Part 1: The Summons
1st August, 1910
My Dearest Tomen,
By the time this letter reaches your hands, I shall already be on the road to the King’s palace.
I confess, when the messenger arrived this morning, I very nearly refused him.
Do not scold me just yet. The thought lasted only a moment, but it was there all the same. My heart was already halfway to the coast, waiting for your return, and I found myself wondering what sort of healer would choose strangers over her own husband. Duty answered before I could.
They told me only that someone within the royal household had taken gravely ill. The palace physicians have exhausted every remedy they possess, and now they seek help beyond the palace walls.
Imagine that, Tomen. A kingdom with every comfort at its disposal, brought low enough to send a carriage for a village healer. I know nothing more. Whoever lies behind those walls must surely be clinging to life.
How I had looked forward to your return. I imagined us sitting on the patio with steaming cups of chai tea, listening to you insist that the fish escaped because they had become cleverer than the fishermen.
I would remind you, as I always do, that the fish are innocent creatures and it is your stories that grow larger with every voyage. I suspect you would argue otherwise.
I can almost hear your laugh as I write those words. It has always amazed me how you can return from weeks at sea with salt upon your boots and still speak as though the ocean itself had been waiting to tell you stories. You have a way of making ordinary days feel extraordinary,
Do not trouble yourself over finances, my love. I am told the Crown rewards generously. If Providence is kind, this journey may settle our debts at last. Perhaps there will even be enough to claim that little cottage by the lake, the one we admired beneath the stars and promised ourselves we would one day call home.
Until then, promise me you will continue dreaming for us both.
I baked fresh bread before leaving and filled a basket with vegetables for the week. Mama has promised to look in on you, though I suspect she intends to make certain you remember to eat.
She pressed a loaf of sweet bread into my hands before I climbed into the carriage and whispered, “Take care of yourself before you take care of everyone else.” I laughed because she has been telling me the very same thing since I was a little girl, and I have ignored her just as faithfully every time.
Your ginger and lemon tonic is waiting in the cupboard where I always leave it. Please do not tell me you forgot where that is. I know my husband well enough to believe you would search every shelf before looking in the proper place.
I shall endeavor to write again as soon as I learn the nature of this illness and the reason they called for me. They assure me I shall not be away longer than a fortnight. I pray they are right but tells me it may be longer.
My heart aches already, yet beneath that ache I cannot ignore the feeling that something has shifted. Whether this journey leads us toward the life we have always dreamed of or toward something altogether different, I cannot yet say.
Until then, know that every mile I travel carries me farther from your embrace, yet never from your heart.
There is one confession I neglected to make before sealing this letter. As the carriage pulled away from the village, I nearly asked the driver to turn back. Not because I doubted this calling, but because leaving you behind felt like leaving a piece of myself upon our doorstep. It is a strange thing to discover that home is not merely a place, but a person.
Be well, my beloved. I wish I had kissed you goodbye one last time.
Ever yours,
Mary
༺❦༻
Private Journal — 1st August, 1910
Later that evening
I wish I could refuse them. Just once, I wish I could choose us over duty.
I smiled as I wrote to Tomen, careful to make this journey sound like an adventure instead of what it truly feels like. The truth is I am frightened. Not of illness, for sickness has never intimidated me, but of stepping into a world where every mistake carries greater consequence than I have ever known. A village forgives a healer’s uncertainty. I cannot imagine a palace will.
I keep wondering who lies behind those walls. Is it a child? A queen? Some forgotten servant no one else could save? The messenger guarded his words as though they belonged to the Crown itself. If they wished only to summon a healer, why cloak the truth in so much silence?
I have counted our debts so many times that I know every figure by heart. I pretend not to, especially when Tomen catches me staring too long at the ledger, but I know them all the same. The roof still leaks whenever the rain lingers. The loan for Father’s medicine was never fully repaid before he passed.
Every winter seems to leave us owing a little more than the last. I hate that our dreams have become something we calculate instead of simply hope for. Every coin we save seems to belong to someone else before it ever reaches our hands.
Tomen never complains. He simply works longer voyages and tells me that next season will be kinder. I smile and agree because I cannot bear to steal his hope, though there are nights I lie awake wondering how many “next seasons” a marriage is allowed before hope becomes denial.
I nearly told Tomen how reluctant I was to leave him. Instead, I promised a fortnight, though something inside me refused to believe those words as I wrote them. I cannot explain it, but as the village disappeared behind me, I kept telling myself this was only a journey. Yet I could not shake the strange feeling that it was the beginning of something I would not easily escape.
