99. Your wife
As she quietly opened the door, Erna's world, filled with his gifts, appeared. It was a rather confusing sight, with the items he'd bought at the fair laid out haphazardly.
Mrs. Fitz had expressed her intention to call in an interior decorator immediately, but Bjorn felt no need to rush. Since the room wasn't meant for guests anyway, there was no harm in leaving Erna alone for the time being, as she pleased. It was quite a pleasure to see Erna surrounded by the things he had given her. Just like right now.
Bjorn looked at Erna, who sat at her desk, leaning against the doorframe. The sound of the typewriter keys clicking quietly permeated the silence.
His wife, who had vanished in the middle of the night, was, unbelievably, practicing her typing. She was looking at the textbook spread out beside her desk, her posture quite serious. A giant golden elephant stood guard beside Erna. It was an object that made him laugh every time he saw it.
A monster.
With those words, Mrs. Fitz tidied up the elephant statue. She seemed to have insisted on putting it away in storage, as it was so unsightly that it was practically unsightly. But Erna insisted on bringing it here. She insisted it was a gift, and she would put it to good use. That's why he decided to forgive the merchant who had slyly included such a thing. Erna was so adorable and admirable.
Seeing Erna's complete lack of a glance, Bjorn crossed the drawing room with minimal footsteps. The Grand Duchess, who was typing on her typewriter, supported by the elephant statue's bow, didn't even look up until he stopped beside her desk. Bjorn, his patience fading, tapped his fingertips on the desk, calling out to his wife.
“Bjorn!”
Erna's surprised voice shook the silence.
“You said you were tired. What are you doing here?”
“Ah. I woke up at dawn, but I couldn’t sleep well because I slept a lot during the day.”
A sweeter scent than usual wafted from Erna, who answered softly. Bjorn soon realized why: candy. A glass jar next to the typewriter was filled with colorful, bead-like candies.
“This is...”
Erna, who noticed where his gaze landed, swallowed dryly, feeling a pang of pain. Contrary to her fears that she might be scolded for acting childish, Bjorn simply smiled warmly.
Well, he's not that kind of person.
A weary sigh escaped her as she realized she had overreacted.
Erna herself was well aware that she had become increasingly sensitive lately. She was wary of even the slightest remark, and even the laughter of two or more people made her cringe, as if they were mocking her.
“Are you really thinking of becoming a typist?”
Bjorn, who was looking through the typewriter manual, asked mischievously.
“I don’t think that’s something the person who gave this to me should say.”
“That’s it, I gave it to you to play with.”
Bjorn, sitting at the desk, tapped the keys on her typewriter. Erna frowned at the typo, but her anger didn't last long.
Bjorn laughed.
Just that, the sharp emotions softened. Will there ever come a day when I can be angry at this man? In a state of helplessness as sweet as candy, Erna also ended up laughing.
"Still, since I received it as a gift, I'm going to try to use it to its full potential. It's still awkward and uncomfortable, but I think once I get used to it, I'll be able to write faster. Even though I won't be able to write letters."
"Why."
“Letter like this machine-written receipt is said to damage the dignity of a noble lady.”
“That must be what Mrs. Fitz said.”
"Yes."
No, it won't work.
Erna chuckled, as if the stern admonition was ringing in her ears. A smile similar to hers appeared on Bjorn's face. This moment, sharing a shared memory, was as beautiful as a midsummer dawn. Thanks to it, Erna found a little courage.
“Once I learn how to type, can I use it to write letters to you?”
"Letter?"
“Yes. You like receipts.”
It was a serious remark, but Bjorn laughed as if he'd heard some great joke. A few more idle words were exchanged, and the faint sound of the clock chiming three o'clock was heard.
“It’s late, Erna.”
Bjorn slowly opened his eyes and held out his hand.
“Please put off your typist dream until tomorrow.”
The light from the lamp fell on a large, smooth hand.
As she watched him sleep, she suddenly forgot the melancholy she'd felt and the bitterness she'd felt at the thought of her still being useful only in bed. Erna simply took his hand, filled with joy and love.
