• Author B. D. West

The Writing Desk

The Writing Desk

You would think I would learn to stop buying things that I don’t need. But here I am bouncing along the long dirt road in my 1957 Chevy truck, driving back to my Victorian farm house with another treasure I bought at the Thompson twin’s estate sale. It felt like the end of an era when the last sister, Abigail, finally died. She was one hundred and nine years old. I guess the old rumor that she would out live everyone in town didn’t pan up too much. Annabelle and Abigail were two of the most mysterious women in town. They were filthy rich and stayed to themselves. So you can imagine the turn out when their home and possessions were up for sale. They had out lived their relatives and they had no children. They were never married but rumor had it that they had fallen in love with the same man. It almost destroyed them but they somehow prevailed. I guess mister right somehow faded out of the picture. No one ever really knew of anything personal about the twins. I always wondered how even that much was out in the public. The Thompson twins were always fascinating to me so I just had to go to the estate sale. So when the writing desk was carried out on to the make shift platform outside in their courtyard; I just knew I had to have it. It was beautiful. It was the kind of desk that was handed down for generations. It was heavy oak with clawed feet at the end of the legs. It had tiny drawers and compartments all over it. It gleamed in the sun as if it were brand new. I couldn’t see one flaw on the old desk. I know a thousand dollars is a lot for me but something about the desk called to me. So now here I am… a thousand dollars less in my bank account and I am at a loss for words to explain to my husband why I spent the money. He and I never see eye to eye on things like this. We never see eye to eye on anything these days.

I pulled into the drive way and Mike met me outside. Great… he’s shaking his head in disbelief. I knew it.

“What have you gone and bought now Macie?” Mike says as he opens my door for me.

“A writing desk.” I say with my best innocent smile.

“How much did it cost me?” He said with a sigh.

“Not much I used my savings.”

“Which is also my savings too Macie. Out with it. How much did it cost?”

“A thousand dollars.” I said as I walked to the back of my old rusty truck.

Mike slammed the driver side door shut. “You paid what?”

“Look at it Mike! It’s worth three times that or more! I couldn’t resist.”

“Macie, this is exactly what I have been saying to you for the past year. What has happened to you? Your spending money left and right and I just can’t deal with this anymore.”

“What are you saying Mike? That you’d leave me over this?”

“Macie, you haven’t been the same since our baby died. I loved her too but crib death just happens. You can’t keep blaming yourself. You have been recklessly spending since it happened. It’s time for this to end.” Mike sighed and leaned up against the truck.

“I can’t believe you would throw that up in my face like that.” I whispered as hot tears silently began to fall down my cheeks.

“Macie I think we need to take a break from each other.” Mike turned and walked inside the house and began to pack. I stood by my truck in shock and anger. It had been well over a year since Samantha died. She was only a month old. I felt like I was on top of the world. I had it all. A great husband and a beautiful home and to complete my fairytale story, I had a beautiful baby girl. I named her Samantha after my favorite Aunt. After she passed I threw myself into decorating this old Victorian home. I search high and low and every antique store from here to the boarders of my home state of North Carolina. I guess I threw myself into it just a little bit too hard. I just can’t seem to make myself go in the house and beg Mike not to go. So instead I decided to unload the desk off the truck.

Mike helped me unload the truck and took the desk into the house before he left me standing on the porch, watching his dust fly behind his truck like silent tornados. I sat on the porch swing and gently began to rock myself. I closed my eyes and let the rocking motion sooth me like a mother rocking a baby. I sure miss my mother. She died when I was ten years old. I’m not really sure of what the cause was. My father wouldn’t talk about it when I would muster up the courage to ask. I suppose that is where I get my inability to talk about my problems to my husband or anyone for that matter. I’m guessing Mike headed for the bed and breakfast down the road. It’s the only place to stay in my tiny town. When I finally opened my eyes I was shocked to discover that my eyes were wet. When was the last time I cried? I wiped my face and went into the house to take a bath. I think an early bed time is just what I need.

The next day I woke up early. The sun was showing its brilliant light through my picture window, casting a beautiful golden light onto my bed. I laid there for a while and decided that there was no way I was going to go back to sleep. I had too much on my mind. I rolled out of bed and headed down stairs and made myself a cup of coffee. I stood in the door way of the living room and I just stared at the writing desk. Regret filled my heart as I realized that I ended my marriage, possibly, over a desk. I couldn’t beat myself up over what I should do just yet. I needed to wake up. I guess I could resell the desk, get my money back somehow. I better clean it up first. I poured myself another cup of coffee, grabbed a cleaning rag and furniture polish and set to work. I pulled out the drawers and cleaned out the inside. Then I set those all in a row and turned to clean the empty spaces the drawers left open. I reached as far as I could into the back of the desk to get a particularly stubborn spider web. I pushed really hard against the back of the desk and a loose piece of wood fell open. I thought I had broken it with my rough pest removal until I notice paper sticking out. I scooted in as close the desk as I could and reached my hand into the newly opened hole. I grabbed a hand full of papers and gently pulled them out. My heart was racing. I had heard of things like this before. I heard of old stocks and bonds being found in old furniture and my heart sank when I realized that was not the case. On further examination I realized these were letters. I grabbed my cup of coffee and took the letters to the front porch. I sat on the porch swing and began to read.

