The White Feather Killer by R. N. Morris

Author:R. N. Morris [Morris, R. N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2019-03-05T05:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SEVEN

I know you will never read this, my love, but that does not matter, because soon we will be together and I will be able to say all the words I long to say to you myself.

There are those who would say that we were sinners while we lived. And so, if we are united in death, it will not be in Heaven. But wherever you are, my love, will be Heaven for me, if I am able to be there with you.

But I am not religious in the conventional sense. If I have a faith, it is the faith that something of us endures after death. Where it endures, or how, I know not.

I know too that after death we will be united.

And what will unite us is that love we shared while we were alive.

For if there is a deity it is not some grey-bearded old man perched on a cloud, but rather a beautiful naked woman borne aloft on a scallop shell. Yes, I am a worshipper of Aphrodite, I confess it!

Love is the force that drives all living things. It is the surge that propels the sap to rise in spring. It is the fire that blazes in the heart of existence. It blazes green in every blade of grass. It blazes silver in the sunlit waxen leaves of an evergreen tree. It blazes red in the blood of every man and woman.

And so it will be our love that saves us. And a God of Love cannot but be moved by such a love as ours. And whatever else we did, whoever else we hurt, they will be as nothing next to our love. And know that in loving one another we did a great good thing. A pure good thing. And the God of Love will treasure us and celebrate us and love us for that. And she will forgive us those lesser sins, for she cares not one iota for them.

Am I raving, my love? Perhaps I am. Raving and raging.

Ever since you were so cruelly taken from this world, I have been raging in a pit of black despair. The only relief I have from this is the thought that I will be reunited with you in death. Soon, soon, my love. And that you will be whole again when we are together.

The hand that I held so often in mine will be restored to your body.

I have kissed each finger of that hand.

I have felt its gentle touch against my cheek.

I have followed its beckoning crook.

Do you remember when you held your forefinger playfully against my lips to silence me? Had I spoken too intemperately? Perhaps I had complained about your husband or the family ties that bound me. You always were my conscience.

Or perhaps I had begged too importunately for your caresses.

You always said I was in too much of a hurry.

Well, you were right. And I cannot wait any longer. I must hold your hand in mine again, and soon.

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