TO THE WONDER - ANNE WITH AN E
IT'S HARD TO HEAR, THE DISTANT VOICE. IT WOULD RING SO CLEAR IF WE COULD ONLY TUNE OUT THE NOISE| Arabella Hastings, the golden girl of Avonlea has come back from a year off and mistery surrounds her. What kind of chal...
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𖣔༄ correspondence from home ______•______
Every evening, Sir Conrad Hastings and his beloved daughter Caterina sit by the fireplace in that old but warm house under the grey sky of snowy London. Mr. Hastings always takes the same old armchair that is closest to the warmth of the fire while his daughter sits on the mat at his feet. Not every time they had correspondence but that particular night they had received a number of envelopes which was to be surprised.
"Father" said Caterina in that voice which can sweeten any stone cold heart, "There is correspondence from home"
Mr. Hastings was not a man who usually made use of those little luxuries which were part of his privileged class, but he preferred to drink chamomile tea in the evenings instead of pouring himself a glass of bourbon or smoking one of those old cigars which he faithfully believed could damage his lung. He took that little porcelain cup in the corner that said very affectionately "from your beloved Cat" and sipped it with a nod so that his daughter would have the luxury of opening the envelopes.
Caterina Hastings was one of those simple girls, although she belonged to a class too high for her to prefer to call herself a simple citizen and servant of the Queen, since she was much more than that. Caterina reminded Mr. Hastings a lot of his beloved wife as she had the same golden hair as honey and those eternal cinnamon-brown eyes that glowed to the point of turning green when they were in the utmost joy. Suffice it to say that she was his most beloved daughter but it was not so because his heart was filled with the various daughters that they had in different parts of the world, all fruits of the love that he had promised to the woman who now lived an ocean away from him. He feared that the lack of that love had hardened her heart to the point that the loving upbringing she had imparted to their children in their early years had completely disappeared to become a very frank and cold obligation to the dignity and loftiness of the family. He feared for her daughter Arabella who was one of the most touched and deeply rooted in his heart. All that remained was to hope for them who, despite the distance, he had the greatest affection for them and had them so present in his thoughts that it was as if they were right there sharing the same room, the same fire and sharing the same dreams and hopes for the future of that family that the two parents had built with such care.
"Father, it's from Mother" she gave him the envelope in which lay neatly written "Lady Catelyn Hastings".
With the time, the letters had become longings for things that Lady Catelyn wanted for her daughters, for luxuries and promises which although Mr. Hastings trusted would bring them a good future, he also knew would not bring them happiness. He left the letter next to the inn and his daughter wondered why that attitude when he had always been motivated by reading his wife's neat handwriting which she often had to impart with the affection her husband had for her despite the distance. Mr. Hastings knew that perhaps this time it would be just as different as the other times he had answered correspondence that only asked if he agreed to such a thing and did not ask about the welfare of the family at a distance.
