Chapter 3
A Whisper Among the Willows
Bria anxiously awaits a reply to her poem and dreads the arrival of Mr. Williams for tea. After an awkward visit, Bria sneaks away to the willow tree, where she discovers a new poem from her secret friend. The message encourages her and hints at a special meeting, leaving Bria both excited and nervous for what’s to come.
Bria barely finished tying the last ribbon around the tea napkins before her father called out, "Bria, remember to smile." As she carried the tray of cakes into the drawing room, she tried to keep her chin up and her worries down. Mr. Williams and his mother sat stiffly on the settee, the clock ticking behind them louder than ever.
Mr. Williams cleared his throat. “Lovely weather for daisies, wouldn’t you say, Miss Bria?”
"Yes, sir," Bria replied, wishing she could leap out the window and run straight to the garden. She wondered if he’d ever written a poem, or if he’d even noticed how the willow’s branches danced in the breeze. But all he seemed to notice was the number of lumps in his tea.
Mrs. Williams eyed Bria’s hands. “Do you sew, dear? Such useful fingers.”
Bria nodded, though her fingers would rather hold a pen than a needle.
As the grown-ups talked of crops and cousins, Bria’s mind wandered. She wondered if her secret friend had found her poem. Did they smile when they read it, just as she had when she found their gentle words? Her heart beat with hope and curiosity, stronger with each tick of the clock.
When the guests finally left, Bria helped Joyce clear the plates. “Thank you, Joyce,” she whispered, grateful for any excuse to slip outside.
Joyce winked. “Go on, then. The air is good for thinking.”
Bria hurried through the garden, the grass cool beneath her shoes. The willow waited for her, its long arms sweeping down to greet her. She reached into the hollow, her breath catching as her fingers touched folded paper. Someone had answered!
With trembling hands, Bria opened the note. The handwriting was neat, a little bolder than hers:
“Dear poet with a hopeful heart—
Yes, I love words and summer rain,
I wait beneath the willow’s shade,
Hoping for a friend again.
If you wish to meet one day,
Leave a rose at dawn, and I’ll stay.”
Bria felt her cheeks grow warm with delight. A rose at dawn—a secret sign! She clutched the poem to her chest, spinning softly beneath the willow branches. Was her unknown friend brave, too? Could they truly meet, here in the quiet hush of morning?
Suddenly, she heard her father’s voice from the house. "Bria, where are you?"
She tucked the poem in her sleeve and called back, "Just in the garden, Father!"
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with peach and gold, Bria hurried inside, her thoughts bright and bubbling. She would wake before dawn, pluck the finest rose, and leave it for her friend. What would they say? What kind of person would be waiting among the willows?
Bria pressed the new poem beneath her pillow that night, heart thumping with hope. Tomorrow, she would step into the morning with courage and see if kindred spirits truly find each other among the leaves.