Beginning

Previous

She reached her room and stood in the doorway, enjoying the sight of the simple double bed with the pineapple finials, the blue bordered butterfly quilt, the pillows she knew would smell like home. She walked to the closet to change out of her dress and into a soft flannel nightgown, soft as material that had been washed many times, almost threadbare, but strong and not ready to wear out yet.

She looked down and saw a pair of black spectator sandals. These sandals were frivolous and high heeled. She thought they looked out of place in the simple house.

She bent down and with fingers still bent, but unencumbered by arthritis, picked up the shoes by their heels and sat on the end of the bed with them in her hands. She slowly put one on her left foot, it fit. This meant it would be too big for her right foot and it would never stay on. She lifted her right foot and the sandal slipped on. and fit. This made no sense, but so little had really seemed to make perfect sense in this first strange and exciting day of the rest of her afterlife that she put her feet on the ground and carefully stood up.

She looked at her feet and smiled. She was wearing pretty shoes. She took steps, careful steps.

Then she jumped. In heels. Which would have been folly, but her feet held. Her ankles held. her legs held.

And then she danced. Noisily. She clomped and tapped and swirled the skirt of her nightgown around her. She held her arms out at her sides and spun in circles. She laughed out loud, deep and enjoyably. She spun till she was dizzy and collapsed on the bed and hugged her pillow. She felt her heartbeat slowing to a steady regular thump. She breathed deeply, then she stood and danced again.

In other parts of the house, the other women heard the commotion, the clutter, the thumping and then the laughing. Each smiled and wiped a happy tear as they welcomed their new girl home with songs in their hearts. She was free from pain and here she was, dancing her way into Heaven. Just as she had always hoped.

Beginning

Previous

Leta pointed across to the white house. “That was your home for so long. We have watched it and it has been an easy task to keep watch over your family as long as you were all there. Now you will find that the scenery will change from time to time, We will rarely see this particular scene, but tonight it is here because it is familiar and comforting to you, and tonight your family is nearby this place. Usually when we look out it will be to your girls, our girls and what they are doing in their day to day life. It will be a good thing for you to sit and watch and observe and learn to do. I think you will enjoy getting to check in on theme from time to time.

“What do I do now Mother. I don’t understand what is expected of me.” Laverne had always had a goal or a task or something that was being worked toward completion. She was not used to being without some kind of result at the end of her time or her work. This was a new concept for her. Once that would take time to acclimate to. Time. Funny. Now she apparently had nothing but time until the end of time.

“You will be here with us. You will watch, you will wait until times when it seems you need to intercede. Mostly this is like a retirement home with more comfortable surroundings and without the smell of alcohol and sickness. We spend time together. You can play Bridge and Pinochle and you’ll find that we’re all good opponents given that we have the chance to practice. You will find what you like to do best and you will able to do it. This Heaven may not look like clouds and angels, but really, such a change would only be shocking and scary for you, for anyone.”

“It is nice to be someplace familiar. There is no fear in this place.” LaVerne looked around. The walls were wood planks, the lack of plaster did not bother her, for the room was very clean and warm enough. The chinks in walls had only ever bothered her with wind and with dust. As neither of those seemed to be present in this room, the walls did not worry her.

Laverne looked away from the photos before concentrating on the photos of her own parents. She would have time to look at them later. For now she just wanted to relax. She walked to the back of the house and up the stairs. Easily climbing each one, even though she did so slowly and holding the hand rail out of 80 years of practice. She felt a strength she had long since forgotten as she put her right foot down and it was able to support her weight. Outside she heard wind against the house and heard the branches and leaves on the trees moving. Inside, there was no draft.

Beginning

Previous

LaVerne thought on this. “So long I cared for her. I brushed her hair, I braided her hair, I made sure she was dressed appropriately for school. I fretted over her. I criticized her when she put on weight, I saw the hurt in her eyes when I did it. I even wrote her an apology for it.”

