The raven appears from the fields, a dark silhouette against the dawn, and circles above the village. The first day no one sees or hears him. On the second day he wakes the village with an eerie call and people follow him with troubled eyes. On the third day he lights on the hill house’s chimney and calls again, pronouncing he will not leave.
The house does not stir. No one lights up the hearth nor opens the curtains. No one sits at the desk in the corner and writes.
This corner is Emily’s writing space. The desk with the ink pot and quill still in it, and the yesterday notebook open on the top. I’ll keep it open, I’m busy writing, she said. The shelf with her books, with their sight and smell, and treasure in them. My books keep me sane in this insane world, she wrote. The mahogany locker, with the floral hand-carved doors, where she keeps all her notebooks
In the opposite corner, Emily lies in bed, pale and frail. Her right hand protrudes out of the quilt with fingers half-folded as if ready to hold her pen, the other hand rests on her chest.
Lavinia and Susan have spent the night beside her, keeping vigil.
Are you wake, Emily? Lavinia leans over and adjust the pillows under Emily’s head.
Emily’s eyelids quiver but she does not open her eyes. She speaks and Lavinia leans over to hear her.
I’m nobody. Who are you? says Emily.
I’m Lavinia, your sister. Emily, don’t you recognise me, I’m your sister.
Lavinia adjust the pillow under Emily’s head and sits on her chair. She wipes her eyes and whispers to herself, She doesn’t recognise me.
Look at her hand, says Susan, I think she wants us to open the window. Yes, she hardly leaves the house but loves keeping it open to listen to the bird song.
Lavinia opens the window and takes a long look across the fields.
Bird song is the sweetest sound in springtime, she says, but the saddest noise on a morning like this. It can break a human heart as quick as a spear.
open the window for some birds are not made to live in a cage to collect crump and struggle for worldly living some birds were born for freedom open the window let me fly away do not to shut me up in this world some birds sing the tune of hope sing the tune without words hope is the thing I take with me where ever I go in the open house with everlasting windows
The fresh air turns the leaves of the open notebook. Lavinia takes and touches it.
That’s what Emily has written lately. She has touched those pages and the pen, her hand has moved along those lines. Do you want me to read it, Susan?
If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool the pain, Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain. She breaks down at the end of the first line. After a minute, she takes a breath and reads the poem in a quiet but firm voice. Do you think people have to read her poems? I don't know, Susan, Emily asked me to burn all her letters. I know where Emily keeps the key, says Lavinia looking at the locker. because I could not stop for Death he kindly stopped for me he comes through the window quietly gently we sit in the carriage we ride over the school with my childhood memories over the fields with the whisper of grain over the church with the silence of eternity I leave behind the vain and idle the storm-troubled sphere sun and moon the unknown is my new world with no room for fear for no coward soul is mine I see Heaven shines where Thy spirit animates eternal years hold infinity exist in Immortality
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