Page 48 of Brian and Cora
Dearest Ivy,
I find myself in the strangest situation—one I could never have imagined when I left New York. I'm essentially alone in a cabin with a man who alternates between growling at me like a wounded bear and surprising me with glimpses of unexpected softness and humor.
Mr. Bly—Brian, as everyone calls him—is not at all what I expected. First of all, he’s about thirty, and not conventionally handsome but has rugged good looks that I must admit to finding attractive. Right now, he’s scruffy, having refused to allow me to shave him, (although he’s promising to do so by himself soon.) His brown hair is shoulder-length and often tangled, again refusing to let me comb it. His brown eyes can shoot hard looks when he’s disapproving of me (almost all the time.) Yet they brighten at his puppy’s antics.
Yes, there’s a puppy. Her name is Sassy Girl, or Sassy, or Sass. Oh, the joys (and frustrations) of having a puppy. You remember how heartbroken I was over Buddy’s death. Then came Stepmother’s refusal to allow me another dog.
But I digress.
When I first arrived, Brian tried his best to frighten me away with scowls and snarls. But yesterday, I watched him with a little girl who has Mongolism, and Ivy, the tenderness in his voice, the protective way he held her—it made my heart do the most alarming things.
The isolation here is unlike anything I've experienced. When Brian is sleeping (which is most of the time thanks to the laudanum), the silence in the house is so complete I can hear my own heartbeat. Sometimes I take short walks along the lake with Sassy Girl. But I don't dare go far in case he needs me. The water is beautiful, reflecting the heavenly blue sky like a mirror, and I've seen the swans glide by. They're as elegant as you might imagine.
I'm embarrassed to admit I'm a bit lonely. After always being surrounded by people—even if they were usually tiresome family members—this solitude feels strange. I find myself looking forward to Brian's waking moments, even when he's being difficult, just for the human interaction.
Is it terrible that I'm starting to enjoy our verbal sparring? There's something invigorating about matching wits with the man, like a game where we're both trying not to admit we're having fun.
Now, I must describe our nearest neighbors. Torin Rees and his daughter Jewel. If Brian is the rugged cowboy-like hero, Torin is the classical handsome hero from the fairy tales.
Brian stirred. “Privacy please,” he mumbled.
“Just a minute.” I’ll finish writing this later. Wiping off the tip of her pen and capping the ink bottle, Cora returned them to their places. Folding her letter, she tucked it under the desk flap.
Brian lay with his eyes closed as if not wanting to engage.
She hurried past and put her lap desk into the bottom of the wardrobe, before catching up the blue knitted shawl lying across her bed, and gratefully escaping outside.
The autumn air was crisp but not unpleasant. As she walked along the shoreline, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. Sassy Girl bounded alongside her, chasing the colorful leaves and splashing in the shallows.
She didn't go far—just enough to stretch her legs and fill her lungs with fresh air and the scent of nature. The isolation that had felt oppressive inside seemed peaceful out here, with the gentle lap of water against the shore, the birds calling, and the rustle of leaves overhead.
For a moment, she wished never to leave.
Astonished by the thought, the antithesis of what she’d striven for these last few years, Cora called to the dog. With Sassy Girl gamboling beside her, she went inside, closing the door firmly on any fanciful imaginings.
On the morningof the third day, after her breakfast and coming in from using the privy carrying a bucket of well water, she found Brian already awake, his jaw set with determination.
"No more laudanum," he said before she could even greet him.
"I promised, didn't I?" She set the bucket on the floor, washed and dried her hands, and then moved to the stove, pulling the kettle to the warmer burner. "I'll brew you some willow bark tea instead. It won't be as effective, but it should take the edge off your pain."
He wiggled to a sitting position, arranging his pillows behind him to prop him up against the wall.
Cora didn’t offer to help, knowing from experience he’d refuse.
He watched suspiciously as she prepared the tea, adding a generous amount of honey to mask the bitter taste. When she handed him the mug and a buttered roll to sop up the liquid, he sniffed the tea cautiously before taking a sip. "Not as vile as I expected," he admitted grudgingly.
"High praise indeed," she said dryly, earning what might have been the ghost of a smile. “Do you want some breakfast?”
He slightly raised the roll. “This is fine for now.”
Nodding, she went to refill the kettle and ewer with fresh water, setting one back on the stove and the other next to the basin.
Then she returned to aid Brian in getting out of bed and to the wing chair—one of the few tasks he’d allowed her to help him with.
The sound of an approaching surrey broke the morning quiet. Sassy Girl yelped and ran to the door, continuing to bark.
Brian called her over to him, and, astonishingly, the dog obeyed. He leaned sideways to curl his hand over her shoulder.
