Her name was Emilia, but everyone called her Emma. Only thinking about it made my heart race. It was enough to say it in my mind and I could see her – so thin, so frail... As if she could break at the first wind's blow. Her skin – the first snow. Her hair – the sky of the darkest winter night. Her eyes – ripe berries in late fall. I could lose myself in them with each glare. I could surrender to them and have no regret...

Emma was the governess of the youngest child and the only daughter of my Master; the little girl was only five when her mother passed away. She has grown to love the patient, warm Emma. And Emma loved back, as much as a nineteen-year-old young woman could make proof of maternal love.

Emma didn't attend any school. She has been educated by another governess of the house, the oldest of them all. Literature, Mathematics, French, and Painting were Emma's dearest subject matters which she gladly shared with her young pupil.

The best moments were those when, in my frequent visits to the library, we were crossing ways. Sometimes, I was helping her reach out for a book on an upper shelf. And for a moment, our hands were touching. I wished that moment could last forever.

Other times, we lost ourselves in never-ending discussions about history, poetry, and life. I was charmed by her passion of defending the ideas she believed in, and although she wasn't always right – I must admit no one was better in Philosophy than I – I used to let her believe her knowledge exceeded mine. I could see her face brighten up with joy and her eyes glowing each time she made her point.

I wished I could have told her how I felt. But my heart found it hard to open. What if she rejected me, just as everyone else did. How could I have faced her again? How would I have seen her again without the cold air of unshared feelings between us? I would've lost her, the only sunshine in my life. I would've lost the only joy the touching of our hands brought.

Yet, I was the only one she was talking to, except for the Master, of course. The other servants were calling her arrogant just because and she wasn't joining their gossiping and talking at the corners. But she didn't seem to be affected by their coldness and rude remarks.

Nevertheless, she didn't lack the suitors. One day, she received a giant bouquet of gardenias and roses, in the most delicate hues of pink. I happened to be present when she opened the small visit card that accompanied the flowers. After she read it, black clouds came into her eyes, and with quick moves, she tore it to pieces and threw it away. She left to the study room without even looking at the beautiful bouquet that spread a subtle, sweet fragrance in the whole lobby. I took a closer step and studied it – it was the most sumptuous one I have ever seen. It was most likely sent by a very wealthy man.

That moment, I felt my heart aching. Who was that man? And why would he be interested in a young woman of her condition? Those thoughts gave me a lot of sleepless nights. Was I missing the chance of ever being with her? For the moment, I was still at peace because she didn't seem to give her suitor too much attention. But was that a certainty she wasn't going to accept his courtship? What if there were to be others? Emma was definitely a beautiful, educated young woman. She would've been a great wife.

The next couple of weeks, I didn't see her. I was trying to have something to do in the places I used to meet her. But she was nowhere to be seen.

Until one day. I could see her eyes, red of too much crying and she looked frailer than the usual. I didn't dare to ask what had happened, although I wanted it with all my heart.

So I began to pay more attention to the discussion in the stables, storehouse, and kitchen. That's how I overheard two kitchen helps talking.

"Have you heard about Emma?" one of them whispered, shaking her head with a false, worried look on her face.

"Just say it already," the other whispered back.

"Her mother is really ill and the poor girl spent all of her earnings to bring her doctors and medicines to heal her. That's why she is so sad and bitter lately. So I heard the money is too few to help the poor woman. And the girl is struggling to save her."

"Oh, well, maybe she deserves it... You can't say she's not a bit... full of herself, ya' know. She's educated, all right, but that doesn't give her the right to walk tall in front of us."

"You're so right about that, sister... Say, have you seen the presents she's got from that secret admirer of hers? I wonder who could that be..."

I didn't hear the rest of the conversation. I left, leaving the two kitchen helps to mind their most pleasant occupation. Cooking lunch was obviously not one of them. On the back of that, any bad say about Emma troubled me beyond words.

I had a restless night following that awful news about Emma's mother. I kept thinking about the small comfort I could have brought to the poor girl. Her sorrow felt like a heavy stone on my chest.

I met her after a couple of days. She looked just as troubled; just as lost.

"Good morning, Miss Emma," I dared.

She rose her sad eyes to me and forced a smile.

"Not so well," she said in a low voice, "but I wouldn't want to trouble you with my problems."

"If there's anything I could help..."

She shook her head, "Thank you, but I don't see how..."

I gathered the courage and said, "I must confess I found out about your trouble..."

She didn't say anything, but she frowned, and the faint smile vanished.

"— that is why," I continued, and my voice trembled "I would like to help if you allow me. I could offer you a small help, to ease your pain..."

It was true – I wanted to give her my lifetime earnings just to see her smile again.

At first, she looked at me with wonder; then, when she finally understood my sayings, her eyes filled with tears.

"You are so kind," she said in a soft voice, "the kindest man I've ever met," she added, squeezing my hand with her cold, icy fingers. "But I can't. I just can't..." she said and she ran away, tears flooding on her face.

After a few weeks, I was to find out that she was to marry the Master. The news troubled me so hard, I left my Master's house the next day. I was twenty-three years old. 

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