IF THOU SORROW

by Vincent Peters

illustration by the author

Author’s Note: This story takes place within the second year of correspondence between Jacob and Sarah one month before their first meeting in Pen Pals.

~ ~ ~

Heckscher Playground, Central Park – July 28, 2008

Jacob sat atop a large outcropping of rock that flanked one of the paths he was known to walk late in the evenings on those occasions when his mind would offer him no peace. He was facing in the general direction of Vermont, a part of him wishing, now more than ever before, that he was not anchored to the island and the tunnels beneath it. His dear friend was out there. She was hurting. He knew that much from her letters, but for all the power and gifts he possessed beyond the limits of humanity, he felt utterly powerless to help her. Still awash in a relentless feeling of helplessness, he made his way back to the south portal and home.

*  *  *

The tunnels were silent at this hour, save for the occasional tapping of the pipes from the sentries. The timing candles had been dimmed, and he knew from the number that remained lit that it was well past midnight.

From behind he heard a familiar voice welcoming him home. “I wasn’t under the impression that you were on watch tonight, Jacob.”

Jacob smiled and turned around. “You’re right, Dad, I’m not. I just – I couldn’t sleep. I thought a walk in the park would be better than listening to myself pacing in my chamber.”

Vincent stood before his son, and without a moment’s hesitation took him into a hug. “What troubles you so? I don’t think I have ever felt such a turmoil from your spirit.”

Jacob allowed himself a brief moment to loosen the burden of his soul and focus on the warmth and sincerity of his father’s hug. When the two pulled away, Jacob looked at his father with an expression of regret. “Sorry, Dad. I was kind of hoping I wasn’t broadcasting my feelings that much, but I guess that isn’t the case, huh?”

“There is nothing to be sorry about. You’re my son and I want nothing more than to be there for you in times of distress as much as times of joy.”

“Comes with the territory, doesn’t it,” Jacob said, looking over Vincent’s shoulder.

“You bet it does, kiddo,” Catherine added as she approached them, clad in a patchwork robe.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to keep either of you awake tonight.”

“It’s pretty obvious to me you need to talk about something, Jake. There will be plenty of time for sleep later.” Catherine took her son by the hand. “Better out than in.”

Jacob, Catherine, and Vincent walked into a storage chamber well removed from the sleeping areas of this tunnel where voices were less likely to carry. They sat together in the light of a single lantern Catherine had been carrying.

Jacob sat in silence for a moment, putting his thoughts together. What he needed to say was a fine balance between telling his parents what was troubling him, without betraying the trust Sarah had shown him.

“As you know, Sarah and I have been writing for a while now. Lately there has been a tone in her letters regarding her parents that I can’t put out of my mind.”

“Do her parents not approve of her writing to you?” Vincent asked.

“No, Dad,” he replied with a very somber tone in his voice. “Her parents are dead. She lost them to a drunk driver seven years ago, and now she lives with her grandmother. Two weeks from now is the anniversary of that loss and the grief she’s feeling is palpable in her letters; it gives her no peace, shows her no mercy. It desires only to deprive her of her joy of life every time the anniversary comes around. As much as I want to be there for her, to hold her through this time in her life, I’m powerless to be anything more than just words on a page.” When the last words left his mouth, his ears folded back against his head in sadness for his friend and his otherwise straight posture slumped a little.

His parents sat in silence along with their son. They had both been taken back to the early years of their own relationship. Catherine remembered well how Vincent had been there for her, to support her in any way he could, and how grateful she had been for that.

For his part, Vincent remembered what he had felt then, his desire to support her regardless of the cost to his own internal comfort; but along with those memories, he also felt immense sympathy for his son whom fate had seen fit to deny the opportunity.

Catherine rested her hand on Jacob’s shoulder and broke the silence. “I remember how devastated I was when your Grandpa Charles passed away. I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. I felt so lost at the time, and if it weren’t for your father and this community, it would have taken me a very long time to even get back to living, let alone have the life I do now. I know how important it is to have support in times like these.”