“You were hard on her, but she will remember it.” LaVerne looked sad here. “I do not mean that she will remember you were harsh, I mean she will remember that you said you were sorry when you were wrong. You were her elder, her matriarch and you showed her it was okay to realize you had made a mistake and to ask for forgiveness. That is a powerful lesson for a girl as stubborn and bullheaded as she is. She will find many times in her life that she will need to ask forgiveness and your example has shown her that it is safe and also right to do so. Without that example she might well stay quiet at many times in her life when she would have spoken up. It will save her heartbreak because you showed her how to be a woman and admit when you were wrong. She will see your faults in herself but it will help her feel closer to you. It will also help her correct those faults so she does not pass them on as you did.” Again LaVerne looked sad as if she had done wrong. “You are not perfect my daughter.” Leta laughed. “You were not supposed to be perfect, so let go of the idea that you were less because you were not always the ideal woman. That is what they were telling you before when it came to your physical self. You have never been less, you have been so hard on yourself, as we all have. But you are a perfect you, there was no one else exactly like you. You will continue to be your perfect you and as you learn to love that perfect you, you will learn to love the mother better as well. That is the main lesson here. Learn to love yourself so you can love the mother better. She made you, she knew what she was doing.”

“You are different now Mother.”

“I have had fifty years of learning while I was waiting for you daughter, I should hope that I am somewhat changed from you I left you. I hope you will find me changed for the better, with some peace and acceptance and perhaps even an occasional sock out of place, although don’t expect much else to be out of place. I have few things, but what I have I love. That lesson of enough is a little bit of paradise to me now.”

Beginning

Previous

“I think it doesn’t matter. We lived our life. We both kept small lives. Mine smaller than yours. We kept small lives, we had what we needed, and demanded that we determine harshly what we wanted that we actually acquired. It was a different time than now.”

“I worry about my girls.”

“Of course you do. That’s what we do. That’s the mother, we worry, she worries, they will worry too. We will watch over them, you will watch over them. It will be okay.”

“What is this place?”

“It is home. It looks like the old home as far as we can tell from the old pictures and from Belle and Ellen’s memories. We live here, we work here.”

“Why is there work? Why is there still work? I thought we would be done with work by now.”

“We work to keep busy. It’s not hard work, it’s work to stay occupied. It’s work to stay busy. It’s not work that has to be done so there isn’t an immediacy to it. Mother Abby often darns socks, I do needlework. The other’s choose something to do. I believe the modern girls would call it a stitch and b… a stitch and .. bi… well. you know. We stay together and do little projects. Only things that make us feel peaceful. I never thought I’d be darning socks in the afterlife, but now I do it because it reminds me of how resourceful we were in life, how peaceful I felt knowing there was enough. How peaceful I felt when I knew what the personal definition of enough was.”

“I think my girl has learned that lesson better than most of the modern girls.”

“Yes, your youngest girl has a gift. She has a connection to us all that has not been seen in anyone else in our line. It’s as if she reaches out to us with every glance at a picture, with every walk through the cemetery, with ever stroke of her fingers on the keyboard as she writes our history for us. She feels us keenly when she is sleeping, and she carries some of that with her as she wakes. She is a remarkable girl.”

“She is getting married isn’t she?”

“Yes, in six weeks time. She bought her wedding dress the day before you came to us.”

“Somehow I knew. I don’t know how I knew but I did. I hadn’t seen in her years, she thought I was too far gone to see, and she rarely traveled anywhere near me anyway. But I knew she was happy, I knew she was safe, it was part of what helped me to let go.”

“Yes, your work was done. She will be married. She will do the right thing in her life.”

“How do we watch them?”

“We can see them through this doorway, it isn’t always clear, but we are like a house that no one notices. We are the neighbor who happens to see all the neighborhood gossip happening our their window while doing dishes. We will be able to watch these last two girls as they live their life. Sometimes they will sense that we are near, not often, because they would not pay attention if it happened enough to be regular.”

“The youngest knows for sure, she sensed things when Charles died that no one else did. She is aware of things that I never paid attention to.”

“You were busy, she is a child of the stars and the sky. She is a flighty thing only rooted to the ground by her man and her intelligence. And us. As wispy as we are, we help to keep her grounded. We are the heaviness in her feet that keeps her rooted firmly in her home and on the ground.”

“Heaviness?”

