SILENT
Raindrops are loud ...
They hit the windowsill hard, then ran down and hit the ground even harder.
Snowflakes are silent ...
They laid gently down on the windowsill and stayed there peacefully.
Elsie Hughes Carson was lying in her bed, on her side, her palm steadying her head, watching the snowflakes falling. Winter had come.
It had been cold for a very long time, but the sky had been clear, the air dry and the sun was shining. Walking in the fresh air always made her shiver, made her wish for a warm place near the fire and a smooth blanket. Both experiences so different, both so wonderful in their very own way.
She felt calm and relaxed. There was no rush to get up although the day had already started. No sun today, the clouds full of snowflakes waiting to fall - in a magical dance - down to earth.
Elsie had left Downton in late fall. Retired. Finally. She had left the noisy rumbling at Downton's downstairs behind. Had wished her friends well. Said good bye. Of course they had made plans to meet for a chat, for tea and cake. But they were busy working. She was not. They had a timetable and breakfasts, lunches and dinners to prepare. She had the freedom to linger a bit longer on a day like this.
It was quiet, warm and cozy.
Silent.
Well, not really silent. The soft snoring of her husband, who was beside her, caught her attention. And the more she listened to it, the more she thought how peaceful the sound was. He was relaxed too, even in his sleep. He didn't worry so much about the Abbey anymore. He was happy every time someone told him the latest news about it but it didn't bother him as it did before.
It did bother him to make sure that there was a fire burning in their fireplace, so their house would be nice and warm. It did bother him that a good bottle of wine was decanted and ready to breath every Sunday night, so he could offer his wife a delicious nightcap after dinner during the week. He made sure that she had everything. She deserved so much.
A touch. A word. A fresh flower from his garden. Or just a smile on a rainy day.
Now that she was home with him, Elsie Hughes Carson felt home.
She felt safe.
She felt loved.
A little movement next to her made her turn her head around. Charles Carson's eyes were closed. His breath still calm. He looked so beautiful, so peaceful. She had never thought she'd be able to experience this. This wonderful, blissful silence.
Once again she watched out of the window. The snowflakes were still falling. Dancing in the wind.
Then she looked at her husband again. She moved a bit more, careful not to disturb him, so that she could face him. His big and strong hand on his chest, on the top of the blanket. She dared to touch it. Softly. Only her fingertips making contact. The skin soft and warm.
Pictures came up before her inner eye.
Charles carrying the trays. Charles polishing the silver. Charles bringing in the firelogs. Charles touching her... Silently, without a word. His hands on her. Careful not to hurt her. His body next to hers. Like a snowflake touching a windowsill.
His eyes opened, slowly. Still sleepy. It seemed that he tried to say something.
"Shhhhhh..." she shushed him. And he obeyed. Closed his eyes again.
She laid her head against his shoulder. Her fingers still stroking his hand. Nothing should ever end this feeling. She loved this moment. She loved the silence. Closed her eyes and drifted to sleep again. Because she didn't have to bother about anything. She didn't have to rush. Her world was peaceful, wonderful... silent.
And she enjoyed every second of it.