“I also know,” she continued with a reassuring motherly tone and no small amount of pride, “that you are very much your father’s son. I’ve always loved that about you. You have the same fathomless heart, the same strength of spirit, and most important of all, you have your father’s determination. If for now words on a page are all you can be, then make every word count, kiddo.”

“Words just don’t seem – enough,” Jacob said with a hint of frustration.

Vincent knew all too well how frustrating it can be to desire to physically comfort someone when everything seemed bent on preventing it. “The pen is mightier than the sword, so says the old axiom. While words have the power to cause great harm or right great wrongs, they also have the power to convey the greatest message of all – hope. ”

“I, too, have known a grief that leaves a gnawing emptiness in the soul that such a loss as this has made in her,” Vincent continued. “Until the night that brought your mother and me together, I was filled with a grief of sorts. It tasked me in ways not dissimilar from what you describe Sarah as experiencing. Even though your mother and I could not be together as often as we would have wished in the beginning, she always found ways to send me notes through our helpers above. The words on these small messages all worked together to convey to me what my soul had longed to hear for many years – I am not alone.”

Jacob’s ears began to perk up as he listened to his parents.

“You possess the power to help her in ways you have never imagined possible. Have faith in your strengths. Channel your compassion and empathy into your words and in them you will hold her, Jacob. She will know she is, most assuredly, not alone.”

* * *

Jacob stood on the upper landing of the library, looking over the various stacks of books in search of anything that might help him in his quest to hold Sarah with his words as his parents had suggested the previous night. He found himself, once more, a victim of his grandfather’s personal method of organization or, in this instance, lack thereof.

“Ah, good morning, Jacob,”  Father said as he looked around a pile of books from the far side of the landing.

“Good morning, Papa,”  Jacob answered back, still diligently inspecting the titles on the shelves before him.

Father had already made note of the look of determination on the boy’s face and that alone had piqued his curiosity. “You seem to be on quite the quest for knowledge this morning by the looks of it.”

“I am.”

“Well then, given my less-than-strict adherence to Mr. Dewey’s system of organization, perhaps I could help you find what you’re looking for.” Father took a look around at the state of his book collection. “Or, perhaps,” he said through a chuckle, “it might simply be easier to ask an old man your question. The truth be told, my finding anything in my collection is nothing short of a miracle.”

They both chuckled at his self-assessment as a librarian. “I’m looking for a way to help my friend Sarah through a rather rough time, and I’m at a loss as to how to go about it, Papa.”

“What seems to be troubling Miss Hancock, if I may ask?”

“She’s grieving right now and I’m at a loss as to how to help her.”

“I see… I see. The poor girl.” Father’s brow frowned in thought for a moment as he considered his grandson’s need. “Well, for what it’s worth, I have always found Shakespeare to be a very useful source of inspiration.”

“Shakespeare?”

“Oh my, yes. The Bard had such a command of the English language that he could tell you to go to hell and leave you excited for the trip. If it’s one thing I’ve learned in the two worlds I’ve called home, it’s that in matters of the heart – or the human condition –  he knew everything,” Father said, handing Jacob a compendium of Shakespeare’s works. “Perhaps in these pages you might just find what you’re looking for.”

Jacob smiled and gently headbutted his grandfather. “You’re right. This should be of great help, Papa. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“For starters, you might let an old man win at chess once in a while.”

*  *  *

520 Amsterdam Avenue,  NYC – August 1

Henry and Abigail Rees stood in the kitchen of their apartment, discussing the day’s goings on as they dried the dishes. In the midst of their conversation, a tapping sound rose from the radiator in the living room. To the uninitiated ear, it would simply be dismissed as the occasional presence of water in the steam pipes, but they knew better. They both turned their attention to the living room, a smile coming to their faces.

They quickly left their apartment, descending the back stairs of the building, and into their flower shop by way of its rear entrance on the ground floor. From there, they made their way into the basement of the shop and cleared away some boxes which concealed a metal hatch in the floor. Opening the hatch with an equally well concealed metal hook, they looked down to see a welcome face smiling up at them. “Jacob!” they both exclaimed, quite pleased to see him.

