The day Elsa returned was a cold day. A day of mist, heavy clouds, and falling drops. But she didn’t care, her only thought was to return home as quickly as possible in order to find out what had happened. She had to be sure that the book was still there, well hidden, where she had left it the last time she had seen it.
The villa was dark, the room empty. She was quite astonished at seeing that so much dust had covered the windowsill of her grandmother’s room. How much time must have passed? She couldn’t say for sure. Her mind played stupid tricks on her. A multitude of thoughts oppressed her mind. This kept her alive because her thoughts were her best friends. Trustful and intimate, they cherished her soul: there she felt at home.
She knew that nobody would be there waiting. Everybody had gone after the first news about the war had spread. Grandmother was the last one to leave the house. Memories drained from the walls, and every single object carried a story of love and loss. Grandma was a proud woman, cultivated and extremely independent. She was born in 1861, wealthy, and loved. The only child of an English textile magnate, she was raised under the best auspices. This had made her strong, confident, and sovereign on every occasion. Her traits were delicate and noble. She had inherited long dark hair and dark eyes from her mother, a French baroness, and her strong character from her father. Her passions were books and horses. Her name was Elisabeth.
Elsa was courageous like her grandma. Once she had heard about the war, she had taken the first train from London. She knew that a long voyage would be dangerous. But nevertheless, she decided to leave. Early hours of the day, streets empty, rain. The taxi had left her outside the station, no words were exchanged, only a quick look and then the platform.
The hours and the days had passed. Empty landscapes, fear in the air, images in black and white. Again, only her thoughts were with her. Elsa had just turned 27. Tall, beautiful, white hands, and dark hair. She moved like a gazelle, long lashes, slim legs, and light steps. Elsa means “God is my oath”. Determined and independent, she went through life as if she had wings to support her. Her grandma had suggested naming her Elsa, as it was the Scandinavian form of Elisabeth.
Many trains, many cars. At last, she was able to reach P., the small Tuscan village, 20 Km from Florence. There was the villa where her grandma had spent her last 30 years.
© Alessia Battaglia 2022-11-01