The Tower

     It didn’t always rain in London. Oh, people talked about the rain and warned about forgetting the umbrella, but Anna never took an umbrella anywhere in England, even if it meant getting a little wet.

     A scarf was, however, a necessity in the cooler months, and Anna certainly preferred traveling in those colder months when buzz of the tourists became imperceptible, since the one place that drew her back time again was also a place alive with tourism, and she despised fighting the jostling, ignorant crowds. It was her special place, one that she visited as often as possible for as long as possible. And it never once rained on her there.

     Anna tightened her lavender scarf and dug her hands deeper into her pockets as a particularly cold blast of wind swept down upon her.  She felt a familiar flutter in her stomach as she crossed the once functional moat and entered the outer ward of the Tower of London. Despite being off-season, the Tower still attracted a number of tourists. A handful of onlookers now milled about expectantly at the front gates, waiting for a liveried yeoman to appear and escort them about the inner ward, whilst reciting tales of the Tower’s dark history.

     Already familiar with the Tower’s history, Anna pushed through the small crowd, hoping to get a good head start on the group. She hadn’t gone far though before she heard a familiar voice booming out above her from atop the Tower wall.  She recognized the voice instantly, even if the face had aged a few years. It was Liam, the same yeoman who had first entertained her with his rich voice and quick wit, who had enchanted her when he caught her in his surprisingly strong arms when she tripped and fell over the step in the chapel of St. Peter-ad-Vincula. And he was the same Yeoman who had shown her and her new husband around the Tower grounds in those years before her husband’s death had left her a widow, alone and childless, though the latter condition had not been for the lack of trying.  

     Now the Warder’s voice drew her near, and she lost herself in both its warm timbre and the memory of better times. Anna rarely smiled anymore, but now back in the safe confines of the Tower walls she felt content, if not happy.

     Anna knew the warder by his first name only, but she had always felt a bond with him that required no more than that.  Liam now stood directly above her, his cheeks ruddy in the biting cold.  With his tall stature, windswept blond hair, and piercing blue eyes, he was easily the most handsome warder stationed at the Tower and the most confident, speaking with authority and knowledge in his voice.  Anna listened eagerly as he worked his crowd—a dash of flattery here, a subtle jab there, a pinch of self-deprecating English humor, and a bit of flirtation to finish it all. Ok, maybe more than a bit of flirtation.

     Anna listened to him eagerly, his voice filling her head, even as her eyes turned to the castle walls. Soon she would be inside, and she would seek out her special areas within her favorite towers. She would run her hand and fingertips over each stone, explore each crevice, touch each century as it passed and left its mark upon each edifice. She could already smell the delicious mustiness, the dank wood, the moss, the wet stone and the creaking floorboards beneath her feet. Her husband had always laughed at what he called her “unnatural love” for the place, particularly her beloved White Tower, and joked that in the instance of his demise, she should marry it. Well, there it was then. He was gone, and she now stood alone at the threshold of the only thing she could manage to summon any feeling for.  Liam jumped down, and Anna followed along with the crowd, her sensibilities awakened by each step as they entered the Tower walls and moved to the inner yard.

     “And here lie two young boys--Princes of England!” Liam gestured to the Bloody Tower behind him, eyeing two youngsters in the crowd pointedly, “Boys about your age. And your age!” The two boys giggled nervously, pretending to be unaffected. He spoke of the Tower with pride, and Anna loved the gleam in his eye as he retold familiar stories and described the plight of the many unfortunates once imprisoned therein. She was soon as involved as the rest of the crowd, and more than once her eyes locked with his, sending the blood to her cheeks. She chided herself for such nonsense, reminding herself that women must throw themselves at his feet daily.