Spring Rain

[OrangeblossomTook]

This is a rather meager little ghost story I wrote yesterday. I had no betaing or anything so any corrections and/or suggestions for a better title are welcome.

A Spring Rain

Hugh was writing a letter when he saw her. It was a wet and chilly day in early spring. He was wrapped in a wool blanket and lingering over his correspondence and a cup of hot coffee on the wide porch that wrapped entirely around the spa at which he was staying.

Cold rain was pattering and murmuring to itself as it fell. Hugh contemplated the beads of water dripping from the pine needles and the swollen river beyond banks of white violets and the first green fuzz of grass.

The spa overlooked one of the rivers from which the Land of Three Rivers derives its name. Here this particular one of the three reached its widest point before joining with its greater brother to feed into the lake. The water of this land, particularly that of this river, was supposed to have healthful properties and the air, sweetened by the forests of pines, was also thought to have, if not curative, at least restorative properties. This led to the opening of several spa houses and the adoption of the wrap-around porch so that invalids from the city to the south might have ready access to fresh air.

The dark circles under his eyes and a slight frailty of movement betrayed him for Hugh had, indeed, fallen ill and, at the urging of his sister, sought a cure in the pine trees and sandy-bottomed, secret rivers of Three Rivers. Few came this early in the season, though, and several weeks before the vernal equinox, the thin, dark-haired young gentleman with the long nose and large, dark eyes found himself, for the most part, alone.

He wrapped the blanket around himself more tightly and continued to stare at the landscape and ignore his letters when she seemed to materialize out of the misting rain. She was riding a grey horst and her grey dress and bark-brown hair were plastered to her with water. Her form was long-legged and graceful. She was barefoot and Hugh thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.

“Miss,” he called, “Miss! You’ll catch your death!”

If she heard him, the girl made no indication of it but disappeared down the riding path which paralleled the river. Hugh almost thought he had imagined her.

The next day arrived almost as cold as the one previous but the rain was gone, leaving high grey clouds and a river that was overflowing its banks. Hugh was again drinking coffee on the porch when the girl, looking as wet as before, apparated from behind a pine tree.

He called, “Miss!”

This time she stopped for a moment and looked back over her shoulder at him, a seeming invitation to follow her. He was tempted to accept this invitation, though it wasn’t wise for someone in his condition to follow a strange girl into the woods on a cold, damp day.

He asked the old woman who came to clear the breakfast things if she knew anyone who resembled the girl he had seen. Instead of providing him with information, the old woman expressed concern about Hugh’s health.

“I was cleaning in that room over there, sir,” she said, “I am sure I would have noticed a strange girl riding through the back yard. Are you sure you’re well?”

Hugh replied that he was well and convinced her not to call the doctor. He retired to his room. and tried to read but thoughts of the girl made him restless and he could do little more than alternate between pacing the floor and staring out of the window. If she came tomorrow, he told himself he would follow her and find out who she was.

The third day was slightly warmer than the previous two had been and patches of blue were visible between white clouds. Hugh was feeling stronger and thought that breathing the pine-sweet air and drinking water from the spring from which the river originated must be working.

The girl passed again and, despite the lack of rain, she was still streaming with water. Like she had the day before, she glanced over her shoulder at him. As quick as he was able, he hurried after her. She did not speak and her only concession was to keep her horse at a slow enough walk that Hugh did not lose sight of her.

Hugh was almost afraid he would lose her when she veered off the path and headed into the pines. Somehow he was able to keep up, even though he stumbled over fallen branches and briars plucked at his clothes.

The last of the clouds had evaporated and dapples of light illuminated the woods. Many tall pines had yellow jasmine tangled in their tops like golden crowns and patched of violets and wood sorrel added color to the forest floor.

The girl stopped at the fallen trunk of an ancient tree that was covered with moss and mushrooms. She dismounted and walked toward him.

He asked, “Who are you and why have you brought me here to the middle of the woods?”

“My name is Aisling,” She said, “and I have been waiting a long time for someone who could see me and would follow me here.”

Hugh felt a chill ripple up his spine but heard no menace in Aisling’s voice, only sadness. His mother had been a spiritual woman and taught him to respect ghosts so he decided not to be afraid.

After a pause, she continued, “I was always jealous of my younger sister. When she was betrothed before me, my envy of her overcame all my reason. I took to riding alone in all weather to avoid her. There had been storms in the days before the wedding but I rode out anyway. In fact, I decided not to return this time but to run away rather than see her married before me. I rode recklessly and tried to cross the river with my horse but we were swept away."

Hugh asked, “But why have you brought me here?”

“Because,” Aisling replied, “I cannot rest until someone who sees me for three days and finds me beautiful visits my grave.”

She pointed to a piece of white bone, half-concealed by the deadfall.

“My body was brought here by wild animals and never found.”

“I will see you have a proper burial,” said Hugh.

“Thank you,” she whispered and came closer to him.

She looked so sorrowful and Hugh could see that her eyes were Hazel and held all the colors of the forest in their depths. He reached out to touch her alabaster face and was surprised that it felt solid. He even felt the wetness of tears.

“Don’t cry,” he said gently, then took her in his arms. When he kissed her, the world went black.

Hugh awoke to warmth and bright light. He was lying in a field of buttercups and crimson clover. A brilliant and deep-blue sky was above him and the air was sweet with blooming things. Yellow pollen covered everything. The light was so brilliant his eyes were so dazzled they saw black spots.

When Hugh found his way to a nearby farmhouse, he discovered that he had lost some time for it was the first day of true spring. It was the lost of Aisling rather than the loss of time which made him weep in the midst of spring splendor.

He looked for her family but they had long departed from Three Rivers. He paid for the burial of her bones himself.

Hugh had better health after that, though he never married. Aisling was always in his heart but, though he searched the woods and rivers many times, he never saw her again. His nephew would recall that, many years later, when Hugh lay on his deathbed as an old man, his last words were that he smelled rain, though it was a clear winter day. It was also remarked that his lips were curled in a smile.

[Dínelleth]

I wouldn't call this meager OBT. You did a wonderful job of packing quite a bit into a short story.

I think the title is fine. But maybe you could add at the end of the story Hugh's ghost joining Aisling's. Now that would put the finishing touch to their romance.

[OrangeblossomTook]

Thank you, dear Din. I'm sorry it is such a belated thank you. I do imagine their spirits reuniting.

[Dínelleth]

No problemo ObT over the belatedness!

As an elf I've got all the time in the world to wait.

[Alfirin]

a beautiful short story!