35 Quotes by Jenny Knipfer

Cedric’s deep brown eyes looked almost black in the low light. “Beryl . . .” He paused and held her gaze until she looked away. “Take care of yourself. I worry about you out here all alone.” The words I want Edward to say, Beryl realized. She wanted to know that Edward really cared, hadn’t wanted to go, and worried about her. Instead, his cousin had spoken what he should have.

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. This broken wing. This storm between us. All the unmade memories I held dear before I put on my dress of white wound me. I grieve for a wish which hasn’t come to pass—a wish for happiness.

Maang-ikwe told me one night how I had sprung from a place of desire, anger, and fear. But my mother also told me, “It does not matter how we begin. It matters how we end.” She pointed out, “Pain brings a richer harvest than contentment.”I think she was right. For as I look around at the people present, I am thankful for the harvest of lives which came birthed from painful places.

His blue eyes were saying something Beryl had been wanting to hear—Edward needed her.She reached out and touched the growing hair on his jaw. He had decided to let his beard grow over the cold months. He placed his hand over hers, and turning it slowly over, he kissed her wrist.The sensation of his lips on her skin made Beryl’s knees feel weak. Good thing I’m sitting.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment. Next, Edward’s lips touched hers, feather light at first. She kissed him back. It took only seconds for them to kiss each other with a hunger that spoke of more than nourishment. Beryl’s heart raced as Edward peeled back her collar and unbuttoned the first few buttons of her shirtwaist. She sat there with her eyes closed in a trance as his lips touched the hollow of her neck. All sound vanished except the beating of her heart in her ears.

She thought how different life might have been for her if Edward hadn’t grown up a farmer’s son. She might have lived in town in a fine house like Cedric’s. But is that what I would want?Some days, the farming life appealed to her: the fresh air, tending growing things, taking care of the animals. Other days, it morphed into little more than drudgery. And now, being alone. Well, she could do without that. It was not what she had agreed to.

Edward read through his words again before sealing them up in an envelope. There were other words he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how. How could he tell Beryl that he missed the color of her eyes at night, her laugh when he made a joke, and even her chiding? Those were things he couldn’t write in a letter. He didn’t consider himself a romantic, and Beryl had known that when she had married him. June seemed like such a long time back to Edward, much longer than six months ago.

I blamed my absent husband for so many things, but I have come to see—life in general is to blame. Edward would have stayed home if there had been another way. I was too stubborn to recognize the truth.What will he say when I meet him at the depot? For that matter, what am I to say? Perhaps neither of us will need to speak. We will embrace and hopefully capture our hearts in our gaze, which will be enough.

In everyting around us dere is shape, and each of dose shapes have many sides. Dis also true in ‘ow we see tings in our minds.” My aunt taps her temple with her index finger. “It is torment . . . futility to try to repossess de past. You have dis moment to live. Don’t waste it on regrets.” The truth of the matter is I feel guilty for being alive while he is dead.