Page 22 of The Forbidden Summer
“I’m not sure. Nobody talked about them much, just…”
“Whispers,” we finish at the same time. Père nods.
I copy the gesture, processing the information. It feelsstrange, holding something so intimate, so secret in my hands. A love that could never be. A love that was forced to exist in the shadows. And yet, there’s something beautiful about it. These letters, these mementos—they’re proof that love, even the kind that’s hidden or outlawed, never truly dies.
I pull out a few more letters, unfolding them carefully, and scan the contents. The same names appear, the same tender words, the same promises of forever.
“These letters were exchanged in secret,” I observe. “No addresses, no dates... like they were only meant for each other.”
Père watches me with a contemplative look on his face. “Yeah. They were. Not many people knew about them, but some of the older folks remember. I think they were close to the end of their lives when they handed this cabin down to the next generation. But those letters? They never stopped writing to each other.”
“Do you think they ever got to be together openly?” I ask, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.
Père hesitates. His face hardens just a bit, like he’s wrestling with something deep inside. “Does it really matter?” he asks, his voice almost too soft. “What’s important is what those letters say, Van. It wasn’t the world that mattered to them, it was each other. And that’s the kind of love that endures.”
I think about that for a moment, letting it sink in. “I don’t think I could ever do what they did,” I say, more to myself than to Père. “Hide like that. Live in secret.”
Père takes a seat across from me at the table, his eyes thoughtful. “Not everyone can. But sometimes, love isn’t about being open to the world. It’s about finding that one person who makes you feel like you’re not alone, even when the world’s telling you it’s wrong.”
That makes the heaviness in my chest lift. I don’t feel so alone. There’s something comforting about knowing I’m not the only one who’s had to fight for something that feels right, even if the world doesn’t understand it.
I reach for another letter, carefully unfolding it. The words inside are even more passionate than the first, filled with longing and an urgency that makes my heart ache. I can’t help but read aloud:
“You are the pulse in my veins, the fire in my heart. I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if the world turns its back on me, my love for you will never die.”
It’s a story of love that’s defied time. Forbidden love. A kind of love that could never be told aloud in the daylight, but that would burn just as brightly in the dark.
“Maybe that’s what these letters are for. To remind us that love doesn’t need permission to exist.”
“Well,” he says with a smile, “I suppose we’ve had our dose of family history for the day. Let’s make some lunch, huh?”
I smile back, the mystery of Harold and Elliot lingering in my thoughts as I carefully fold the papers back into place. The trunk feels less like a forgotten relic now and more like a treasure trove of memories, of things once lost but never truly gone.
“After lunch, we can go through the photos together.”
A shadow crosses Père’s face. “Van, those letters, they feel… like we’re spying on them. Uncovering a secret they never wanted to share and forcing it into the light. We should return them to the trunk and let the past stay buried.”
His expression is serious now, his brow furrowed as he looks down at the letters on the table. I can tell this isn't just about the letters, it's about respect for something he holds sacred, something he's reluctant to disturb.
“I didn't mean to pry,” I say quietly. “I just... I guess I got caught up in the story, you know? It's like I was there with them, feeling what they felt.”
Père exhales deeply, rubbing his temples as though he's trying to shake off an uncomfortable thought. “I get it,” he says, his tone gentler now. “But some things are meant to stay in the past, Van. Some memories, some love stories... they don't need to be unearthed. We can't undo what they've lived through, but we can respect it.”
I glance at the letters again, that curiosity pulling at me. I get what he’s saying, but, no. Harold and Elliot don’t deserve to rot in a dusty trunk with the spider eggs and cobwebs. They deserve a happy ending. At least, they deserve to be remembered, to have their story acknowledged, even if it’s just for a moment.
“I get what you’re saying,” I start calmly, but with a hint of defiance, “but I think they deserve more than just being forgotten. Their story shouldn’t end with a locked box in the corner of an old shed. Maybe they didn’t want their love to be public, but that doesn’t mean we have to bury it completely.” I glance up at Père, meeting his gaze, hoping he can see where I’m coming from. “It’s like... they were forced to keep their love a secret. I just don’t think they should be silenced forever.”
Père’s eyes flicker between me and the letters on the table. His jaw tightens as though he’s weighing something heavy in his mind. I can see he’s torn.
“I hear you, Van,” he finally says almost hesitantly. “Butthere’s a fine line between honoring their memory and intruding on something that wasn’t meant for us to know.”
I shake my head, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “But what if they wanted someone to remember? Maybe not everyone could accept them, but we can. And if we’re lucky enough to know about it, then we owe it to them to not just lock it away.”
For a long moment, Père doesn’t say anything. He simply watches me, as if he’s trying to read my thoughts, trying to understand why this is so important to me. Finally, he exhales, a small, resigned smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Fine,” he says with a sigh, the resistance in his tone fading. “But let’s do it together. Let’s not let their story be justoursto carry. If we’re going to uncover something, we’ll do it with respect. Together.”
“Together,” I echo, grinning with triumph. “The summer of discovering forbidden love.”
