Letters Home: Section 1, Letter dated October 18

October 18
Katrina,



Monica took me for a stroll through the house today, Kat, and The Oak has been decorated for a Halloween gathering being held tonight, a costume ball for business leaders in the community raising money for a new local hospital wing. I’ve heard that an auction will be held at the gathering to add to the money raised from general donations. Black cats and steaming cauldrons of witch’s brew line the walls and accent the windows while pumpkins and fall leaves are scattered here and there. Spider webbing has been hung artfully from the tall ceilings and down the rails of the grand staircase. Whoever decorated the room did a delightful job and was certainly in the Halloween spirit.



Once the charitable gathering is over, the house will be prepared for other Halloween guests due next week when The Oak shall be the destination of field trips of local school children, their teachers, and their parents. When they are here, their hand paintings will adorn the walls next to paintings of ours, Sister, and they will be shown how to create sock puppets and be allowed to paint new pictures if they want; they will be able to throw plastic rings to win prizes, eat caramel covered apples, and drink hot chocolate. They can listen to and watch people explain how The Oak was run back in our day or they can watch magic performed, and there will be plenty of candy for all.



And, I hope that at the end of the day they leave as happily as we always did from the fall festival. Mother, however, would have been appalled at so many children running across the property and through the house in dirty shoes and with paint on their hands. Or, would she?



Then, the week after the field trip visits, the final set of Halloween preparations will be put in place for any visitors who may come. At that time, the house will be decorated with the few items that were used when we were children, paintings that we created as children that Mother had kept in the attic along with other decorations. Compared to the decorations of today, the decorations we used seem simple, the streaming paper of orange and black and red and yellow, the small wooden pails of hard candy, the pumpkins, but they mean so much more to me than steaming cauldrons.



Kat, do you remember our fifteenth Halloween, the Halloween when Mother planned the big party at The Oak? Everyone from around the area that was our age whom Mother considered appropriate was invited to The Oak that year. And, for a change, Father was there. Weeks had been spent planning the party, with decorations and food planned that were certain to charm and amaze everyone. And, finally the day arrived.



The last minute details had been put in place; you and I had chores to do that, as Mother said, must be completed before attending the party. Together, we scrubbed our shoes and ironed our dresses, Betsy looking over us to make certain it was done correctly. We made our beds and said our prayers and read our texts for the day. And, with time to spare, we set out to walk through the fields and visit the animals.



The air was crisp as we walked along, listening to the leaves crack beneath each step, laughing as we spoke of ghosts and ghouls and witches, and teasing each other with an unexpected tap on the shoulder or a whisk of the hair as if a ghost were in our presence. For miles we spoke of the party, of how Betsy sewed our dresses, of our dreams for our future.



Wife and mother, you always dreamed of being, and you sought out your dream, finding it early and holding on to it with joy. I dreamed of travel, of photography, of amazing adventures, but was told by those to whom I mentioned this dream that it was an impossibility for me. Soon, I simply stopped mentioning it to anyone and deemed it impossible for myself. But, a dream we both shared was a hope that Henry, the teenage son of one of Father’s business associates, would come to the party and would dance with us, and we laughed as we pretended to be written on his dance card and danced with the ghosts in the fields of crackling leaves.



As the day grew on, we returned to the house and began preparing for the party, getting into our dresses and preparing our hair while drinking hot cocoa and eating freshly baked snickerdoodle cookies to warm us from our walk outside. Excited, we were, about the party, about the possibility of seeing Henry, and of seeing how dressed up everyone would be. As we heard someone coming up the drive, we went to the window to watch people as they arrived.



Mother was to greet the guests upon arrival so that we could make an entrance later coming down the grand staircase. And as you pretended, there in our room, to glamorously make your way down the staircase, holding your cup of hot cocoa like a wand, you tripped in your shoes, a sight I, at first, thought was funny. You were unharmed, thank goodness, but the cocoa had badly stained your dress. I took the cup from you and began helping you up when Mother arrived and saw your dress and the stain and the cup I was holding.



Mother was furious, for there was no removing the stain in time for the party. And, as Mother began to talk of clumsiness and unladylike behavior, I thought we were about to cry. Though we tried to explain that it was merely an accident, Mother was certain that I had spilled the cocoa on your dress and even more certain that I had done so intentionally. We had learned, in these moments, not to interrupt Mother’s lectures.



So, at Mother’s instructions, we removed our dresses. Then, you stepped in to the dress I had been wearing and went to the party, descending down the grand staircase, I’m certain, with great glamor and poise. And I, upon instruction, remained alone in our room for the rest of the evening.



Father visited with me during the party, Kat, as I heard the music playing in the grand room down below. Did I ever tell you of this? I told him of how the accident occurred, but even he found it hard to believe; I don’t believe that he believed the truth. Though we were alike in so many ways, you were always the more graceful of the two, the more balanced, reasonable, and level headed. Father left our room saying that he was not sure what exactly had occurred, but that it was never good to make up stories, and I remained exiled to our room.



When the party was over, you returned to our room and we both cried. You told me of the wonderful party, the food, and, yes, your single dance with Henry who, much to our surprise, turned out not to be such a good dancer after all. You described the dresses worn by the girls and the suits worn by the boys and the music that was played. You even sneaked some of the food up to our room for me to enjoy.



We worked together, the next day, though you had been told not to work with me, trying to remove the stain from the dress.



How strange, Sister, that I should begin by recalling our wonderful Halloween decorations and should end up here, with this memory of days gone by. What Halloween ghost is whispering in my ear?



Yet, as I sit here, the smell on the air is wonderful, cinnamon and vanilla and pumpkin mixed together and baking until a luscious consistency is born. The aroma of apples and crusts and nutmeg and cloves rises up through the second floor. And, wonderful memories, memories of tastes and laughter and fall festivals, of Halloween holidays and pumpkin pies and listening to crisp leaves crack beneath the feet of two walking sisters return to my senses as if they exist in this moment instead of the past.



Always,
Christina




This work is fictional. Any resemblance to actual situations or persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional.