Chapter 12
Nathaniel and I finally opened Rosamund’s rooms together.
Not to clear them.
Not to preserve them.
To decide.
Five years overdue.
We argued immediately.
He wanted the letters kept.
I wanted half burned.
Celandine, carrying books nearby, said:
“Maybe ask what matters historically and what is private.”
We both stared at her.
She continued walking.
Dangerous woman indeed.
So we sorted.
Family history.
Private marriage.
Charity work.
Personal nonsense.
Rosamund kept absurd receipts.
Why?
No one knew.
Some clothing donated.
Some given to Nathaniel’s daughter.
Photographs archived.
Letters involving living people reviewed carefully.
The wedding gown remained.
Nathaniel asked:
“What do you want?”
I did not know.
That surprised me.
For five years, the gown represented Rosamund.
Then Isabetta turned it into weapon.
Now it was just silk carrying too much meaning.
Celandine suggested conservation.
Not display.
Store correctly.
Decide later.
Good.
No need for every object to resolve immediately.
We cleaned the lipstick.
The wine stain mostly came out.
One faint mark remained near the hem where Isabetta’s shoe pressed.
I considered restoration.
Then decided no.
History does not have to look untouched to remain valuable.
The pearl flowers stayed.
Rosamund chose them herself because she hated plain necklines.
I remembered arguing they looked excessive.
She said:
“So do you.”
Fair.
For the first time in years, the memory made me laugh before it hurt.
Progress.
Nathaniel heard.
Smiled.
May you like
Neither of us said anything.
Some grief changes without announcement.