It was three days later, in the afternoon, that the receipt requested by the Grand Duchess arrived. Bjorn, upon discovering it among the mail brought by Madame Fitz, smiled, as if it were that dawn, a memory so vivid it was strangely vivid.
“Please read it, Prince.”
Judging by her uncharacteristic interference, this squeamish old woman seemed to have become Erna's accomplice. From the Duchess Arsene to Madame Fitz. Looking closely, it seemed she possessed a remarkable knack for captivating elderly women.
Bjorn nodded, pretending not to win, and opened the envelope with the paper knife she held out.
[ Dear Bjorn, thank you for this wonderful gift. I will treasure it for the rest of my life. The elephant statue is a little scary, but I think I'll get used to it if I look at it long enough.
As the seasons change again and fall arrives, it'll already be a year since we got married. I want to keep my promise to be a good wife, but I'm sorry, there are still many shortcomings. Still, I'll try my best.
I'm so glad I married you. Thanks to you, I realized the walls that surrounded my narrow world were actually doors. I'll never forget the countless doors we opened together over the past year, and the worlds beyond them.
What was the year we spent together like for you?
Would you like it as much as I do?
Do the moments that became precious memories for me remain in your memories with the same meaning?
Were we a good couple?
I hope we can continue to do well in the future. ]
As he faced the series of question marks, he felt as if he could hear the crackling sound that had seeped into the stillness of the dawn. He could almost see Erna pressing down on the question marks with a serious expression.
[ I hope we can continue to open many doors together in the future. I will work even harder so that someday, I can become someone who can give you much more.
Thank you for being so kind to me. I hope you'll be doing well in the days ahead. ]
At the bottom of the typewritten letter was Erna's handwritten signature.
[ Your wife, Erna Dneister. ]
Bjorn's gaze lingered on the writing for a long time.
Wife.
He slowly rolled the word, which felt special all over again, on his tongue.
Wife. My wife, Erna.
“Would you like to write a reply, Your Highness?”
Mrs. Fitz, who was observing Bjorn's expression, suggested subtly.
She knew how much effort Erna had put into completing this single letter. Her desire to repay her husband with the gift she had received was so endearing that she even ignored the machine-written receipt-like letter. She hoped her heart would be repaid, but Bjorn shook his head indifferently.
“Later.”
“Your Highness.”
“Since we live in the same house, why bother?”
He smiled faintly, already unfolding the next letter. Mrs. Fitz, well aware of the Prince's stubbornness, couldn't add any more.
Bjorn had a deep aversion to writing letters, a trait he had maintained since childhood. His teacher, upon seeing the diplomatic correspondence he had been forced to write as Crown Prince, commented harshly, "This is a handwriting that would only be useful when declaring war on an enemy."
Of course, everyone knew the Prince could write a brilliant letter if he put his mind to it. However, the trouble of breaking his stubbornness wasn't worth it, so everyone gave up at that point. Ultimately, royal poets were hired to write the letters for him, and thanks to this, the rumor of the Crown Prince of Letzen's exceptionally beautiful writing spread, a move that benefited the nation no less.
“Which family is hosting the party tomorrow?”
After reading the last letter, he suddenly asked a question. Mrs. Fitz sighed, as if she were saying, "I can't stop you."
“It’s the Heine family, Your Highness. It’s also the family that Princess Louise married into.”
Even when criticized for his utterly indifferent attitude, Bjorn would just laugh it off with a nonsensical reply.
“It’s going to be a very long and unlucky day.”
Even as he spoke sarcastic words, the Prince's lips were smiling faintly.
Poor my wife.
Finally, without receiving a reply, Mrs. Fitz turned away and let out another long sigh. She hoped she wouldn't have to run into Erna. It would be a real struggle to deliver disappointing news to those eyes, so full of anticipation.
The Heine family's summer residence was located in the middle reaches of the Abbey River. Though it was far from the sea, it was renowned for its beautiful forests and plains.
