Purple Flowers

Purple Flowers

 
A long time ago there was an ancient village by the sea. This was a fishing village. After many days at sea, fisherman brought their catch to the village where it was sold to people who would come from miles around to buy fish, octopus, squid, and other edible creatures harvested from the sea. 
 
In this village there lived a very beautiful woman. The woman stood tall and slender. Her face was soft with pale skin and pink lips that smiled kindly at anyone she greeted. Her long black hair shimmered in the morning light. And at night, the moon reflected in her warm brown eyes that sparkled like the stars in the sky. Every man who saw her, especially the many fishermen who came to the village, wanted to know who this woman was. 
 
The woman was a seamstress. The Seamstress was the only daughter of an old woman who had worked for many years as a seamstress. The old woman’s husband was a fisherman who died at sea a long, long time ago. Her daughter was very young and barely remembered her father. The old woman never remarried. Instead, she developed her skills as a seamstress and she taught her daughter. Her daughter was indeed very talented. She sewed clothing that was even more beautiful than her mother’s designs. The Seamstress loved to sew her own clothing, especially dresses. She had a favorite white dress that she was constantly fixing and adding to. In winter, when she walked through the village wearing that dress with a white coat, the Seamstress looked like an angel.
 
All along the long coastline, the Seamstress’ beauty was renowned in every village. Every man that saw the Seamstress desired her. Many wealthy fisherman came to the Seamstress’ home and asked her mother for permission to marry her. They brought gifts and flowers and money to pay an extravagant dowry. Once, the son of a wealthy merchant offered the old woman 3 fishing vessels for her daughter’s hand in marriage. However, with each marriage proposal, the old woman never forced her daughter. The old woman stated that her daughter was thoughtful enough and wise enough to make her own decision. She would know when the right man came to court her.
 
The Seamstress was flattered at the attention. However, none of the fisherman impressed her. Of course, many were wealthy. Some were very handsome. They all promised the Seamstress many things including a life of peace and plenty. Yet, no man felt right. The Seamstress wanted a man who could give her something she had never been offered before. 
 
One day, a strange man came into the village. He did not come from the sea. The man came down from the mountain out of the old forest. The man was tall with broad shoulders and a thick build. His wavy dark hair parted on the side and fell forward partially covering his face. The man looked rough, yet ruggedly handsome. The man carried a pack on his back for his supplies. An old ax was strapped securely to the pack. And slung over his left shoulder was a well maintained musket. Wherever the man went, the villagers stared in wonder, yet they were too afraid to speak to him directly. Soon, the children began calling him the Woodsman.
 
Long ago, villagers regularly travelled through the old forest by way of the established roads. However, these days the villagers rarely entered the old forest except to gather firewood from the edge of the woods. After many sad and strange occurrences throughout the centuries, people went into the woods less and less. Rumors became myth, myth became legend, and after several generations, legend became established fact. It was believed that the old forest and the mountain itself was haunted.
 
The Woodsman came to the Seamstress’ shop. The shop was a room at the front of a small house the Seamstress lived in with her mother. The Woodsman was quiet and he looked strange. But he was very polite. For such an imposing man, the Woodsman was very soft spoken. When the Woodsman noticed how unbelievably beautiful the Seamstress was, he actually felt shyness and looked at the ground. The Seamstress noticed and smiled secretly. The Woodsman explained that he needed clothing since his was becoming torn and old. As the Seamstress looked at the large man in front of her, she noticed that there was an old wooden box attached to a thin chain that hung around the Woodsman’s neck. The box was old but the Seamstress could tell that it was richly carved and must have been very valuable at some point. 
 
The Seamstress called the Woodsman over and began to measure him. As the Seamstress stood close to the man to measure his body, she noticed the scent of leather and cedar. It was an altogether pleasant scent she did not expect from a man who looked like he had not bathed in a long time. The Woodsman’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to hold his breath. In the awkward moment, he could smell the soft powdery smell of jasmine from the Seamstress’ skin. He blushed warmly. The Seamstress noticed immediately and smiled widely when she stood behind him, but the moment she faced him again, she allowed her smile to quickly disappear. After finishing her measurements, the Seamstress explained that it would take her a month to sew all of the clothing the Woodsman needed. The Woodsman nodded and paid her in advanced. Without much of a goodbye, the Woodsman quickly left. The Seamstress stood by her front door and watched as he purposefully walked away. In her heart, she hoped he might turn to look back at her, but he never did. 
 
After one month passed, the Woodsman returned to the village. He went straight to the Seamstress’ shop and found her waiting eagerly for him. Happily, she brought out the clothes the Woodsman ordered. She gave him two pants, several shirts, and the finest winter coat he had ever owned. The Woodsman thanked the Seamstress and tried to pay her, but with a laugh, she reminded him that he had already paid her in advance. The embarrassed man left. 
 
Interestingly, the following month the Woodsman returned and placed another order for more clothes. Month after month, the Woodsman found an excuse to come to the village to order clothes from the Seamstress. Soon a cautious love began to blossom between the two. The Woodsman often visited with gifts of flowers, meats from animals he hunted from the mountain, or fine jewelry he acquired in his travels. 
 
