Saving Elkanah Merrell

Winters were bleak in Brontes Haworth, In Victorian Madeira there were no Winters. "Last night, I dreamt that I could smell the Jaquranada again,I walked through their purple petals, sprinkled like soft frosted snow on moonlit pavements, with the warm breeze from the ocean upon my face" After breakfast, the family had all gone and the house was quiet again, but the images remained, and I found myself in one of the upstairs rooms at the back of the house, a place I had not been for years;looking through old trunks, and storage boxes. then I saw it, dusty and neglected in a corner. One of the two domed toped, pine and cast iron sailing trunks, loaned to me by uncle Hartley over fifty years ago, its once gleaming fittings now green with verdigris. With no definite purpose at first, I knelt down and clicked open the catches. As I opened the lid I thought for an instant that I smelt the faintest aroma of Lavender