had, at least not in time. She let out a heavy, sorrowful sigh and with a shake of her head to clear the memories of her father, returned to the letter.
I beg of you to not accept Mr. Dunnaby. Give me time to make my fortune. Wait for me, Kathleen. Give me one year to increase my holdings. I shall toil night and day so that when you return, I will be able to provide for you as your father requires. Please do not refuse me this request for I cannot bear the thought of you with another. I shall look for your answer on the tree behind the church. If I see your locket, I know you will return to me to retrieve it.
A tear slid down her cheek and her hand moved of its own volition to clasp the locket which hung about her neck. Carefully, she folded the letter and slipped it once again beneath her pillow before snuggling down next to the infant who shared her bed.