One day the Seamstress asked the Woodsman about the box hanging around his neck. The Woodsman looked at the beautiful woman thoughtfully. He removed the box from around his neck. Slowly, the Woodsman opened the box and showed her. Inside the small box were all of the broken pieces of the Woodsman’s heart. The pieces were grey, jagged, and looked very fragile. Many years ago, someone had broken the Woodsman’s heart. He collected all of the pieces and carefully placed them into the box to keep the broken pieces safe. He secured the box tightly. And in his grief, the Woodsman entered the old forest and climbed high into the mountains to live far from anyone who could ever hurt him again. 
 
“It’s broken,” whispered the Woodsman. “I don’t think it works anymore.”
 
The Seamstress frowned sadly, then worked up a small smile. “May I keep it for a while?” she asked. “I promise I will cherish it.”
 
The Woodsman, to his own surprise, nodded and handed the box over to the beautiful Seamstress. Afterwards, whenever he thought about the Seamstress, this was always the moment he thought about most. Since the day he placed all of the broken pieces into this small box, he had never parted from it. Yet for her, he relinquished the box without hesitation.
                     
The Woodsman continued to visit the Seamstress every month. The Woodsman would bring the woman a gift. They would visit and talk happily. Then the Woodsman would order some clothing item to give himself an excuse to come back to the village the next month. Back in his cabin, the Woodsman was accumulating so much clothing, he was forced to build a small closet just to have a place to keep it all.
 
In autumn, the Woodsman came to the village like usual. This time when he went to the shop, he did not see the Seamstress. He found her mother. The old woman had teary eyes. She explained that her daughter was very ill and needed a medicine that could be made from a purple flower. When the old woman showed the Woodsman a drawing of the flower, he knew this flower. However, the purple flower grew very high up in the mountains. The Woodsman kneeled next to the Seamstress’ bed. He took her hand and kissed her forehead.
 
The man whispered to the woman, “Wait for me.”
 
Moving quickly, the Woodsman rushed back to his cabin in the old forest. He gathered some supplies and began to hike high into the mountains. Although it was still autumn, high up in the mountains, the ground was already covered in snow. It was cold and windy. If it were spring, the purple flower might be easy to find. But in autumn, they were rare. Nevertheless, the man would not give up. He hiked everywhere from the moment the sun came up until the sun went down searching for the purple flower that could save the Seamstress. After several days of searching, the Woodsman still had not found any flower. One night, a cold northern wind came and brought an autumn snowstorm. 
 
The Woodsman scrambled for shelter. Along the mountainside, he found an old cave. The cave was cold and incredibly dark, but at least he was dry and protected from the wind. He had no firewood so he could not start a fire. The Woodsman wore the coat the Seamstress made for him. He wrapped the coat tightly to his body and slept uneasily for the rest of the night. In his sleep, the Woodsman saw a beautiful woman dressed in white come to him. She wore a long white dress and looked like an angel. As the angel in white approached, freezing cold receded. The violent shivering in the man’s body subsided and he was able to breathe a sigh of relief as he fell into a deep sleep. 
 
In the morning, sunlight came into the cave to wake the man up. Last night, it was impossible to see. But now, the Woodsman saw clearly. A ray of sunlight shone brightly onto a large patch of the purple flowers. In that light and with the frost, the flowers looked like a patch of the most beautiful amethyst he had ever seen. The Woodsman shouted gleefully as he gathered up as many flowers as would fit into his backpack. 
 
The Woodsman ran as fast as he could down the mountain. He had been gone for nearly two weeks and now he was rushing as fast as he could to bring the flowers to the Seamstress. Finally, the Woodsman made it to the village. He was exhausted but managed to run to the small home where the Seamstress and her mother lived. As he approached, the Woodsman’s heart sank. All of the lights were on in the small house. Many people were milling about outside. The Woodsman could hear the sound of weeping and crying. He ran faster.
 
The Woodsman rushed into the house and pushed past the people. He entered the small bedroom and found the Seamstress laying still in her bed. She was lifeless, yet still so beautiful even now. The old woman looked up with tearful, swollen eyes. Alas, the Woodsman was too late. Setting down the bag filled with purple flowers, the Woodsman knelt down. The Woodsman took his Seamstress’ soft hand in his own rough hands. They were ice cold as he squeezed gently. He bowed his head and wept silently. 
 
The old woman touched the Woodsman on the shoulder and handed him a small wooden box.
 
“She wanted you to have this,” said the old woman.
 
It was the box that the Woodsman gave to the Seamstress many months ago. The Woodsman blinked away his tears and opened the box. To his amazement, all of the many pieces of his broken heart had been carefully and lovingly stitched back together. Even the smallest piece had been put back in its place. The stitching was there, zigzagging throughout. The scars would always remain. But the heart was no longer grey. The heart was a vibrant, reddish-pink hue. And even more unreal, it was alive and beating again. 
 
In the following days, when they buried the beautiful Seamstress on a small hill overlooking the blue sea, the Woodsman buried his new heart with her. In truth, even in death, that heart belonged to her alone now. He took all of the purple flowers he found and carefully scattered them over her grave. 
 
For years, the Woodsman continued to return to the village every month to look after the old woman. If she needed food, he brought her meat. If her home needed repairs, he fixed it. And if she needed money, he provided. When the old woman finally died, the Woodsman buried her next to the beautiful daughter who died too young. Afterwards, the Woodsman returned to his mountain cabin and was never seen again. 
 
The purple flowers remain though. All of the purple flowers that the Woodsman scattered upon the Seamstress’ grave took root. Today the hillside facing the blue sea blooms the most beautiful purple flowers every spring. The purple flowers remain as a legacy to the broken heart that was mended and as a monument to a love that ended too soon.