A Cave by the Sea

My name is Florence Cooper, I wouldn’t call myself an ordinary eighteen year old girl. It’s true that to look at I don’t strike anyone as impressive or out of the ordinary. I have a tall and slim build, with long curled red hair that reaches just below my bottom. My skin is pale and freckled all over and my eyes are a deep green. Frederick Skelton, the grandson of the local witch, had said they looked like a jade stone, though I didn’t see the resemblance myself. I wouldn’t say my personality is much to write home about either, I’m a quiet and rather shy girl, having lost my mother at a young age I tend to keep myself to myself, not feeling like I fit in with the other townspeople who were around my age. I always felt a little on the outskirts of things, despite being the daughter of a local sailor and selling the fish he caught on a market stall, once owned by my mother. After her death that responsibility fell to me at just ten years old, along with all of the rest of my mother’s responsibilities, such as cooking, cleaning, washing linen and ensuring my kind hearted father didn’t die an early death too, by managing life at home while he worked hard for days on end at sea to provide for us.

Frederick’s grandmother like I said earlier is the local witch, her name is Margaret Skelton, although she insisted I call her Maggie. She is an integral part of the town, she is a healer, enchantress and all around great person, the town adores her and respects her deeply. The town witch was a tradition that dates back hundreds, if not thousands of years. The town witch had always been loved by all of the inhabitants and trusted greatly because of their gifts with magic. Maggie was no exception and she would often guide and support me when I was a little child, having just taken over my mother’s stall. At that time some of the townspeople would try to trick me into selling my wares far lower than was morally right, knowing I had little understanding. But one day when Maggie saw one of them do so everything changed. His name was Humphrey Harrison, a middle aged man with very little hair and a round stomach. He walked around with a bushy grey beard and moustache and thought of himself very highly. When he had tried to buy fish from me for less than half their worth, Maggie had made her way over, she was short and stocky but she faced the far taller man with no fear.

‘Does it make you feel good Mister Harrison to rip off little tikes? Huh?’ she said it very loud, loud enough for all the market to hear. Everyone stared and Mister Harrison’s face turned a deep shade of crimson, he soon turned tail and fled from the scene, his embarrassment too great. After that Maggie had written me a list of my wares and the prices I should sell them for, but she made sure to sit close by, especially when Mister Harrison would return, although now he didn’t argue or haggle over the price, paying whatever I asked him to. After his shameful experience no other townspeople dared to try again, preferring to maintain their dignity and standing within the community.

Maggie’s grandson, Frederick has been very sweet to me also. He has become a kind and patient man and I noticed he would dote on me, offering to help me whenever he could get away from Maggie’s stall and would chat with me throughout the day. He was the only person close to my age that I could talk to. But for some reason there was always a nagging voice in the back of my head that told me he had an ulterior motive, though I didn’t know what that was. It’s like he only talks to me because he expects something from me, but I didn’t know what exactly he wanted, although I had my suspicions. When he looks at me with those hopeful, almost pleading blue eyes, but what he wanted he never would tell me. It is quite frustrating, not knowing what someone really wants from you. I discussed it with my father numerous times over the last year and he always tells me to ‘give the poor lad a break’ and ‘just open my heart to him’, but I didn’t really understand what that meant, nor did I have any intention of wanting Frederick in any way other than friendship. I was always polite and laughed at his attempts at jokes but that didn’t seem to be enough - I don’t think anything would be enough for Frederick.

Frederick just always seemed to want more. More of me, more time, more conversation and now it seems he needs me to open my heart to him too. But I don’t believe a heart opens voluntarily, it must be opened by the other person themselves, like my mother’s was by my father. She told me many times about the day her heart had opened to him. She had been meeting with him in secret for weeks, until one afternoon my father had asked her to meet with him along the shore at sunrise the next morning. They sat and watched as the sun rose over the sea, my mother described it as the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. She told me that the moment she had shifted her gaze to him and the sun’s reflection hit my father’s eyes her heart had opened, and a part of him was encased inside it forever. She said she held the sparkle of his eyes in her heart, and I believed her. The day she died I never saw the sparkle again, it seemed to have disappeared with her, still encased in her heart - forever.

When my father was away sailing my mother would often wake me early in the morning, just before the sun rose and we would walk along the coastal path that ran straight past the front door of our home that was situated on top of the cliff, overlooking the sandy beach and bone chilling sea below. We would make our pilgrimage hand in hand, until we reached the beach, then we would sit in the dark, waiting for the sun to rise over the sea. My mother would tell me a story: ‘Your father is just behind the sun, sailing on the sea, can you see him?’ she would ask, I would shake my head, I could see nothing but the rising sun filling the sky with its light. She would giggle at me, pulling me closer to her so I was sitting on her lap and would continue her story: ‘Well, the sun lives deep down beneath the sea, she has a ginormous palace there, it’s grand with many great halls and dignified guests. She is queen of all the sea, but each morning she must leave her palace and her subjects and rise high above the earth, filling the sky with her beauty and warmth. But when a woman shines so bright she becomes tired and so she must return to her palace and rest during the evening. When she does her husband the moon rises in her place and lights the sky with his moonlight instead, ensuring the world is never in darkness.’ I would pull my face at this, not happy with the arrangement,

‘but mummy, they’re husband and wife, they should be together’ this would make my mother smile a toothy grin.

‘Of course they should, Florence. You’re right, to be forever walking in your lovers footsteps and never quite catching them is torture. But they do meet very rarely. Once every year or so, the moon will wake early in the day inside of their palace and he will rise up in the sky to meet his wife, and for just a moment they embrace each other in the sky. And for that moment the world grows dark, their love shining only on one another and then they must pass once again and wait in longing to be reunited once more.’ My mother would gaze out at the sea while she spoke these words, as if she was the sun, waiting for her moon to return to her.