10,000 Cats: The third life of Cecily Wolfe

[Cecilywolfe]

It's amazing how life never turns out quite as one plans. How the twists and turns, ups and downs, can transform a person, land her someplace she never expected and make her someone she never imagined she would be.

This was the case with Cecily. Now, standing in front of this modest house, in this strange town, overlooking the sea, Cecily felt like a person divided. She was the noble lady with properties she never cared to visit; she was the compilation of her experiences in war, politics and love; she was the widow twice over, now past her thirtieth year, wondering if she would ever quite get past the death of the love of her life.

But she was also the girl, the girl she was before those experiences, the girl who still held a sense of optimism for her life, the girl who still dreamed of love, a warm home full of laughter and family, and a bright future.

The mew of a kitten caught her attention. She scooped up the little ball of fluff who nuzzled close to her against the coastal winds. "Let's go home, little guy," she murmured against the kitten's soft orange head. "We'll call you Phoenix."

And so began the next chapter in the life of Cecily Rose.

[Cecilywolfe]

Life in Liverpool was peaceful, one day blending seamlessly into the next. Cecily kept mostly to herself with only a barebone staff keeping the house and garden, not that it needed much tending. Cecily never had guests and the fields lay fallow for the winter. The home itself proved to be well build and study resiting the harsh winds the sea sometimes threw at it with nary a drought.

Phoenix, it seemed, was simply the most precocious of a litter of eight, all of whom decided to make Cecily's back stoop home when she started feeding them. As the autumn pressed into winter, days grew shorter and time drew closer. There was only one person she could call on and Cecily prayed she could find her friend and that she would come. With Phoenix stalking her toes beneath her skirt hem, she began to pen a letter.

Mackenie Gael Frasier
Baroness of Bunbury
Beeston, Chester

Dear Mac,

I pray that this letter finds you and that you will forgive my lack of communication this past year. I suppose I should just come out with the hard news. Bloodstone passed away this past spring after we returned from Valencia. When we got back to England, we felt we could not return to the constant angst of life in Chester and so moved to my estate at Blackburn just outside Preston. We weren't home three weeks when he was struck with a fever and passed before the week's end. Even now, I can hardly believe he is gone.

For that reason, among others, I could not stay at Blackburn and I cannot bring my self to return to Beeston, although I am often filled with happy memories of Willow Bend. Those memories are probably best left that way, since I know it wouldn't be the same if I returned. So it is, that I have landed in Liverpool where I've set up in a nice house by the sea. I have managed to work out an arrangement with the mayor to use wood from my forests at Blackburn to help build a new port here. They have even been consulting with one of my carpenters.

All this brings me to ask a favor of you. Would you be available to join me in Liverpool for a few months. I hope you can come as soon as possible. I really need your help and will explain more when you get here.

Your friend now and always,

Cecily

After rereading the letter, she decided it didn't convey the anxiety, loneliness and emotion she'd been afraid it would. She folded it, sealed it then had a final thought which she scrawled on the back:

My mare Bonnie is with foal. I believe the baby will be of some relation to you. ~C

[Cecilywolfe]

Cecily was restless. She felt like a caged animal in her self-imposed exile. The cottage, which at first had seemed so cozy, felt cramped as the impending winter forced her indoors. Her sleep had been fitful as of late and this evening, like many before, she paced back and forth in front of the dying fire in her bedroom. She could almost make out a rut in the oak planks where her house-shoes had tread so often.

Some nights she was melancholy. She wallowed in the unfairness of having lost Stone too soon. She pitied herself for being widowed again and wondered what she had done to offend Jah that He would curse her this way. Other nights she was lonely. She missed her sister, her friends, her husband and even Blackburn.

Tonight, though, tonight she was angry. It was his fault that she was here in this tiny cottage in this dank town. The winds that whipped across the sea and howled at her windows chilled and annoyed her. She poured herself a large glass of whiskey and took a long swallow. Everything about the place annoyed her tonight and it was all his fault. The whiskey burned like acid in her stomach and threatened to come back up. She emptied the glass into the fire. The liquid hissed and a dim blue flame danced on the red embers. She couldn't even drown her pain or fuel her anger and that was his fault too.

With her teeth gritted, her jaw set, she frantically ripped dresses, hose and shoes from her wardrobe and threw them into a great pile on her bed. "That's it," thought the crazy woman who had taken over her brain, "That's it!" The most recently thrown gown slid off the pile and landed in a heap beside the bed. "I'm going back to Blackburn."

When she awakened the next morning, her back ached horribly from sleeping amidst the great pile of clothing, her eyelids felt swollen and salt trails lined her cheeks. Her mind was a little clearer with the morning sun and as she brushed her unruly hair back off her face, she realized that while she couldn't stay here, she couldn't go to Blackburn.

It had been several weeks since the letter had been sent to the Mac and she'd heard no reply. "Molly," she yelled out the door to her mousy chambermaid, "Pack my things and send for the carriage, I'm going to Beeston."

The trip was as long and uncomfortable as she had anticipated. It was dusk the second evening when they finally pulled up before Mac's home. On the front stoop, her knuckles poised to rap on the door, Cecily paused for a second, consumed with anxious anticipation, then closed her eyes and knocked.

[Sponsored content]