Work Text:
Robin had promised, unprompted, to maintain satisfactory communication that summer. Molly did not doubt it, but she did doubt whether he would remember to write before receiving a letter from her. Fortunately she had plenty of time on the trip from Bangor to Bar Harbor to begin mentally composing said letter. (The previous year she had attempted writing on the bus, and found it not conducive to legibility.)
She made mental images and descriptive notes of scenes on the drive. Red brick buildings; white clapboard houses. Greening fields, spring leaves, early wildflowers. The first glimpse of the ocean, rapidly obscured by evergreen forest, the ocean bursting into view again; repeat. The short drive over the channel; the narrow road around the island to her boarding house, a colonial-era inn in need of more than one update. Up rickety stairs to a small but comfortable room, where a letter waited on the antique davenport desk.
It was from Robin. That it was here already suggested he must have written it even before he promised to correspond.
My darling Molly,
Take this letter as a token of my intentions to overcome my failings as a correspondent this summer. No doubt by the time you read this you will have already half-written your first letter to me, so it seems only fair that one is waiting for you in return.
I am not, as you are aware, particularly adept at communicating my feelings. Even as I write this I am not sure whether the writing will serve to reveal them or conceal them; but I will attempt the former. Do chastise me if I seem to stray into dissemblance; a sentence is but a chev’ril glove to a good wit, etc.
You, on the other hand, have no tendency to dissemble. One might hope you would exert a positive influence upon me. No; that phrasing belittles your influence. Of a certainty your presence betters me; it’s just that I am abominably intractable.
I am telling you things you already know, but I want to assure you that I am also aware of my faults. You have been admirably pragmatic in dealing with them, patient but uncompromising. It seems selfish of me to extol your virtues only in relation to myself, but then I cannot presume to speak for others. I hope they also tell you the value of your friendship.
The letter continued in this vein for almost four pages before ending with:
A final confession: as I write this, I am preemptively missing you. A few days from when you read this I will be teaching Shakespeare at the community theater, where no one is likely to argue about my interpretations. Not that it is of much import, since their arguments could not hold a candle to yours. I shall miss your fierce intellect; I suppose many people have carried on sustained debates via letters, but I fear it would lose too much in translation to be satisfying. Well, we could try. I will miss your practicality and composure. I will miss your sweet lips and hands and all the rest of you; maybe it’s superficial, but I may miss that most of all, since you can send nothing of it in the mail.
Until we meet again,
Robin
At the end of the letter, in markedly neater handwriting with artistic flourishes, he had copied out a song from Twelfth Night.
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear! Your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know,
What is love? 'Tis not hereafter.
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
Molly was rather of the opinion that including the “come kiss me” line was a bit cruel, considering she could do no such thing; though if he’d meant to make her miss him, it certainly served that purpose. But on balance the letter was entirely endearing, if a bit heavy on lamenting Robin’s faults. She thought on this while she wrote out the parts of the letter she’d already mentally composed. Then she went on:
I wish I’d had you sitting next to me on the bus. Like our arguments, the scenery loses something in translating it to writing. And of course, I miss the other advantages of sitting next to you. I think we should try it. Debating via letter, I mean. If the gentleman will put forth his analysis on Shakespeare’s use of puns, I will critique it in my next correspondence.
Your opinion of my character is most flattering. But I must say I am disappointed in your opinion of yourself. I am, as you say, aware of your faults; I am also aware of your virtues, and I hope you are too. Here are a few I would remind you of: you are kind and loyal, and of course my favorite partner in debate.
And you often surprise me with unexpected skills, such as the artistic handwriting in your letter. Was the poem meant to remind me to miss your kisses? It wasn’t necessary, but it is appreciated.
Molly considered for a moment before taking the impractical action of kissing the paper below her final paragraph.
And as you miss my kisses already, I have included one next to my signature. A poor substitute, but I hope it will suffice.
Love,
Molly
Robin’s next letter arrived with remarkable speed.
Dearest Molly,
The kiss certainly suffices. I have returned one to you at the end of this letter.
I’ve had a frazzling week of theater; this year’s batch of children is even more ignorant of Shakespeare than the last. It is heartening to end the week with your letter. I’m glad you believe in my virtues; I shall endeavor to maintain them.
Now, about Shakespeare’s use of puns….