Jacob climbed the ladder and hopped out of the hatch. Rising to his feet, he hugged both of the helpers he had known all of his life.  “Good evening, Henry, Abby. I hope I’m not disrupting your evening.”

“Not at all. We were just finishing up the dishes, so the timing of your visit is perfect. To what do we owe the honor?” Mr. Rees said in his always warm and welcoming tone.

“I have a very dear friend of mine Above, who’s going through a very difficult time right now, and I thought that maybe adding some flowers to my latest letter might help to raise her spirits a little. Maybe fill in the gaps any of my words of comfort and support may have.”

“We may be a little biased,” Abby said, “but there really is no better way to go about it, dear boy.”

“I was going to gather a few from the park, but I thought that for such an important occasion, it was time to ask the help of professionals.”

“Well, if one thing’s for certain in the world, it’s that Abby and I are definitely keepers of the old code,” Henry said as he patted Jacob on his shoulder.

Jacob cocked his head slightly to the side. “The old code?”

Henry chuckled and nodded as he began to walk about the storage room, looking through his stocks of flowers for the perfect bouquet to meet Jacob’s needs. “I come from a long line of posey peddlers, as you well know, son. Back when I was your age — even younger actually — folks back then had a list of things you could talk about and things you couldn’t. Seems to me that the list of things you couldn’t talk about filled volumes, while acceptable topics would fill a pamphlet you could stick in your vest pocket. Chances are, Father was brought up that way, too, judging from the delightfully refreshing display of manners you and Vincent are known for.

“You see, Victorians could never talk about their deeper feelings because the rules against impropriety always prevented it. So they did what any self-respecting Victorian would do when presented with a situation like that.”

“And what was that?” Jacob asked with no lack of fascination.

“They cheated,” Henry said as he looked back at Jacob from around a rack of flowers nearby, his reply drawing a chuckle from all three of them. “They did it by using objects rather than words to convey what they wanted to say, and they got pretty creative with it, too. A gentleman would flirt with the ways they would hold or play with their gloves at formal gatherings, and a lady would flirt right back with fan signals for instance.”

He approached Jacob holding a box opened for his inspection. “In your case, they would say it with flowers.”

Sudden recognition flashed across Jacob’s face. “ Isn’t…isn’t that the slogan of your flower shop?”

Henry smiled. “You didn’t think there was a reason we used it?”

Jacob examined the contents of the box with great interest. “What would these flowers communicate to her?”

“Judging from what we’ve heard here and there about this pen pal of yours, she is a tad more than just special to you. So, given your desire to  communicate that to her and ease her sorrow, I present to you this bouquet. The White Acacia signals friendship, the Red Elders are compassion, the Scarlet Geraniums are comfort, and the one in the middle of it all is a Saxifrage which I added – and I hope you don’t mind – to indicate your affections for the young lady.”

Jacob hoped the blush he felt was not as obvious to them as it felt to him, but Henry was right. The feeling at the core of his recent frustration over not being able to be physically with her in her time of need was indeed the feelings of affection that had been developing toward her for some time now.

“Too much?” Henry asked.

Jacob snapped out of his moment of reflection. “What? Oh — uh–no, no not at all, it’s perfect. Thank you. There is one more thing I need to ask of you, though. I hope it isn’t asking too much.” 

“Ask away, son. We wouldn’t be much in the way of helpers if we weren’t here to help, after all,” Abby said.

“If it is not too much trouble, could you arrange to send it to her, please?”

“After all the help you gave us with moving those shelves over for our new cooler, my back alone will be in debt to you for the rest of my life. Consider it done.” Henry handed him a shipping label. “All we need is an address.”

Jacob wrote the address down on the shipping label and then retrieved a letter from a pocket in his cloak he had written for Sarah earlier that day. He tenderly placed it in with the flowers before the box was sealed.

* * *

 Montpelier, Vermont – August 11,  2008

Sarah sat quietly in her room. She had been going through a rather substantial stack of letters from her pen pal in Manhattan. She didn’t know why, but reading his letters always made her feel better whenever her unresolved  feelings about the loss of her parents would occasionally rear themselves. Today, more than ever, she was incredibly grateful for having such a kind, if not occasionally enigmatic, friend as Jacob.