“I don’t mean that in a negative way. I don’t mean it like I would if I said we gave her a heavy heart. The heaviness in her feet is what I mean when I refer to the security that she feels. If she felt that she would fly away, she would never risk a dream or a thought that was not practical. Since she feels so grounded, she can take all the larks she wants to in her mind, she can think of far off places, she can be free to roam and learn and dream and do whatever she pleases. It is also what frees her to be able to look for us. If she were busy doing housework and cleaning all the day long she would never be looking for us, Since she is seeking us she will find us many times and in many different ways. She will see herself in you, she will carry parts of you as a talisman against the world and as part of the heaviness that will keep her rooted. She will feel the lines of women standing behind her when she births her child, when she cares for him, when she faces what life has to offer that is hard, she will know we are there. You have taught her well, she will succeed. You will be proud.”

Beginning

Previous

LaVerne spent her first night in the house sitting by the front door. The air smelled like damp summertime. The air was cool, and a little balmy. It was mid May, lilacs were blooming, there were stars in the sky. It was a beautiful night by anyone’s standards, it was beautiful to her because it had been so long since she had felt night air on her skin. So long since she had sat in a chair and was physically comfortable and also knew who and where she was.

Words came to her. “She is not in pain, she is not scared.” She could feel her daughter’s words. “This is a happy day.” Her daughter’s words again. Somehow her daughter understood that everything was okay. That she was safe, that all was well.

LaVerne did not know how she knew these words or that they were her daughter’s words. It didn’t matter just now as the words brought her comfort and made her feel that she could truly relax and let go of that old life. She could choose to be concerned about her son, but for now she was going to remain confident that the world was as it should be and there was no work left for her to do.

She watched the stars in the sky. She looked for shapes in the stars. Triangles, squares, rhombuses. She never knew the actual constellations, she had preferred her own forms that she could find on her own. She looked at the moon with this bright light yellow and its darker gray craters. Once she had taught children about this moon, about this Earth. She had no idea where she was now, but it was no place that she had ever taught from any textbook. It wasn’t even a place she had pictured in any Bible or any Sunday school class.

A chair scraped behind her, Leta came to hold her hand. To mother her daughter in this doorway as had been done since time immemorial. They sat in silence because I can not think of any dialogue to write for them right now, and I must keep writing because I wanted to write four thousand words today and I’ve only just begun. I am so tired from this long day mothering the little boy that I would adore the chance to just fall asleep, but that can not happen yet. There is water to be drunk, the left freedom breast to be pumped, and then some sleep can follow. But until then, I will jump ahead in this scene and write what came to me over dinner.

LaVerne asked, “How did we do it? How did we work so hard for so many years? I learned by watching you, your habits, I took them for my own, but how did we make it work? My girls never kept house like I did, never had meals like I did. I don’t understand how we made it happen.”

Leta sat for a while, picturing her own life and her own kitchen and her own four square home behind the grocery store in town. “Would it have been okay for you to have had a messy home?”

LaVerne almost laughed at the idea, “No, Mother, my home was my control, my home was always peaceful. My home was safe. A messy home would not have let me felt safe.”

“Well then, who would have kept that home clean if not you?”

“Well, Charles would have done a bit, he was never a messy man, you saw his workshop. But he never cooked a meal in all his years.”

“So who would have kept the house clean?” Leta pressed.

“No one.”

“And who would have cooked the meals?”

“No one.”

“You have your answer, daughter. We made it work because it was the only way we could picture living, and there was no one else to do the work. That is what started cooking the meals at five in the afternoon, every afternoon. That is what cleaned up after the meal at the 630 in the evening, every evening. We were the only ones who would be doing it, no one was coming along behind us to lend a hand. It was our home and it was up to us to take care of it.”

“Do you think that was the right way?” LaVerne asked.

Beginning

Previous

The women would remain in this place, until all of the women in their line had come to join them. Then it would remain to be seen what would happen next There would be decisions to be made, would they stay together, would they separate their paths. Would they decide to go back, one by one, or a few at a time. There were so many decisions to be made. But so far in the future that it was not worth the time spent to think on it now. There was LaVerne. And there was pie.

LaVerne was settled in her rocking chair. She neatly tucked her feet up under her, as she had done for nine decades, only ceasing the practice as she became truly old and rarely sat in a chair. She looked at her fingers, still terribly bent from the arthritis that had settled in her joints years and years and years before. Her fingers had no rings. Her nails were slightly ragged, not polished. She bent her fingers. While they looked they same, she could notice the difference. There was no pain, and there was strength there that had been lacking for a long while.

