solitude standing / imelda & mary * blitz

[sucy 🌷]

I M E L D A

Even in thick, heavy July heat, the ground at the orchard is never dry. Everything is worse off for being sweat out, Imelda included. Her fringe sticks to her forehead. Bad, because it's uncomfortable. Good, because it's keeping the hair out of her eyes as she does her rounds of the trees. But even so, with the warmth weighing her down and everything rotting at high speed in the sun, Imelda is happier today than she has been in a long time. 

She hasn't seen Maggie all day, which usually would put Imelda on high alert, but for once, she hasn't found any unwelcome surprises under her pillow or in her porridge or in the basket she uses to collect the fruits. No screaming, no crying either. The sun is high up now, noon has just past. If she hasn't found anything now, that probably means there's nothing to find. The first little victory. Their mother was complaining about her back something awful this morning, worse than usual, so she'd gone back to bed after breakfast after only minimally berating Imelda for her poor performance. That was the second of her minuscule, momentous wins. She set her own schedule after breakfast, unbothered and able to get right to the work that mattered. 

Underneath all the sweat, she feels like a princess from a storybook, wandering her woods on a great searching quest for a golden fruit. The frame makes every rotten fruit on the ground much more beautiful under her foot. 

She's happy, until she sees a figure at the gate. Somebody hanging around.

"Maggie?" Imelda makes her way to the gate. But it isn't her sister; it's some other girl. And at that, a girl whose put together beauty and large eyes make Imelda suddenly embarrassed of her sweaty forehead and plain face and dress. Imelda steps back. She puts her basket on the ground and crosses her arms across her chest. "Sorry. We're not open for customers right now. I'll be selling at the market, as usual."

Imelda's least favourite part of the job: customer relations. Now they're coming all the way to her door? 

ELEGANT

[Tyler]

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A perfect day had turned imperfect far too quickly. I had been giddy to go on the stroll with Argyle, heart aflutter with the feeling of certainty that Argyle was going to finally ask me the question I've wanted him to ask me. To make a promise that he'll be mine, until death do us part. But the stroll happened, he took me to dinner, and then… nothing. No questions. No promises. Argyle had lost track of time, had to rush home to help his family, something about his brother. Now I'm walking back up the path alone.

Not perfect one bit.

At least I get to pass by the former church once more. With wistful eyes I gaze on the old building, this time filled with more yearning for a chance to experience what it once was like. Before the orchard and the preserves and the change. Tears threaten to pool in my eyes, brought on by the disappointment that's oh so overwhelming.

It's quite embarrassing, heavens, how long I stood at the gate lost in thought. It was only when the girl starts making her way towards me from the grove of trees and their fruit. I gather myself up and blink away at the dew in my eyes. She's a girl of simple fashion - practical and plain and fit for work. The very nature of it, the mark of the craftswoman at work, emphasizes a timeless beauty that extends beyond the trivialities of the present.

It's bad news on her lips; the orchard is closed to customers. I can feel the tears threaten to come out once more and plead, just to try and grasp onto any remnants of the once perfect day. "Oh, I'm quite sorry for the intrusion. It's just…. The building, it's beautiful. Please, if it's not too much trouble, I'd so love to learn more of its story."

[attr="class","MaryFace"]

[WC: 316]

[sucy 🌷]

I M E L D A

Uh-oh. Imelda knows that look. She knows those big watery eyes and their threats better than most, living with her sister as she does. She wants to put her foot down and squash this girl like she does to the fruits and the bugs and her own tears, but she's not able to. She's never able to.

Imelda sighs. The brimming tears influence her, yes, but she's also been set off guard by the word beautiful. Their church? Beautiful? She wants to laugh. It is, she supposes, and she takes it for granted. She doesn't have any stories about it, none that go farther back than her own short amount of years. Until this moment, Imelda realises she never thought to ask. She's torn. How terrible, that she's taken it all for granted and been so careless. How cruel, that this girl has the liberty and peace of mind to think about these things while Imelda doesn't. She looks back at the church over her shoulder, at the big beautiful doors that keep them safe, at the tree lined path leading up to it. That door does a lot of heavy lifting, she thinks, looking back at the girl outside her gate. It's really not that sturdy of a thing. A ruder person would have long forced it open by now.  

Imelda doesn't like going out of the grounds, and she hates people coming in even more. It's with stiff, reluctant fingers, on calloused hard working hands, that she unlatches the gate for the girl.

"You can call me Imelda," she says, then picks up her basket. "I can't tell you much about the past here, but you can come with me while I pick the fruits. Get a taste of the present instead."

ELEGANT

[Tyler]

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The girl inside the gate pauses or a moment that feels to me like an eternity. I can tell that she's facing an internal conflict with what to do with me. I dare not to move, not even to take a breath out of fear that any move might tip the scales and send me on my way. I try my best not to get my hopes up and yet they're already soaring. When finally she unlatches the gate my heart leaps in my chest. The day has been far from perfect, but perhaps it can still be splendid.

I learn the girl's name, Imelda. It feels ancient, it feels beautiful. She doesn't know much about the history of the grounds, but there's no time for disappointment to form before her offer to walk the grounds with her dashes it away. "Oh, that would be absolutely delightful, thank you! I'm Mary, it's a pleasure to meet you!"

And so the two of us begin our wandering. How my eyes couldn't stop their exploring, trying to take in as much of the scene as possible. Handsome trees stand in file, guarding their delicious fruits in their leafy branches above. They themselves serve as a reminder of time passed; the handsome trunks formed from once fragile stems. Before that they were a tiny bud struggling to survive. Before that a seed waiting for the day it found soil and its life could begin. Formed from a great tree somewhere else with its own long life lived. Perhaps there was indeed beauty in this new life for the ancient lands. "Your orchard, it's magnificent!"

Even older than the trees though are the mossy stones lined in rows of their own. Shaped and moulded by hands long forgotten, markings faded in time. Despite Imelda's invitation into the present, I can't help myself but to be spirited away into the past at the sight of them. "Have you ever tried to make out any names on these old stones?" I ask her. I couldn't resist."Do you ever think about who might be buried here? What lives they might have lived?"

[attr="class","MaryFace"]

[WC: 355]