A letter to Frank from Eveline.
Dear Frank,
I am deeply sorry for what I have done to you. I know that there is no excuse for what I did, leaving you so suddenly at the boat. Especially after all the trouble you went to, making it possible so that we could be together. I can only explain the reasons for my actions, and hope that you will understand.
I spent the evening, of the day that we were due to leave, sitting by the window, gazing out at my memories. As I stared at the new houses across the street, I saw the old field that used to be there. I was playing there with my old friends; I was young, careless and free. I was devastated when they built houses on top of our field, my past. Time may have moved on, but I still long to be there. I grasp the past, like a young child that grasps their mother. I fear change, and as long as I feel this way, I will never, of my own accord, be able to leave my home.
My life, in my home, is not over. My whole life is contained within these walls. At the moment, my history is what I live for. I couldn't just pack my bags and leave. I waited, and I waited for a sign. A sign that it was time to leave, but I was given nothing that would persuade me to go. I feel that if I left, I would be leaving things undone. There's a picture that hangs on our wall, it is very old and yellowed in colour, and it is a picture of a priest, who was an old friend that my father went to school with. I have always wondered what his name is, and after all the years of my life, I have still not found out his name. I know it seems silly, but it means something to me. It may not mean that my life here is not finished, but as long as I am uncertain, I will not be able to abandon my home.
I am settled here, and presently, I have no wish to give that up, and to unsettle everyone else's lives in doing so. Here I am safe, safe from the rest of the world, which I am not yet ready to face. Everything is familiar, and the majority of the time, I am at ease. I am accustomed to this way of living, it may not be the best, or happiest situation that I abide in, sometimes it does become an endurance, but I have learnt to cope with this, just as a deaf person learns to cope ...
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I am settled here, and presently, I have no wish to give that up, and to unsettle everyone else's lives in doing so. Here I am safe, safe from the rest of the world, which I am not yet ready to face. Everything is familiar, and the majority of the time, I am at ease. I am accustomed to this way of living, it may not be the best, or happiest situation that I abide in, sometimes it does become an endurance, but I have learnt to cope with this, just as a deaf person learns to cope with not being able to hear. I know, when I wake up, what lies before me. I understand my father's temper, and I am never shocked by anything he may say or do, even if his actions to you do seem quite aggressive. When I go to work, I know my place, I know what is expected of me, I know that Mrs. Hill will contradict everything I do, but I don't even hear her words anymore. I complain about the housework and the dusting, but I actually don't even mind doing it, I could do it in my sleep if I wanted to. I almost look forward to it, as it gives me time to clear my head and think. We all complain about our lives, but if they are taken away, we are left lost. I realized that very little, if even, of my life would stay the same, if I went away with you. I don't want that. You blame this life for making me miserable, as it does sometimes, but this has become apart of me. I'd rather stay here and be miserable, than run away and be miserable in a strange place, where I have no comfort. It's like being a prisoner, serving his sentence in jail; he becomes accustomed to his new life, and learns to accept it, until he has served his time. Even then he can be scared about leaving the safe dwellings that have become his home. Like the prisoner, I have not served my full sentence, and neither am I confident about leaving my home.
Frank, I am just a girl, not a woman. I belong with my family. I am not mature enough to become your wife and not ready for such an adult life. I do believe you will make an excellent husband, but I know that I am not ready to have a husband, or to take the next step towards life. Here, I am still treated like a girl, not like a little child, but I am definitely not treated like a woman. I remember that when I was young, my mother and father used to have friends over for little dinner parties. Their parties were not very sophisticated, nor the people, but the talk was of an adult nature. Wives talking about their children or children they were going to have, about decorating their houses, about their husbands' little faults and their husbands' jobs and about unmarried women. Maybe my ideas are a little extreme, but I am still not ready to join the world of married women. I would not know how to act, so as not to be improper and I don't want to be the one whom your friends' wives whisper about. Also on that matter, I do not want to leave my father, and my brothers and sisters, to listen to the gossip, which would be created if I had run away with you, a sailor.
My father isn't really a bad person. I know he may seem to be, and that I always complain about him, but I do love him. I don't blame him for getting angry, it isn't his fault. I know he is not a cruel man at heart, I am certain that he is not. When we were younger he was the perfect dad. I couldn't have wished for any better man to be my father. We were a happy family, I don't pretend to completely understand why my father no longer resembles this loving man that sometimes appeared, but I do know that it isn't all his fault. He has been through a lot. I know he loves me, I can see it so clearly sometimes, he doesn't show it for long, but he does care. He's an old man Frank, he needs someone to look after him, and if his own daughter can't do it, who can?
Then there are the children. If I had of left with you, who would have taken care of them? They look up to me Frank, I know I'm not their mother, but there's no one else to take my mother's place. It would have been completely selfish of me to leave with you. I love my brothers and sisters, and I couldn't bear to hurt them, in such a way as I would if I had of discarded them from my life, to be your wife. I made a promise to my mother Frank, which I cannot break, my heart refuses to allow me to. I promised her that I would keep this home together, for as long as I can. I can keep this home together for a lot longer, I know I can, it may not seem fair, but love is not fair.
I do love you Frank, but I am not ready to give up my life, for a man. I experienced some of the best moments of my life with you, and I will not forget that. I know I lead you to believe that I wanted to be your wife, but I did not intentionally lie to you. I was so caught up in the excitement of having you as mine, that I let the seriousness of our relationship develop further than I wanted it too. This chapter of my life is not finished. I don't know what the next chapter of my life is going to be about, but I do not think that it is marriage.
There is nothing else I can say Frank, to excuse my behavior. I can only pray that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.
My deepest apologies,
Eveline.