Bjorn looked at the scenery with a blank gaze.
The first social event he attended after returning from his honeymoon with Gladys was the Heine family outing. Je haven't been there since, so this extravagant gathering is five years away.
Bjorn, bored by the endless green feast, turned to look at Erna. Erna, holding her parasol, sat upright, gazing at the poppy-filled field. Normally, the woman would have been a lively chatterbox, but today she was remarkably quiet. Just as this was starting to become irritating, the carriage came to a halt.
“Brother!”
Louise, who was welcoming the guests, approached with a smile.
“I thought it would never come. It’s an honor.”
“Please convey my thanks to Erna.”
Bjorn led Erna, who had gotten out of the carriage, to his side.
“I accepted the invitation because it was raining.”
Louise's expression hardened at the forceful words. However, his sister, not so foolish as to be oblivious to the eyes of those around her, faced Erna with a moderately sociable smile.
“Thank you for coming with me, Grand Duchess.”
“No. I also received a lot of help from the Princess.”
Erna naturally offered the greeting she'd been practicing the entire way. It was a good start.
“I am so grateful that you invited me to such a beautiful place...”
But she couldn't finish the confident words she added. It was because she inadvertently turned her gaze and spotted a familiar face.
Pavel.
While she was muttering the name as if sighing, Bjorn and Louise's gaze also turned to him.
"Ah. I invited him. Judging from the portraits of the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess, he's a very talented painter. So I commissioned him to paint our children today. By the way, didn't he say he's from the same hometown as the Grand Duchess?"
“Ah... yes.”
Erna, who answered vaguely, looked at Bjorn's complexion with anxious eyes.
He doesn't like Pavel.
While painting the portrait, Erna realized this fact clearly. As if to prove it, Bjorn was staring at Pavel with the same calm, impassive eyes he had that day. Soon after, Pavel discovered them too.
Erna held her breath, as if suppressing the sudden onset of stomach pain. The hand holding the parasol began to tremble slightly.
As she quietly opened the door, Erna's world, filled with his gifts, appeared. It was a rather confusing sight, with the items he'd bought at the fair laid out haphazardly.
Mrs. Fitz had expressed her intention to call in an interior decorator immediately, but Bjorn felt no need to rush. Since the room wasn't meant for guests anyway, there was no harm in leaving Erna alone for the time being, as she pleased. It was quite a pleasure to see Erna surrounded by the things he had given her. Just like right now.
Bjorn looked at Erna, who sat at her desk, leaning against the doorframe. The sound of the typewriter keys clicking quietly permeated the silence.
His wife, who had vanished in the middle of the night, was, unbelievably, practicing her typing. She was looking at the textbook spread out beside her desk, her posture quite serious. A giant golden elephant stood guard beside Erna. It was an object that made him laugh every time he saw it.
A monster.
With those words, Mrs. Fitz tidied up the elephant statue. She seemed to have insisted on putting it away in storage, as it was so unsightly that it was practically unsightly. But Erna insisted on bringing it here. She insisted it was a gift, and she would put it to good use. That's why he decided to forgive the merchant who had slyly included such a thing. Erna was so adorable and admirable.
Seeing Erna's complete lack of a glance, Bjorn crossed the drawing room with minimal footsteps. The Grand Duchess, who was typing on her typewriter, supported by the elephant statue's bow, didn't even look up until he stopped beside her desk. Bjorn, his patience fading, tapped his fingertips on the desk, calling out to his wife.
“Bjorn!”
Erna's surprised voice shook the silence.
“You said you were tired. What are you doing here?”
“Ah. I woke up at dawn, but I couldn’t sleep well because I slept a lot during the day.”
A sweeter scent than usual wafted from Erna, who answered softly. Bjorn soon realized why: candy. A glass jar next to the typewriter was filled with colorful, bead-like candies.
“This is...”
Erna, who noticed where his gaze landed, swallowed dryly, feeling a pang of pain. Contrary to her fears that she might be scolded for acting childish, Bjorn simply smiled warmly.
