Dear Ms. Aldura,

My name is Arthur Fibbs.  I am appointed solicitor for the Parish Estate, as well as for, Parish Foundation Of Genetic Research Institute.  Legally endowed by your late finance, Mr. Johnathon D. Parish upon the rewriting of his will, as appointee Executor of Parish Estate, and Holdings.

I’ve enclosed my business card, and if you would be so kind to contact me at your convenience to set an appointment for the reading of Mr. Parish’s will, I’d be much obliged.

Meanwhile, Mr. Parish entrusted strict instruction, that upon his death, the sealed envelope I’ve enclosed on his behalf, be delivered to you immediately. And, that, should the ill misfortune, of both your untimely deaths occur simultaneously, the envelope and its contents be destroyed at once, unopened.

I confess to having no knowledge of the material or item, that’s been delivered with this missive of notification.  So, I sincerely extend my apologies in advance, for any misfortune or grief this unforeseen interruption may, or may not deliver upon your doorstep, at this untimely hour.

Again, you have my deepest condolences, for your loss.

Sincerely,

Arthur M. Fibbs,

Solicitor of Parish & Son Law Firm

PS: If I can be of further service, feel free to call upon me, at your leisure.  Upon instruction, by the late Mr. Parish, I am at your disposal ‘ANYTIME, FOR EVERYTHING’, free of charge.

Lily shook violently with distress, after reading, and putting Mr. Fibbs letter to the side.

Plagued with mix feeling; she reverently fondled Johnathon’s private envelope with her fingertips.  Clasping it to her bosom with sorrowful feeling, she closed her tearful eyes, allowing her grief to spread throughout her countenance, unhindered.

As the pain, the emptiness, seeped throughout, she felt an injection of intimate closeness spread within her entire being. 

In the grasp of rawness, she felt Johnathon’s presence with crystal clarity.

After a few moments, of intimate reverie, Lily freed the vanilla envelope of its protective seal. 

Her racing heart, felt dangerously close to imploding from mingled grief, and surprisingly:— curious suspense.

In an attempt to quell the tempest rising within, she placed her hand over her breast, to gain composure.

“My god, Johnathon, how I miss you.” She whispered, as she carefully removed from the protective covering, a faded, antiquated, scarlet leather logbook, bound with black silk ligature.

Etched in attenuated gilt, were the words: ‘Captain’s Log’.  And, below in the far-right corner, a modest embossing of an eye-catching insignia of a gilt knight perched upon a horse.

Curiously running her fingers over the surface of the hardened, darkened leather, Lily’s mind stirred with sudden wakefulness.  “What on earth?” She said, turning the dim scarlet leather cover, to find a newly addressed envelope, written in Johnathon’s intimate hand, simply addressed: ‘Lily’.

Attentively, lifting the scarlet wax seal, she softly pressed her rose lips to his letter written in elegant script.

Before absorbing its content, she said most endearingly: “Hello, darling,” trembling with heartbreak.

Hello, my dearest, dearest, darling Lily,

It sorrows my heart knowing, that as you read this letter, I, I, am no longer at your side.  If my words shake with hesitation, it’s because of knowing I no longer walk at your side.  The very thought tears at my heart, as you are my life now, always, throughout eternity.

If one thing in this world grieves me beyond anything else, it is my absence at this moment.  Knowing you are alone, without stern support to face this deviling madness, that is about to unfold.  For it is, certainly, an act of cruelty, of the worst kind, that I subject upon you; while recognizing in depth the dire ramifications that shall inevitably ensue.

Again, I humbly apologize for the unseemly chain of unexplained events, that are about to wash upon, your beautiful shore.

All I ask of you, dearest, is that you trust divine providence, and the kismet wind that brought us together.

Trust me. Trust us. Trust our love.

“Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours.”  —

(“Do you remember, darling?  Reciting beautifully this lovely ‘Beethoven’ quote, as we blissfully floated unclad, conjoined, as one, in the washtub; amid glowing candlelight?  Twas the happiest day, of ‘all’ my lives.)”

Faithfully, forever yours

Johnathon

“As I am yours,” Lily softly said aloud.  Unable, to halt, or still delicate rising emotion, her raven eyes pooled with warm tears.

And with heightened feeling paving the way, Lily, bravely turned her attention to the first entry, in the Captain’s Log:

On Board Merchant Ship, ‘The Lily’

Journal of the Voyage from Calicut India, to the Isle of Madagascar

Captain’s log:—

Sunday, February 14, 1847

Day 1:—

All hearts' day, void of heart.  The crew spooked; when upon the thirteenth hour, the bell struck its thirteenth-chime; we lost sight of the sky, the sun, the horizon; as thickly layered marine fog, abruptly assaulted our vision:— swallowing The Lily.

So, enveloping is the mist, we’re unable to detect the shape or shade of our boots, or our leggings.  When peering downward; we feel possessed, as the murk is diabolically consuming.

I ordered the crew to lay anchor, and to retreat below deck for safety, lest they stumble, or injure themselves running into the mast or each other.

Our departure from the Port City of Calicut, unfolded smoothly with the outgoing tide, just a few minutes after the stroke of midnight.  All was sublime, smooth without complication, until, as aforementioned.

The Lily conveys a slight crew of eleven; eight men, me first mate, and one cook; whom all, currently, feel weighted, strained, from damped spirits, (myself included).

Although, I pride myself for having always risen above superstition, I admit, today’s unforeseen event has pitched me slightly unbalanced.

It’s interesting to note, that as I dutifully ink, here in my quarters; the men’s voice, and movement are next to nil.  Perhaps, it is a collective daunting they’re experiencing that restrains them from lively, boisterous activity.

Their unwillingness to usher a sound, may also be a sign of sea-prowess to prevent summoning or awakening any further devilish mishap … Better to shuffle lightly, quietly, in respectful trepidation, rather than arouse undue attention, and be beset upon indiscriminately.

I shall break, with a luncheon of fatty bacon, bread, cheese, and wine.  Then a swift nap, until the fifteenth bell.

Sunday evening, Nineteenth Hour:

Little has changed since my last entry:—The ocean mist hovers thicker than before, and the crew is unnerved, stilled.

Subdued by the unnatural state of the sea’s glass surface, void of undulation, or sound, they’ve turned to making the sign of the cross, across their hearts and chests, every so often.

I ordered the cook to dole out extra rations of rum with their supper, to lessen the inquietude of their souls.

My first mate, (and dear friend) Mr. Richard’s, [is] a true godsend in tending, quelling, the crew's concerns.  He’s ordered lights out at the twentieth-hour, for everyone; while volunteering to take first watch on deck.  At which time, I’ve arranged for the cook to deliver ‘two’ sherries, for the two of us, whereupon, I shall gladly join him.

I too, like the crew, am in desperate need of a reprieve from the harrowing uneasiness that’s steadily rising, growing.

Private time in Richard’s company, appears the appropriate antidote.

Until tomorrow:

Sir Captain Johnathon D. Parish

[To Be Continued…]