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Catherine walked slowly, barefoot, as quietly as she could. The raindrops on the grass felt cold against her skin. The early autumn was chilly at night, but her petticoat, thick dress and thick jacket kept her warm. She arrived at the wall and traced her hand against it as she kept walking. The wet moss felt soft, the wet stone felt hard and rough. Catherine stopped and pressed both her hands against the wet stone as hard as she could and turned them slightly. The delicate skin on her palms felt the pain, but was unharmed. The water softened the roughness. No skin was broken. Catherine didn't expect more. She only did it to remind herself she was alive. Thirty more steps. She kept walking.
She arrived at the hole. At that spot the ground was lower on both sides of the wall, fifteen feet in length, seven-and-a-half on each side of the wall, and three feet wide, almost like it was dug that way. But the grass grew over it, if it had been dug, it had been a long time ago. Catherine peeked through the hole. Where was he? After a long time, his blue eyes appeared in the hole. "Frank! Where were you?"
"I'm sorry, I had to be careful. I think they're getting suspicious."
They had met like this many times.
"You know our families wouldn't approve of this."
"I know. But I love you."
A tear rolled down Catherine's cheek.
"I want to feel you."
The hole was big enough for their hands.
"Okay," Frank said, sliding his hand through the hole.
Catherine slid her hand to meet his. They locked fingers. In that moment, they both felt something sting their hand. It was so painful they let go of each other's hands out of fear only to see each other's frightened eyes through the shadow of a scorpion's tail. Scorpions didn't live this far north.
"Quick, give me your hand," Frank demanded.
Catherine slid her swelling hand through and grabbed Frank's.
"It's our fate," Frank continued.
Catherine nodded, silent. She knew Frank couldn't see her, but it's all she could do.
They stood there, feeling more stings rain down their swelling hands, until they let go. The force of their falling pulled their hands free and they reach fell into what would become their grave.
Throughout the autumn, leaves and sand kept being blown around by the winds getting ever more harsh. They filled the holes where Catherine and Frank lay. Then came the winter and the snow. In the summer, maids from each house noted the bald patches next to the wall and with the permission of the masters, planted grass and flowers. Without any sort of planning, the flowers on Catherine's side were red and the flowers on Frank's side were blue.
If you ever find an old, old wall and red flowers growing on one side and blue flowers growing on the other side and you see a hole below your eye level, you'll know who are resting under the bed of flowers on each side. The flowers may have spread out and the wall might have lost some stones and the houses might not stand anymore, but Catherine and Frank still rest there, only an arm's length from each other, forever separated by the wall, but forever connected by their love.
She arrived at the hole. At that spot the ground was lower on both sides of the wall, fifteen feet in length, seven-and-a-half on each side of the wall, and three feet wide, almost like it was dug that way. But the grass grew over it, if it had been dug, it had been a long time ago. Catherine peeked through the hole. Where was he? After a long time, his blue eyes appeared in the hole. "Frank! Where were you?"
"I'm sorry, I had to be careful. I think they're getting suspicious."
They had met like this many times.
"You know our families wouldn't approve of this."
"I know. But I love you."
A tear rolled down Catherine's cheek.
"I want to feel you."
The hole was big enough for their hands.
"Okay," Frank said, sliding his hand through the hole.
Catherine slid her hand to meet his. They locked fingers. In that moment, they both felt something sting their hand. It was so painful they let go of each other's hands out of fear only to see each other's frightened eyes through the shadow of a scorpion's tail. Scorpions didn't live this far north.
"Quick, give me your hand," Frank demanded.
Catherine slid her swelling hand through and grabbed Frank's.
"It's our fate," Frank continued.
Catherine nodded, silent. She knew Frank couldn't see her, but it's all she could do.
They stood there, feeling more stings rain down their swelling hands, until they let go. The force of their falling pulled their hands free and they reach fell into what would become their grave.
Throughout the autumn, leaves and sand kept being blown around by the winds getting ever more harsh. They filled the holes where Catherine and Frank lay. Then came the winter and the snow. In the summer, maids from each house noted the bald patches next to the wall and with the permission of the masters, planted grass and flowers. Without any sort of planning, the flowers on Catherine's side were red and the flowers on Frank's side were blue.
If you ever find an old, old wall and red flowers growing on one side and blue flowers growing on the other side and you see a hole below your eye level, you'll know who are resting under the bed of flowers on each side. The flowers may have spread out and the wall might have lost some stones and the houses might not stand anymore, but Catherine and Frank still rest there, only an arm's length from each other, forever separated by the wall, but forever connected by their love.
