Disclaimer: Not owned by me. The lyrics are stolen from a Trisha Yearwood song.
Warnings/Notes:
Ehhh, a little bit of creepiness. Also, I don't think they actually had funeral
parlors in this sense back when William died, but I don't care either. Sue me
for my inaccuracy, but I had this idea and I liked it. The one line of
William's poetry is also a line from the episode 'Fool for Love'. I think Dru
says something similar to him and I just borrowed it.
Poetry
By Bohemian Storm
She loves the ones with the wounded pride
The ones who carry all that hurt inside
"Ella!" her father called and her head snapped upward. She was
perched on a wooden stool near the only window in the basement of her father's
funeral parlor, reading a yellowed piece of parchment under the sunlight that
streamed through the dusty window pane.
"Yes, father?" she called back, folding the parchment and tucking it
into the bodice of her dress.
He appeared in the doorway, his face ashen. His hands were bloody. Ella stared
at him calmly. She was used to the blood and the utter disgust that appears on
her father's face whenever they received a body of someone they had known. She
had never understood why he became so distraught when a familiar face appeared
on the dark table. They lived in a very small town and knew mostly everyone in
the houses that surrounded them.
"Ella," he said. "Oh, Lord in Heaven . . . Ella."
"What, father?"
His dark eyes met hers and he came across the room to cradle her head against
his chest. She could feel the sticky blood on his hands being stroked into her
hair and she thought for a moment of shaking him loose, but then he spoke.
"Ella, it's William."
Her hand fluttered to the place where the parchment was rubbing against her
skin. She cocked her head slightly, dark hair coming untucked from behind her
ear.
"William?" she asked in a whisper.
Her father nodded. "No one knows what happened, really. He's just . . .
he's dead, Ella."
Her world came crashing in and all Ella knew a moment later was the dark.
She will stay with them 'till all hope is gone
She stood above his body hours later, staring at him as she had done before at
the endless parties they'd encountered one another. They'd never really spoken
at first, a few words here and there and some whispered praise to him about his
poetry. He hadn't believed her at first. No one had believed that Ella had
actually enjoyed William's horrid poetry, but she insisted that she did
and eventually everyone started to believe it. Even her.
When he had given her the scrap of paper with his flowing words their fingers
had touched briefly. He had flushed and so had she, but she had thanked him
graciously for the poem, telling him that he hadn't had to go to such lengths
for her pleasure. He had smiled at her and ducked out of the room, trailing his
darling Cecily as she hurried for the exit.
Ella was stung for a moment, but she smoothed out the paper and began to read
and suddenly there was nothing for her to be angry about. The heading on the
paper read, 'Dearest, Ella. I have written this for your kindness and
friendship. I would have you know that this is the first and probably only poem
that will not be written about my feelings for Cecily.'
She had smiled and read the poem. It hadn't been good, of course, but it hadn't
been utterly horrible either. It had been written for her and she supposed that
that fact was the only thing that really mattered. She had also fallen in love
with one of the lines. One of the lines that had been written for her.
"Let no catastrophe come crashing down from heaven and bring you to
tears," she whispered then, stroking William's forehead gently and pushing
back the hair on his face.
She hadn't meant to fall in love with him, of course. They had started out as
friends and that was what she assumed they would always be. Ella had even tried
to help him win over Cecily, but nothing ever seemed to work. It seemed as
though William and Ella were both destined to spend their lives apart from the
one they loved.
She hadn't even realized that she had loved him until he had come to call on
her, returning the parasol she had left at a party the night before. He had
come in for some tea, as it was polite and a usual custom in their neighborhood.
William had chatted amicably with Ella's father, and then turned his words on
her. She had always believed he had more of a talent for the spoken word than
the written.
When he had left he had kissed her hand and bowed with a ridiculous flourish,
only to grin at her a second laughter. Ella giggled and waved goodbye to him as
he walked down the street in the direction of his own home.
"So," her father said, watching his departing form. "This is the
charming young man who has stolen your heart."
Ella had blushed furiously and denied it, but there was really no point. Her
father had seen what she had known all along. She was in love with William.
"I love you," she murmured, staring at his still form. Her
responsibility in the parlor was to prepare the bodies for the funerals and she
was studying him now under the pretense of preparing him for his grave.
He looked so much like the William she had known and yet there was something
very different about him. She looked at the neck wound he had suffered,
silently noting that the most work would need to be done there. She hated
thinking of him in such a way. Ella had had all these brilliant plans to win
him over, to make him see that she loved him and that she was far better for
him than Cecily ever was, but now she'd have no chance. William was dead.
Ella leaned down onto the table, tucking her head under his chin. He was so
cold, but she pulled her shawl closer and wrapped her arms around him. If she
closed her eyes and tried hard enough she could almost imagine that his heart
was beating again. She could almost feel the rise and fall of his cold chest.
His shirt was open at the collar and she could feel the fine hair against the
side of her face. She just wanted to lay there forever, wrapped in his arms and
his scent. Ella closed her eyes, feeling the tears escape from under her lids.
She just wanted to forget that he was dead.
She finally rose from her position and removed the poem from her dress. Ella
wondered if she should keep it or tuck it into the suit she would have to dress
William in. Would she rather have it for the rest of her life or know that it
rested with him? She clutched it tightly in her fingers as she bent to him, her
lips brushing against his softly. Another sob went through her and she drew in
a deep breath before kissing him again. Her fingers went to his hair, reaching
behind the back of his head and pulling him toward her. She thought of what her
father might say if he were to see this, but she no longer cared. She missed
William already, missed him more than she could possibly say.
And then suddenly he was kissing her back and Ella was convinced that she was
imagining things. His hand came to her cheek, cradling her face and brushing
away the tears that were falling. He sat up on the table, his arms coming
around her, crushing her to him. She felt his own tears, hot against his cold
face and wondered what was going on. What could have possibly happened to make
her father think that William was dead when he really wasn't?
"William?" she whispered.
"Ella," he murmured his face in her hair. One of his hands was on the
small of her back, pulling her closer. The other was still on her face, turning
her head to one side as he buried his face in her throat.
"You're alive," she whispered.
He kissed the hollow of her throat.
"I love you, William."
"I love you," he murmured, his mouth on her neck.
"My father said you were dead."
His teeth grazed her skin. "Goodbye, Ella."
Goodbye's the only thing she's counting on
Her father found her body on the table instead of William's, the poem still
clutched in her hand and the tears still wet on her face.
End