Elizabeth looked at her. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìYou are stronger now than you were before. You will continue to gain strength. Your form will change some. You will be eased your pains. You will look like the woman you were always meant to be.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù

Laverne said, ?¢‚Ǩ?ìI always thought I would look young again.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù

The women chuckled. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìWe all thought that,?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Ellen said. “We all thought we would be young and thin and curved in the right places, with perpetual perfect hair and nails and whatever else we decided were the things wrong with our forms in life would be fixed here. But…. after a while… we each learned that there was never anything wrong with us. Oh, we might have used some more strength here and there, or perhaps our health could have been helped by a few less pounds, but we?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ve learned we were each perfect in our own ways, in our own path shaped by the body we inhabited. We were perfect, and so when we came here, we retained our perfection. These are the well earned faces and bodies sitting before you. Rejoice in your form and enjoy your growing strength.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù

LaVerne looked at her body, at her crippled foot, she thought of her breast long ago cut away from her body. She thought of bones broken with age, body parts taken out. Uterus and gallbladder. She had longed to be whole.

As if she knew, Abby said, ?¢‚Ǩ?ìYou are whole, dear. The Mother completed you and made you whole when you crossed over.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù

LaVerne put her hand to her breast, it was still hollow on her right side, not there, gone.

?¢‚Ǩ?ìI don?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t mean physically whole. Well, I do, this is physically whole for you. For you. For the unique and special you that you are, that you were, that you continue to be. You have everything you need, and when you realize that, you will realize you are indeed whole. More whole than you have ever been because you will not be looking to change, You will turn your focus out of you and to the world and the life you live. You will see. Your heart will change as you realize the Mother?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s plans, ” she turned to reach for something, “But here, have some pie.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù

(warning, this week’s entry is kinda meh.)

Beginning

Previous

Belle sat knitting at the corner of the table. She had some nubby purple wool that she was knitting a scarf from. Not that there was a huge need for the scarf. But the wool felt good and sturdy and comfortable in her hands. and the ability to complete a project made her feel cozy and worth while. It felt good to be able to look down at the end of the day and sigh and know that something was finished. I was also good to be able to find a definition of finished to know when you had gotten there. The women on the other side of the table had always seemed to have a harder time figuring out when something should have been finished. She looked at Leta, her daughter in law and remembered laughing when Leta’s son had come home a day early and brought his new girl home to meet the family. The house was not clean, and after Leta had settled them quickly to bed, she had spent the entire night scrubbing the house so it was company presentable. All those women were that way – except they would likely have never been caught with their house not clean. Belle also knew that her granddaughter LaVerne would go to homes that were not as clean as hers – she was known to comment after getting home that the home might not have been clean, but the company sure was good. She could usually relax and enjoy herself in someone else’s space, but not always her own. Her own space had always been strictly regulated.

Belle wondered how she would adjust to this new life. This afterlife. LaVerne had dwindled away until she was barely there in the old world. Her belongings that she had accumulated ended up amounting to a pillow. Her eyeglasses were frequently missing, leaving her blind against the world. Her watch hadn’t worked and she picked at it when it was on her wrist. Her clothes didn’t fit, and had been lost and mixed in with others while she was in the home. The sheets on her bed were those of the home. All LaVerne had in the end was herself. and she was barely able to find herself most of the time. All the belongings she had taken such good care of ended up in the hands of someone else. That someone else was her perfect son, who left them covered in dust turned to dirt. Most of them went up in fire one night. It would be her steadfast daughter who would recover the most important things. Leta and Charley’s marriage license, LaVerne and Charles’ wedding license, their wedding rings. The family photos. It was all almost lost, but for the hands of a woman to save them. Such as it had always been.

LaVerne would have herself back again. Strong, if not as whole as she had wanted. She would have “things” again, whether or not they mattered to her, would remain to be seen. She would have a room of her own, filled with things she would find comfortable but foreign at first. She would either make these things her own or she would pass them on and acquire new belongings. Not that belongings were the most important thing here, but one did like to be comfortable.