My Dearest Love,

I am writing you this letter with the hope that one day I will find you and finally have the ability to send to you these letters from my heart. I understand the reason you left, at least my mind understands. My heart however does not. I know my father and Annabelle will come to understand our love for each other. My father is sure to give you your job back as his apprentice and my twin sister will come to realize it was I that your heart has chosen. As soon as you read this please come home to me.

Always,

Abigail

My Dearest Love,

It has been two months since I have heard your sweet voice. I miss your touch as well. My love I must tell you some news that I would believe to be shocking to you. I have found out that I am with child. Your child my love. I have not spoken to my father about this. I am too afraid. What will he say to me? What if he tells me I no longer have a home here in his estate? Please my love, come home soon. I can’t bear to face this without you.

Always,

Abigail

My Dearest Love,

It has been three months now. I have noticed that my body is going through changes. I don’t know how long I can keep this from my father. I have decided to tell my twin about this. I feel so alone; I need her to support me. Please do not hold it against me my dearest that I told my sister first before you. My search for you has been more difficult than I had expected. Will we ever meet again?

Always,

Abigail

My Dearest Love,

I told Annabelle about our child. As I expected, she was angry and yes she was hurt. I feel responsible for her pain. I watched the tears fall down her face and I wished for a moment that you had fallen for her. She has never been in love before nor have I. This is the first time for the both of us. After she released her pain, she was amazingly supportive and she agreed to help me. The last few days we have spoken in secret of how to tell father but most of all, we spoke of names for the baby. She will be a great help to us my love. Oh where are you dearest? I have searched everywhere and I have run out of ideas. The only idea I have left is to tell father about the child. I know he would know people who would know of your whereabouts. I must try one last time my love. Our child grows bigger everyday and I need you by my side. While you are away, it brings me such comfort to put my hand to my stomach and feel your child. It fills me with the love that you would bestow upon me if you were here.

Always,

Abigail

My Dearest Love,

I told father last night. I had expected father to yell, disown me or throw me out; but instead he crumpled to the floor and cried like a small child. He cried over and over that he had lost his child and he kept asking what he had done to cause such a thing to happen to me. I simply told him that I was in love. He was surprised when I told him it was you. He vowed to find you and inform you of your duty. I’m sorry my love but I saw no other choice. Our child is beginning to show, I don’t want to cause our child or our families shame.

Always,

Abigail

My Dearest Love,

Father is searching like mad to find you. He spoke with a family friend and has a possible lead as to where you may be. My heart beats so fast with excitement that I can hardly sleep or even hold a thought in my head. To know that I am a step closer to you, to your arms and back in your life means everything to me.

Always,

Abigail

My Dearest Love,

I am unsure why I am writing this letter at this point. When father found you, I thought finally all was going to be right in my world. I can’t tell you how my heart broke when I found out that you had married your childhood sweetheart and that you had moved on without me. What hurt the deepest my love is that she is carrying your child as well. My father did not have the courage to confront you. He knew by doing so he would cause you and I shame as well as your new family. He felt your new wife did not deserve the shame that you have brought down on me. Why my love? Why did you say you loved me and that you would come back for me one day? Was it all for not? How could you devastate me so? How? I can’t raise this child alone. What am I to do?

Always,

Abigail

My Dearest Love,

This shall be my last letter to you. I have no idea if I will send these letters from my heart to you. I am unsure that you deserve to have them. I see no point in sending them now after our child went on to be with God. I was so devastated by the loss of you that my grief spread to our child. I shall never get over the loss of my baby. Like you my love, I will never hold this wonderful being in my arms, I shall never love again the way I had planned to love you both. My heart aches when I think of the future that we could have had. I supposed I will put away these letters until I decide whether or not to send them to you. For now they are for me, for my healing. I will carry my love for you and our child till my last breath.

Always,

Abigail

I sat stunned with tears running down my face. Who would have known that Abigail had lost a child like me?  I have been overwhelmed with my grief with the loss of Samantha, that I have pushed away the man I love. I can’t imagine living my life like Abigail… alone.  Mike has been so wonderful during this whole ordeal. All of the mornings that he brought me breakfast in bed, ran me hot baths after I cried to comfort me, he let me quit my job so I could heal and he never once complained. It wasn’t until my spending became out of control that he finally began to confront me. The high I would feel after a major purchase would help me feel something other than numb. Here I have been feeling so sorry for myself that I forgot that maybe Mike was hurting too and just maybe he didn’t need me making things worse by putting us into debt. I have been such a fool. I refuse to end up like Abigail and lose the man I love. I looked down at myself and realized I was still in my nightgown. As I ran upstairs to change I felt a renewed sense of life running through my veins. I’m going to find my dearest love, declare my love, and begin again and most importantly… I’m going to live again.

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Author B. D. West all rights reserved