Well, he's not that kind of person.
A weary sigh escaped her as she realized she had overreacted.
Erna herself was well aware that she had become increasingly sensitive lately. She was wary of even the slightest remark, and even the laughter of two or more people made her cringe, as if they were mocking her.
“Are you really thinking of becoming a typist?”
Bjorn, who was looking through the typewriter manual, asked mischievously.
“I don’t think that’s something the person who gave this to me should say.”
“That’s it, I gave it to you to play with.”
Bjorn, sitting at the desk, tapped the keys on her typewriter. Erna frowned at the typo, but her anger didn't last long.
Bjorn laughed.
Just that, the sharp emotions softened. Will there ever come a day when I can be angry at this man? In a state of helplessness as sweet as candy, Erna also ended up laughing.
"Still, since I received it as a gift, I'm going to try to use it to its full potential. It's still awkward and uncomfortable, but I think once I get used to it, I'll be able to write faster. Even though I won't be able to write letters."
"Why."
“Letter like this machine-written receipt is said to damage the dignity of a noble lady.”
“That must be what Mrs. Fitz said.”
"Yes."
No, it won't work.
Erna chuckled, as if the stern admonition was ringing in her ears. A smile similar to hers appeared on Bjorn's face. This moment, sharing a shared memory, was as beautiful as a midsummer dawn. Thanks to it, Erna found a little courage.
“Once I learn how to type, can I use it to write letters to you?”
"Letter?"
“Yes. You like receipts.”
It was a serious remark, but Bjorn laughed as if he'd heard some great joke. A few more idle words were exchanged, and the faint sound of the clock chiming three o'clock was heard.
“It’s late, Erna.”
Bjorn slowly opened his eyes and held out his hand.
“Please put off your typist dream until tomorrow.”
The light from the lamp fell on a large, smooth hand.
As she watched him sleep, she suddenly forgot the melancholy she'd felt and the bitterness she'd felt at the thought of her still being useful only in bed. Erna simply took his hand, filled with joy and love.
***
It was three days later, in the afternoon, that the receipt requested by the Grand Duchess arrived. Bjorn, upon discovering it among the mail brought by Madame Fitz, smiled, as if it were that dawn, a memory so vivid it was strangely vivid.
“Please read it, Prince.”
Judging by her uncharacteristic interference, this squeamish old woman seemed to have become Erna's accomplice. From the Duchess Arsene to Madame Fitz. Looking closely, it seemed she possessed a remarkable knack for captivating elderly women.
Bjorn nodded, pretending not to win, and opened the envelope with the paper knife she held out.
[ Dear Bjorn, thank you for this wonderful gift. I will treasure it for the rest of my life. The elephant statue is a little scary, but I think I'll get used to it if I look at it long enough.
As the seasons change again and fall arrives, it'll already be a year since we got married. I want to keep my promise to be a good wife, but I'm sorry, there are still many shortcomings. Still, I'll try my best.
I'm so glad I married you. Thanks to you, I realized the walls that surrounded my narrow world were actually doors. I'll never forget the countless doors we opened together over the past year, and the worlds beyond them.
What was the year we spent together like for you?
Would you like it as much as I do?
Do the moments that became precious memories for me remain in your memories with the same meaning?
Were we a good couple?
I hope we can continue to do well in the future. ]
As he faced the series of question marks, he felt as if he could hear the crackling sound that had seeped into the stillness of the dawn. He could almost see Erna pressing down on the question marks with a serious expression.
[ I hope we can continue to open many doors together in the future. I will work even harder so that someday, I can become someone who can give you much more.
Thank you for being so kind to me. I hope you'll be doing well in the days ahead. ]
At the bottom of the typewritten letter was Erna's handwritten signature.
[ Your wife, Erna Dneister. ]
Bjorn's gaze lingered on the writing for a long time.
Wife.
He slowly rolled the word, which felt special all over again, on his tongue.
Wife. My wife, Erna.
“Would you like to write a reply, Your Highness?”