She had heard a knock at the front door downstairs while she read through his letters but dismissed it just as quickly. Shortly thereafter,  another knocking came at her half-open bedroom door. The face that greeted her never failed to bring a smile to her face. “Hey, Gran, what’s up?”

“I thought I might exercise my grandmotherly prerogative of being well-meaning and nosy and see how you were doing, dear,” Elmira Hancock said as she entered.

Sarah sighed and smiled as best she could given what the day meant to both of them. “I’m — about the same as every year when this time rolls around.”

Elmira walked over and hugged her granddaughter. “I miss them, too. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.”

“OH no, no, you weren’t. I was just reading through some of Jacob’s old letters.”

“ Well then, you will be happy to know you have another one,” she said, noting the more-than-slight improvement in her granddaughter’s overall mood.

“Jacob sent another letter?”

“More than a letter from the looks of it.”

“More than a letter?”

Elmira stepped out into the hall and returned holding a long, white box embossed with a floral pattern. “If I had to guess, I would say this time, whatever your pen pal has to say, he is substantially upping his game.”

Sarah’s eyes widened at the sight of the box addressed to her. This was a first for her. She’d never received flowers before.

Elmira left her granddaughter’s room and closed the door behind her to afford her more privacy. Inwardly she was smiling at the thought that perhaps this friendship Sarah had struck up with Jacob might just be the beginnings of something rare and special she had wished for Sarah to find for some time now. 

Sarah sat on her bed, looking at the box in her lap for a moment before she slid the ribbon off and opened the lid. Her eyes widened all the more when she saw the colorful arrangement that met her eyes.

She set the box aside for a moment and excitedly opened the letter that came with it.

Dear Sarah,

Hi!

I hope this parcel finds you well. If all goes as planned , this should be arriving on a day you would prefer never come around, and I sincerely hope that you may, in these words and flowers, find some peace this day.

I have for some time now wanted, more than anything to find a way to be there with you in person today, but sadly, as you know, my physical appearance and the numerous constraints that come with it, would not allow for such a trip to be made.

Those constraints notwithstanding, I have most reluctantly chosen to be there with you in the only way in which I am able at the present time – in spirit.

 There is a saying in my family that Shakespeare knew everything. That being the case, I would like to paraphrase a passage from a work of his which I believe best speaks of my steadfast commitment to helping you through this stormy moment in your life, now or anytime to come.

‘I, who am thy friend indeed, I will help thee in thy need: If thou sorrow, I will weep; If thou wake, I will not sleep: Thus of every grief in heart I with thee will bear a part.’

Please know, Sarah, that you are never far from my thoughts, now more than ever, and that whatever part of me resides in my letters will forever be with you. I earnestly hope that in these words you will find some peace you so rightfully deserve.

Most sincerely,

~ Jacob Chandler Wells

* * *

Epilogue

 August 12 – 1AM

Sarah grumbled in frustration as she rolled over to see that the time had barely advanced at all. “Not feeling it tonight are you, sleep,” she said to the darkness of her room.

She had a very good reason for tossing and turning that night. Her mind had been racing ever since the flower box had arrived yesterday afternoon. It was awash in something she had never expected. Her feelings for Jacob had changed in an instant. That was what she had tried to tell herself all that afternoon and evening, but in her heart she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t a sudden revelation she had experienced, but rather her long overdue admission. She liked him far more than she let on.

Her gaze shifted from the red glare of the alarm clock on her night stand to the freshly arranged bouquet of flowers sitting in an antique vase her grandmother had brought up for them. Looking at them fondly, she thought back to what he had said in the letter that accompanied them.

She couldn’t stop thinking about one line in that letter that seriously gave her pause the instant she read it: “…whatever part of me resides in my letters will forever be with you.” She had felt that way from the very first letter she had received from him. It was as if a part of her had read his words then and said oh…there you are.

Something wonderful had come to pass between them that was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Did it have the potential to transcend what it had thus far  become? The only way to know, beyond all doubt, was to meet him.