Love Letters

I cuddled up in front of the warm hearth and watched the flames grow in their intensity. Outside my window the day was bleak and dreary, not a sound could be heard, and I picked up my cup of tea and began the old black and white.

“Love Letters” burning into a deep black cinder of a charming old fireplace while a beautiful girl watches in a complete daze; totally lost to the events of the fleeting hours. In her hand she holds a knife, her dress awash in blood belonging to the man that is now laying at her feet...her husband...and then the music begins to haunt the scene.

This old murder mystery love story was a perfect choice for the incurable romantic that I am. It had all the bells and whistles to a great flick that I usually enjoy...like an English setting {it definitely sets the ambience of a story especially if it’s on the dark side, then England lends it self well. A beautiful haunting musical score, great cinematography and of course the mystery and suspense of a murder in creating a remarkable moving story.

Did you ever stop to think what would happen if the truth comes out of a terrible deed you may have committed? Maybe the out come would be terminal…worse than the offense you committed? Well, unfortunately for this poor fellow I’m afraid that’s exactly what did happen; he acted before he thought, never once conceiving the final result.

Tokens of love, Love Letters of affection and trust, paper hearts containing ones anima. Letters of longing, of body meeting soul; a connection between two lovers, between a woman in love with her distant soldier.
But what if she finds out that who she has longed for all along in these pages of absolute devotional love is a faceless stranger; not the man who she thought was her soul mate…now her husband… forever?

Tormented by the madness of his act she commits the ultimate sin…murder…her mind sealed from the memories now lost in darkness.
The story continues to unfold surprising revelations and only you will be the juror. This old fashioned Hollywood flick is so enthralling to watch that I immediately thought of Letters…love letters, intimately and affectionately written by a true lover’s heart.

I remember vividly how when I was nineteen I had ventured to my other passion in life; discovering England. My boyfriend at the time was adamant to have me return and so decided to give me a ring…one to state his true feelings of me and the other to proclaim his belonging to me and me to him. Just before I left that day he gave me a beautiful diamond and we promised each other to write and to never forget; a security of our love never fading.

Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months. He spent a small fortune on long distant charges calling every day at my grandmas in Italy. He sent money, lots of money cutting back on his groceries just so I would be able to stay a tad longer; he knew how much I had loved England and probably wouldn’t be going back for a very long time. And so he became my poet and I his; we wrote letters of love in what ever way found suiting.


My husband has a large trunk that was given to him from his grandfather which until recently I didn’t realize that he had kept all these symbols of love securely hidden away in the depths of this old trunk until this summer when we were cleaning our home for the move which never happened…the past came back.

Stan is such a sentimentalist…keeps everything from bar coasters from our honeymoon in Bermuda to match boxes and concert stubs and even a poem I wrote for him while I was in England { all nicely boxed up} …imagine!!! But when I went hunting for the letters I was surprised to find other letters… of love …different kinds of love. Letters of love sent congratulating us on our son’s and daughter’s births, birthdays and anniversaries. A beautiful letter of a loving prayer given to us by our minister whose first binding marriage was ours. Far away letters all in some way expressing love; even one from my old fellow that lived next door and now is long gone. But one letter that touched me so was that of a friend I had made when I had lived in Sault Saint Marie.

When I started to read the letter I was overwhelmed by the sincerity of the friend I once knew. Oh, yes I’ve recalled her name and friendship all my life since I left and always knew we had something special then but my miserable memory failed me and I didn’t recall all that was akin to us until I began to read her words. My, how everything came back and tears started to swell in my eyes and I felt foolish for a moment.

I decided right then that I would make the effort to see if I could locate this girl. Wouldn’t it be lovely to write each other now with the help of the internet? My search was amazingly short and two names came up? Anxiety took the better part of me but I really believed that if in fact I read her letter there was a reason to find her; if only to give my gratitude and thanking her for being such a warm friend to me.

My parents always moved and I hardly had a chance to make friends let alone keep them. I was and still am terrible at keeping in touch with my friends and yet they all still make the effort to keep the communication lines open…friends are truly the flowers of the heart. Gina had tried but I miserably never returned her caring thoughts back.
You see we are not all alike completely and even if one sends these paper hearts with no response it doesn’t necessarily mean the receipient doesn’t feel the same. Love as many places to dwell!


And so I called the first number only to get that annoying answering machine…almost hung up… but no, I fought my shame back and left quite a silly message which I can’t even recall what I said just moments ago. All I know is that I said if she was who I thought she was that I would love to hear from her.
After hanging up I decided to call up the other number …it was her parent’s home and her mother answered. We had a lovely chat and she told me to leave her a message…but I had already done that. It felt good even if it was only her mom; surely she would mention at some point that Anna Livinal had called.


Annabelle