Several of you had asked for a followup. I give you the following.
P.S. Elgar's Enigma Variations: Variation IX. Nimrod - Adagio, helped me to complete both chapters. It's a lovely, lovely piece.
Elsie Hughes emerged from the steam at Downton Station, navigating the haze that ghosted across her cheeks and whisked about her skirt.
Her head was held high, alight with a private joy exuding tranquility, belying a journey bookended by nerves born of foreboding and anticipation.
Her growing smile could not be hidden, nor did she want it to be as she took confident strides that brought her closer to the end of her journey. Though she would pass through the village and stop ultimately at the Abbey, neither was her destination.
She was coming home—not to a place of stone and mortar, but to a home of flesh and bone.
Her heart dancing at the thought, she glided along the platform, barely earthbound. A highly anticipated homecoming and a pleasant reunion with her sister could result in nothing less. From the moment she received Becky's welcoming embrace, a relief secretly sought after years of uncertainty and separation flooded her chest while relief uncoiled her taut frame.
Since Christmas, a weight had been lifting from her slight but unyielding shoulders. Though bound to a future shared with another, that small, significant act only made her feel more liberated. But one thing had remained to weigh upon her until this dash to the sea—not her sister, but the separation needed to keep them both afloat financially. Now nothing, save for an ancient ceremony of vows, kept Elsie Hughes from all the family she'd got and ever wanted to have.
Swallowing painfully, her chin wobbled at the thought.
Walking past the thrumming machine, past the incessant clattering of steel and wood as it impatiently waited for its departure to the next destination, no one paid any mind to Elsie Hughes as she set off from the platform.
Her expression faltered then; her heart swelled with the reward reaped by unwavering faith. Becky's ebullient joy rang in her ears, mixing with the uneven tempo of the surf breaking just before the shore at Lytham St. Anne's. But another wave—soft and low, luxurious and increasingly tempting—flowed through her. Eyes shuttering languorously at the memory of her beloved and their southern shore, she was transported.
At the close of each day apart, his voice had tickled at her ear, rustled teasingly through hairs untethered from their pins. It had ebbed and flowed, her name on his tongue. Over and over, she heard it drown out the sound of the surf, making her body hum with imagined reverberations, permeating to the untested but not unknown.
Mrs. Hughes.
Elsie.
Only the departing train whistle arrested her from the memory and the promise that came with her homecoming.
Her pace quickened then, darting quickly by the church as she held tighter to her cases.
She could rest easy in a few moments, alone on a road bereft of occupants ensconced in their midday meals. All she needed was to make it around one last bend in the road.
In that quiet hour, she heard nothing but the faint rustling of leaves. That is, until her own startled inhalation of the dewy air echoed through the canopy.
Time stopped.
Absence had made her heart grow fonder, weaker with hunger, tighter with longing. But nothing could compare to how it constricted at the sight of her beloved.
He fingered the brim of his bowler, lifting it with every ounce of deference he possessed. And when he palmed before his heart, she felt a surge in her own, beating with a clamorous thud at his unspoken declaration.
Neither could remember who made the first move to close the distance nor how their hands finally joined. With an upturned face full of adoration, all thoughts of needing to hear his voice fell by the wayside. In the end, it hardly mattered.
What counted was his presence, his love—their love—now acknowledged and shared, flourishing in the spring and putting the burgeoning blooms to shame with their progress.
Brightening their patch of earth on that cloudy day were her rosy cheeks, his kind eyes expressing his deep, abiding regard without volition.
On the road to the backdoor, Elsie Hughes had already returned to her home.
Though not as brief as part 1, I'm still pleased to be well under 1000 words. Thank you all so much for your wonderful response to part 1. I am at the height of finals preparations and hope to thank each and every one of you that I can in due time.
In the meantime, I'd love to know what you thought of Elsie's perspective. Cheers to you all.