Belle contemplated this woman who was born four years after her passing on. She had watched her her entire life, but never actually touched her. She still did not make a move to touch her now. They were familiar with each other, but they were not companions, they were family, but not friends. Hopefully, one day, they would be. Hopefully as time passed and they turned their focused attention together to the two girls left in that world, they would become partners in helping raise those girls, until long long in the future, those girls would join them and they could close that front door and all decide what was next to come.

Beginning

Previous

She looked at her daughter laying in the bed with the slightly scratchy white sheets. She saw the short gray hair and the wrinkled face, but she also saw past that. She saw the face of a nine year old with a bob cut and straight bangs above the eyebrows. She saw the face of her sick little girl, she felt the fear of losing her, and the pain of not being able to cure her.

Blissfully, this time was different. This time she was able to heal her daughter. She was able to give her physical strength. She was able to give her back her mind, her senses, her memories. Everything that life had taken from her, Leta could give back now with a touch of her hand.

With a deep breath, and swallowing the lump in her throat, she reached out her hand. She paused, just before touching LaVerne’s hand. Another breath. And another. Then she slid her hand along the top of her daughter’s. She wrapped her fingers about the palm and squeezed, slowly, gently but with confidence. LaVerne opened her eyes. She lucidly looked into her mother’s eyes. She steadily looked back. The women remained like that for a full minute. Then LaVerne lifted her left hand up a few inches. Leta reached across and took it. She easily lifted LaVerne off the bed. They stood by the bed, daughter and mother, holding hands. Leta closed her eyes, LaVerne did the same.

LaVerne opened her eyes when she could feel the sun on her face. When she could feel the breeze and smell the grass. There were lilac bushes around the house and their scent flowed strongly around the door where they stood.

Leta looked at LaVerne. “Welcome home.” There was nothing more she could say. She could only wait for the questions or the reactions now.

LaVerne took a step. She looked at her feet. Her feet looked the same, one still crippled and small. They felt different though.

She took another step. Like a deer learning to walk. “Come in the house, the others are waiting for you.” Leta said. She still was holding her left hand, and she tugged her in the direction of the door, and into the kitchen.

The women all smiled at her. And even though the women had died before LaVerne was born, all were familiar to each other. With the dying came the knowledge of the family. Of the watching mothers. In life there was a faint awareness in times of strong emotion, but now that awareness burst anew and there was no doubt that these women had been watching her all along.

Abby stepped forward. “We’re all ready for you. We have your place with us ready.” she gestured to the rocking chair. “This is yours.”

“I know that chair.” LaVerne said. She walked towards it. She stopped by its side and did not sit. “I have not stood in so long. This feels good.” She looked at her feet. “I am still crippled though.”

Elizabeth contradicted. “Are you really? Those feet looked like they walked just fine to me.”

“Look at it. It’s still small and bent.” she nodded her head at her foot. The bane of her existence. Still with her, even now.

“I am looking at it. But you are the one who can feel it. How does it feel?” Elizabeth, ever the hard nosed one. There was no room for questioning in her dogma, and the sooner LaVerne started learning, the better.

LaVerne shifted her weight to her right foot. The crippled foot. “It’s…. it’s… strong.” Now she was confused.

“Just because you don’t look whole don’t mean you aren’t whole. It’s always about what you can not see that matters.” Elizabeth waited, but clearly LaVerne wanted more. “Look in a mirror. You look the same. You haven’t suddenly become something that you never were, or something you were long ago. You are still you, but She gave you strength. She gave you back all that really mattered all along. Some of it you had already, some of it you didn’t. She made you strong and whole again, even if it doesn’t LOOK that way to you, it’s true. Your body and spirit are strong, and will continue to grow stronger. You don’t know everything yet, but that’s because you have a lot of life left and ….” She drifted off, she was almost philosophical, but she redirected her thought and reorganized her words. “There is much to learn, and much time to learn it in. You will learn.”

“What she means is that it would be no fun if you knew everything just like that,” Ellen snapped her fingers. “Enjoy it. You have strength and time, you can learn anything you want to. Welcome.” Ellen stood from her chair and waddled over to LaVerne, pulling her into a squishy, comforting embrace. “Welcome home.” she whispered. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Beginning

Previous

It was another morning in the gray weathered house. The kitchen was cold and empty, but there was anxious activity in the back of the house that could be heard. The windows were being wiped down, a bed was being prepared. The best quilt was being laid on the bed. Blue and white quilted butterflies decorated the double bed sized quilt. Gently patterned flowers in blue and purple scattered across the bedskirt. Pillows were fluffed, a robe was set aside on a hook. Everything in room was comfortable looking except for one pair of high heeled black and white sandals.

