"Willow's Tail" 7

Martha stepped out into her herb garden and let the quiet of the day settle around her and since Perfidia had taken Mr. Appleton to his rehab this afternoon; she had the next two hours to herself.

Martha took her garden pad and trowel and her precious seeds she had harvested and knelt down to turn the soil to plant them in the ground.

Willow wandered into the garden and stretched out happy under the blueberry bush.

Martha had planted her special seeds and turned on the garden hose to water them. She didn’t hear the doorbell or the knock on her front door and the visitor decided to walk around back to see if there was another door.

He saw her in her natural element.

“Hello Martha.”

Martha dropped the garden hose and turned around to stare at the man intruding in her garden.

“Percival? What are you doing here?”

“I’m calling on you Martha.”

“I see that but…how did you find me?”

“Your address was back in the directory, assumed you’d put it there and…I was happy to see it,” he said with a hopeful smile.

“Sorry but you shouldn’t be happy on my account; I did not upload my address,” she said but she thought she knew the person responsible and intended to have a long conversation with that person when she came home from that rehab.

Percival took a tentative step closer.

“Martha, it seems you aren’t happy to see me.”

Martha shrugged; she wasn’t going to deny the truth.

“I was hoping you’d hear my side of things. You left without giving me a chance to defend myself from what you thought.”

Martha turned to him, surprised at his words.

“Percival you don’t need a defense. Your love letters to another woman need no explanation.”

“Yes they do. Your point of perception would see me guilty but will you listen to my chain of events.”

Martha sighed, “If I must,” she murmured.

“Thank you Martha. May we go inside and talk?”

 

Martha opened the door and allowed him in, against her desire to slam it in his face, still uncomfortable with those love letters, and not liking that she was, but he was here and she may as well hear him out, foolish as it was. 

“Percival stepped over the threshold and heard the tea kettle whistle.

“Do you still brew that fantastic blend of tea?”

“No, I no longer blend that tea; strangely, I’ve lost my taste for it.”

Percival’s eyes showed his disappointment.

“Well then any tea would be nice, if you’d share a cup with me.”

“Please have a seat in the parlor.”

She said with a less than sunny smile and left him there.

 

Martha walked to the kitchen her thoughts not as organized as she liked. She may have let him in but she had no intention of making him comfortable.  

Martha poured the scalding water over her less than perfect blend and told her thoughts to quiet. There was no need to go to places left in the past.

“No need at all,” she told herself and placed the teacups on a tray with biscuits and carried it in to the parlor.

 

“Oh thank you,” Percival said with genuine gratitude.

“Whatever you think you must say, you may as well say it,” Martha shrugged not in the least convinced it would matter.

“I never wrote those love letters to Miriam.” He said with little fanfare and picked up the teacup.

Martha’s brow furrowed, she certainly hadn’t expected that defense.

She gave him an odd look.

“You are talking about your letters that began, Dear Miriam, written in your hand and signed in your inimitable scrawl.”

“Yes, the very ones,” he nodded.

“And yet you never wrote them. Percival, I’m not a fool.”

Martha huffed and Willow sauntered over and jumped up on the arm of her human’s chair and gave the stranger a doubtful cat look too.

Percival had not expected the force of their combined skepticism and shifted in his chair but he still found his voice to protest.

“Well I did write those letters.”

“Then why say you did not.”

“Because when I wrote, every one of those letters, I wrote them to you.”

“To me…and yet you addressed them to Miriam, was that just an added element of surprise?” she said with a slight laugh, she could not fathom his thoughts and his defense was preposterous.

Willow began to flick her tail but her human placed her hand on her to wait.

Willow lay back down on the fat arm of the chair and watched the stranger intently.

Percival leaned forward to plead his case.

“I promise Martha, on my life, I wrote every word to you and I addressed them to you each and every one.”

Martha put her cup gently back in its saucer and placed it on the side table between the two chairs.

She could not wait to hear how he would explain this bit of magic.

“Go on then, tell me how all the letters were in Miriam’s mailbox?”

Percival decided on a moment to build his confidence and took a sip of his tea but at the taste of it, he could not hide his disappointment.

He placed the cup and saucer down on the table and sighed. So much had changed and he only wanted to repair the rift between them.

He looked at her with sorrow for what was lost.

“Martha, I wrote the first letter after we’d had that disagreement and I mailed it to you but when I received no response I wrote the second and each day, for a week, I wrote you and addressed and mailed each letter, each day myself. I don’t know how they were tampered with, but I promise you; they were written to you.”

Martha stroked Willow’s fur as she contemplated his words.

Her eyes narrowed in thought as she queried, “You say you sealed the letters, addressed them, and walked them to the corner letter box?”

“No,” he shook his head,

“No?”

“No, I walked them to your house and placed them in your letter box.”

“You put them in my letter box?”

“Yes.”

“Directly from your home you came to mine each day?”

“Yes…well no…not directly. I did stop each morning at the café and had my usual before heading on to your house.”

“Where was the letter while you were there?”

“I placed it on the table. Why?”

“I don’t suppose you ran in to Perfidia while you were there?’
“Perfidia? No, I don’t remember seeing her there.”

“So, you did not see Perfidia at the café?

 “No.”

Martha didn’t trust his story unless, somehow, Perfidia had intercepted those letters. It did sound like something Perfidia might do, knowing her love of havoc.

“Did Perfidia engage you in conversation on any part of your walk to my house?”

“No…but Gloria did breeze by my table at the café and offer a greeting each day.”

Martha’s thoughts were distracted and she wasn’t sure she’d heard him.

“Gloria?” she repeated, “Gloria Hipswell spoke to you each day?”

“Yes. She would greet me with a hello and a few seconds of small talk and she would go on to her table as she had her usual every morning too.”

Martha was silent.

Why Gloria Hipswell would be seeking him out each morning for small talk when she never had before seemed odd but it could not be Gloria Hipswell who’d interfered, if anyone had at all, his story still seemed feather weight in substance.

She would ponder further on it but gave him no replay only a half smile of consideration.

“Well if they were intended for me, I wish I had read those letters; it would be nice to know what you’d written.”

“And that is the very reason I’d wanted to see you before you ran away.”

“I did not run.”

Percival gave her a smile. “Well you left town very fast.”

Martha didn’t deny she’d left in a wind storm but she didn’t admit it either.

Her steady gaze showed him nothing.

“Anyway,” Percival cleared his throat and slipped his hand inside his jacket, “I wrote, well I re-wrote, all those letters and wanted to give them to you.”

He drew out a packet of letters tied with a lavender ribbon and held them out to her.

Martha looked at them but did not move to take them.

“These are yours Martha, I hope you’ll read them all, to the last letter’s last page. Then I’ll leave it to you to let me know if you wish to see me again.” He held the letters out to her.

Martha sighed and took the packet of letters from his hand and promptly placed them on the side table.

Percival’s smile dimmed.

“Well, I don’t want to over stay, I know my welcome was tentative,” he gave her a lopsided grin and stood up.

Martha stood up too and walked with him to the front door.

Percival stepped outside but turned back with a hopeful smile.

“Call me Martha.” He said before he turned and walked down her path.

 

Willow slinked around her legs and purred in a questioning tone.

Martha agreed.

“Yes Willow. We’ll need to investigate that story further.