My Name is Charlotte
“Forgive me,” Henry said, “It was just that the light…” He trailed off wondering why he could never find the right words. The gaps in vocabulary always frustrated him and though he had dedicated days searching the dictionary for better substitutes for love, pity, concern, and even fear, he had found none that captured the complexities of the emotions within his breast.
The woman studied his face. She knew it was no accident that she had stumbled into his barn the night before. That she had traveled so far to seek shelter. Now, she realized, she had been searching for someone. But this was not the man she expected to find.
Seeing her face relax again, Henry once again tried to master his discomfort.
“What’s your name,” he asked, quietly.
“Elizabeth,” the woman said. “My name is Elizabeth.”