The sandals were out of place in the rustic space. Everything in the room was there for comfort and hominess. These shows were all about going out and getting attention. There was nothing comforting about the shoes. They made no sense in the space. Decks of cards were placed in a drawer of the dresser by the bed. A well worn green Bible was placed on the top of the bedside table.

A scraping sound grew louder toward the kitchen. Leta appeared, pulling a bent wood rocker toward the empty room. The rocker was sturdy, but low to the ground. Dark wood, worn but not silky smooth like the table. A flowered pillow sat on the seat to be propped against the back later. When Leta got the rocker to the table she leaned on it. She had butterflies in her stomach, she was excited, but yet slightly sick. She hurt, but she was celebrating. It was a big day. The day she had longed for and dreaded for 53 years.

Abby came into the kitchen armed with the task of making a lemon chiffon pie. She wouldn’t make it often, but today was a day for it. She squeezed the lemons and whipped meringue. It kept her slightly shaking hands busy, and gave her something to focus on that was not the open door.

Leta fluttered about all day long. She could not keep still. She felt unprepared for how to deal with this day. Belle and Ellen sat near each other, Elizabeth and Kesiah were on the other side of the table. As unflappable as these women were, their books and handwork saw no progress that day as they all kept watch on the door. Little was said, it was a long day.

Shortly before five o’clock in the evening, Leta walked to the door. She held her hand up to it and found that her hand went through the open space an into the sunshine outside. She started to look back into the kitchen and then stopped herself. She took a deep breath and then stepped into the yard. For a moment, she only enjoyed the sunshine, then she brought herself back to her moment and her task. She closed her eyes and pictured the white, cold room.

Beginning

Previous

Belle slowly moved a low padded stool over to where here mother sat. She carefully lowered herself to the stool, and lay her gray head on her mother’s knee. At a time like this, no matter how old you were, you were always your mother’s child. Ellen looked at the head resting on her. She thought of that hair when it was gray and faded, when it was brown and healthy and long, when it was finer and childlike and she had brushed it at night before bed, and neatened it into braids in the morning before the day truly began. She pictured that head covered with fair baby down, that tiny little body nested in the crook of her elbow. Ellen swallowed and blinked twice. This mother love that never faded, the mother memories that did. She breathed deep, hoping for a moment to catch a whiff of baby smell long gone. She let out her breath and said only, “Well.” in a way that was final and ending of her story. There was nothing left to say today. Nothing more to share that wouldn’t wait until a different day. another day when it seemed her turn to talk long and wear out the ears of her listeners.

When the facts were strung together like that, it seemed a bald and harsh life. It left out the stories of the farm, of the quilting, of the boys bringing her flowers for the table, of having enough, of games and popcorn and church socials. Of the smell of rain and walks along horses. Of having family close by – of sometimes longing to get away from them all. It had been a long good life and she was glad it was hers. There would be other days for story telling like this. In the blink of an eye and also years away, the next would join them at the table and the old stories would be new to someone again. Another would be welcomed and comforted and shown the way of the watching. But not yet, not today.

The women collectively rearranged themselves. Mothers looked at their daughters. Leta looked out the window at the house where her daughter was. Wondering what she was saying or doing to help or … not help… her granddaughter. It was hard to tell what words would feel right to say and what words might make all the difference. Leta half expected to see the girl slamming defiantly out of the house, angry gestures and spinning gravel. Sometimes it was hard to have things in common with the heart of the person who was aching in such a way. LaVerne might get it all wrong, there was just no way to tell until it passed. However it passed would only show in time. it was a curiosity how love worked. Perhaps the girl was right and this was the one for her. Perhaps she would also learn that could be more than one right in this world. Hopefully whatever happened would work out in the end. Aggravating as it was, only time would tell. The women knew many things, but telling of the future was not something they knew. It was both a bane and boon that they did not know what was coming. But then, if they knew everything, then life … or afterlife… would be quite tedious for sure. They had just a little to keep them entertained, so it really was better to just watch it unfold and see when they were supposed to step in at all. not that stepping in was easy. Well, the act of stepping in was easy enough, but they all had to agree to do it, and getting that table full of women to unanimously agree to anything required an act of God. Leta laughed to herself as she thought that. No kidding.

