Julia's Ghost
Legs bent beneath my skirts, I sat amidst the gently waving long-grass. The ocean roared upon the shore before me. I looked at the cornflowers. My cold fingers brushed them numbly. I remember threading wreaths of this blue colour. I had put them around her little wrists. Her cheeks always blossoming with joy, her eyes always sparkling with an impish hazel variant of her fathers'...
Julia.
… "Mam," hearing her small voice first utter her own word for me... Did it happen in the evening or morning? I can't remember if it was the heat from the fireplace or the sunshine through the window, but I remember the warmth. I also remember Ross laughing with both excitement and envy, spending an hour trying to parrot the term 'dad' with her. His happy satisfaction with the eventual success of 'da'…
Tears pressed against my eyes. I squeezed them shut hearing the shore rumble on, smashing against the cliffs far up the beach. The fresh sea mist filtered across my face and neck. I grasped a handful of long-grass and cornflowers, ripping them out of the sand. Guilt still ate angrily at my heart. Sorrow still resided in my soul. A peaceful dream now seemed so foreign to me. At night my arms would fall around Ross's middle. My body felt numb and heavy, like lead. I held him like I was clinging to drift wood, floating far out amid this turbulent sea that here-by rolled. Always, begging God to end this nightmare. I prayed for the both of us – Ross hasn't practiced evening prayer since his youth. 'Too often there's not as much praising as there is cursing to be done,' he says. Ross has taken Darkie a little way up the beach; he means to exercise him while I meditate. The wild spirit in him has been drenched. His outward nature is both gruff and solemn, but when his eyes hold mine they settle into deep concern. His hands seek my own, squeezing them with intensity. And her tiny fist curls around my finger. I dig my fingers deep into the sand and breathe in another cold shower of sea mist. I am swept up in my reverie…
Mam.
…Her small voice sings out above the crashing waves. My eyes flicker open and I look to the rippling shore. There my babe appears before me in a silver form. She's sitting up in the foam as it slides back in with the tide. Her face turns to me, at first calm and serene, then breaking into a smile. She raises her arms for an embrace.
Julia.
I am up and running towards the sea. My shawl is cast behind me as my skirts awash around my legs. I wade into the cold water...
"Demelza!"
Ross Poldark dashes in after his wife and seizes her up into his arms. He brings her back onto the beach, laying her down. Frantically unrolling a blanket from Darkie's pack and pulling it around her shoulders, he holds her close. Demelza shivers beneath him as he kisses her fervently.
"Please – let me go to her, Ross…"
"Hush my love."
He pulls back to study her pale face, placing the back of his hand on her forehead.
"I am afraid you have taken a chill. We must get you home and call Enys."
"Darling Julia… She's gone now."
Poldark glances behind, following his wife's desperate gaze out to sea. He looks back upon her with an anguished expression.
"Come, Demelza," he whispers gently.
Ross lifts her up into a mount and sets himself behind her. Demelza leans back against him, wet hair plastered to her face, tears streaming. With a strong shake of the reins Ross sets off galloping along the beach for Nampara...