Mrs. Fitz, who was observing Bjorn's expression, suggested subtly.
She knew how much effort Erna had put into completing this single letter. Her desire to repay her husband with the gift she had received was so endearing that she even ignored the machine-written receipt-like letter. She hoped her heart would be repaid, but Bjorn shook his head indifferently.
“Later.”
“Your Highness.”
“Since we live in the same house, why bother?”
He smiled faintly, already unfolding the next letter. Mrs. Fitz, well aware of the Prince's stubbornness, couldn't add any more.
Bjorn had a deep aversion to writing letters, a trait he had maintained since childhood. His teacher, upon seeing the diplomatic correspondence he had been forced to write as Crown Prince, commented harshly, "This is a handwriting that would only be useful when declaring war on an enemy."
Of course, everyone knew the Prince could write a brilliant letter if he put his mind to it. However, the trouble of breaking his stubbornness wasn't worth it, so everyone gave up at that point. Ultimately, royal poets were hired to write the letters for him, and thanks to this, the rumor of the Crown Prince of Letzen's exceptionally beautiful writing spread, a move that benefited the nation no less.
“Which family is hosting the party tomorrow?”
After reading the last letter, he suddenly asked a question. Mrs. Fitz sighed, as if she were saying, "I can't stop you."
“It’s the Heine family, Your Highness. It’s also the family that Princess Louise married into.”
Even when criticized for his utterly indifferent attitude, Bjorn would just laugh it off with a nonsensical reply.
“It’s going to be a very long and unlucky day.”
Even as he spoke sarcastic words, the Prince's lips were smiling faintly.
Poor my wife.
Finally, without receiving a reply, Mrs. Fitz turned away and let out another long sigh. She hoped she wouldn't have to run into Erna. It would be a real struggle to deliver disappointing news to those eyes, so full of anticipation.
***
The Heine family's summer residence was located in the middle reaches of the Abbey River. Though it was far from the sea, it was renowned for its beautiful forests and plains.
Bjorn looked at the scenery with a blank gaze.
The first social event he attended after returning from his honeymoon with Gladys was the Heine family outing. Je haven't been there since, so this extravagant gathering is five years away.
Bjorn, bored by the endless green feast, turned to look at Erna. Erna, holding her parasol, sat upright, gazing at the poppy-filled field. Normally, the woman would have been a lively chatterbox, but today she was remarkably quiet. Just as this was starting to become irritating, the carriage came to a halt.
“Brother!”
Louise, who was welcoming the guests, approached with a smile.
“I thought it would never come. It’s an honor.”
“Please convey my thanks to Erna.”
Bjorn led Erna, who had gotten out of the carriage, to his side.
“I accepted the invitation because it was raining.”
Louise's expression hardened at the forceful words. However, his sister, not so foolish as to be oblivious to the eyes of those around her, faced Erna with a moderately sociable smile.
“Thank you for coming with me, Grand Duchess.”
“No. I also received a lot of help from the Princess.”
Erna naturally offered the greeting she'd been practicing the entire way. It was a good start.
“I am so grateful that you invited me to such a beautiful place...”
But she couldn't finish the confident words she added. It was because she inadvertently turned her gaze and spotted a familiar face.
Pavel.
While she was muttering the name as if sighing, Bjorn and Louise's gaze also turned to him.
"Ah. I invited him. Judging from the portraits of the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess, he's a very talented painter. So I commissioned him to paint our children today. By the way, didn't he say he's from the same hometown as the Grand Duchess?"
“Ah... yes.”
Erna, who answered vaguely, looked at Bjorn's complexion with anxious eyes.
He doesn't like Pavel.
While painting the portrait, Erna realized this fact clearly. As if to prove it, Bjorn was staring at Pavel with the same calm, impassive eyes he had that day. Soon after, Pavel discovered them too.
Erna held her breath, as if suppressing the sudden onset of stomach pain. The hand holding the parasol began to tremble slightly.
Previous Next
Comments
Post a Comment