Free The Dreamers by Tanwen Coyne

had soft kisses and caresses. She never had the pleasure of her body entwined with another’s.
    In death, she has had these things. But they were not real. She cannot hold onto them. In death, she has been teased with the promise of happiness.
    There is darkness. The darkness surrounds her. She is bound and blindfolded, captured in this shadow of the real world.
     

     
    Seren Jones sighed over her work. There were too many Joneses in Wales. It certainly was making tracing her family tree difficult. She’d been working on this for years now and had discovered a lot. She looked up at her wall chart, detailing the names, birth and death dates of her ancestors for seven generations. She knew everything about her family as far back as 1770.
    There was only one problem she was stumbling over. Back in 1879, an inheritance had come to Hywell Jones from a cousin who had died, closing the last branch of the family other than Seren’s own. Seren wanted to know how that branch had died out.
    When she’d found the reference on that message board to her ancestors’ village of origin, Cilfachglas, she’d felt a rush of excitement. She’d answered the message but hadn’t heard anything yet.
    For what felt like the hundredth time that morning, she checked her emails. Nothing.
    Sighing in frustration, Seren put her books away, grabbed her mobile and went out. Leaving her flat behind, she walked. She’d lived in London all her life and was used to the haphazard life of the city. But she was the first of her family not to be raised in the Welsh countryside and sometimes the longing to go back was overwhelming.
    Seren made her way to the park and sat against her favourite tree to watch the people passing by. She worked part-time at a music store. The rest of her time was spent working on her music, researching her family tree or sitting in this park. She liked to people-watch, it made her feel less alone.
    A girl about her own age sauntered past in a very short skirt. Seren smiled at the glimpse of smooth thigh.
    Her phone buzzed. It was an email, and the subject was Cilfachglas. The name of the sender was Jennifer Davies. She paused as she considered the name. It sounded vaguely familiar.
    Hi, I’m trying to find information about an Arianwen Jones. She lived in Cilfachglas sometime during the 1800s. If you have any information about her, I’d appreciate it.
    Jennifer
    Arianwen Jones. She could be a relative, or it could be the too many Joneses in Wales syndrome again. Seren dashed off a reply. Could this be what she’d been waiting for?
     

     
    Jennifer lay in bed gazing blankly at the ceiling. She’d been trying to think Arianwen to her, like she had come to her in her dreams all those times. But it was no good. Arianwen was gone. She wasn’t coming back. Perhaps she wasn’t a ghost anymore?
    No, that wasn’t true. Jennifer could feel the echo of Arianwen’s presence in the house still. But maybe she didn’t want to be with Jennifer anymore.
    Jennifer propped herself up in bed. She couldn’t have Arianwen with her now but she could be close to her in another way. She could read her words.
    She took out the letters. None had even been stamped and they were all folded into one bulging envelope. She emptied them out, sorted them into date order, and picked up the first one to read.
     
                                                                                                                                  18th May 1852
    Dear Blodwyn,
     
    I admire you so. I think about you always. Your golden hair is the sun shining down on me. You are in my dreams. Every moment, you are on my mind. If I only had the courage, I know we could be together. I would not have a care for what my Da thought, or my mother. It would not matter how your parents objected. I would take you away and make you so happy. To see you smile