Leta’s thoughts were broken by Kesiah speaking up. “I was widowed almost longer than I was married. If you add in that I got married late, I spent most of my life without a husband. A rarity in my day.” The women nodded. It was true. She had spent 25 years without a husband, after hers had died. This was unheard of in a time when men and women would marry out of convenience and merely hope for the best when it came to compatibility. Kesiah stayed independent after her husband died. The women could only wonder if this was by choice or by circumstance.

Beginning

Previous

It was Ellen who gently spoke. She had no point to make, she only wanted to change the feel of the room, so she began to tell her story. “I lived eighty years,” the women looked at her when she spoke. She lived the longest of them all. She settled herself into her chair more comfortably, the women saw she intended to storytell, so they picked up their work and sat themselves to listening.

“I was born in Warren County, Kentucky on May 14, 1830. My father was Felix Grundy Wright, named for a Republican congressman. My mother was Ellen Wheeler, I was named for her. I had an elder sister Margaret, and younger sisters Mary, Martha, Louisa, Letitia and Sarah, and younger brothers Thomas and Nathaniel. My mother died and my father took another wife and had a girl Georgeanna, who was younger than my own children. That wife died and he took another wife and had another child Florence who was clearly also younger than my own children.” She spoke in a matter of fact tone about this. She had had years to acclimate to this, and there was only a trace of annoyance to her voice which told that she believed a man could take care of himself if only he wanted to.

“I married Woodson in 1845 when I was 15 years of age and he was 20 years of age. We moved to Pettis County, Missouri with parts of our families, and I had our first daughter Mary when I was 16. I was a wife, and was responsible for keeping a house and a family when I was younger than our girl out there. I was responsible for all manner of … wifely activities at that age. Now today the conservatives are all a twitter over what the young people are doing. It’s funny to me because they are doing the same things we were doing, only we were married and had less of an education. I’m not sure I can decide which way is better to tell the truth.” Several of the women gasped inwardly at this idea. The mere mention of “wifely activities” was more than their Puritan hearts could handle thinking of, but to intuit from what Ellen said that perhaps it was okay for the young people to have “wifely activities” when they were not at all wives was just too much. Only none of the affronted would say a word, however, a least one thread was broken and stitches were pulled out at this part of the commentary in the story.

“Mary was followed by Felix when I was 18, I lost a pregnancy at 20, had George when I was 22, and James at 24″ She nodded at Belle, “That girl came to be when I was 26, then I lost another pregnancy, then another. Woodson joined the Union Cavalry and left for the war, I didn’t know I was pregnant when he left, Anna was born one week after he mustered out. I was 31, Thomas at 34. George died just before I had Sheridan at age 36, and he died before his first birthday. The winter was cold and he was tiny and ….” She stopped here. Waited for the lump in her throat to pass as she thought of her two boys, then gasped, “Then Mary died just 1 week before Samuel was born when I was 39. I was so upset over her dying that he wasn’t named until after the 1870 census. If you look at that record he was listed only as “No Name” and the poor boy was already a year old by that time. I had nine children over a span of 23 years. I lost three of them in a span of three years. While still birthing children, while still trying to be a mother and a wife.” She sat quietly. “I buried my husband. We were married 63 years. Imagine! 63 years with the same person. I was happy with him. Even when he insisted on wearing his war garb years and years after the war was long over. Even when his mustache was long and tickly. I loved the man, all those years. It was a good long life. I lived it well. It was not easy, and I won’t say that I wouldn’t have changed a thing, because it is clear that if I could have kept my children with me always, then I would have. Those are my only real regrets. The ones that still linger with me today. Never quite forgotten. No matter how I’ve ended up here in this place, I wish I would have had all of my children all of those years.”

Beginning

Previous

The women turned to the table and gathered around. No one immediately spoke. Then Abby began.

“It’s for the best.” She said it simply, but with a touch of challenge in her voice.

“Her heart is broken.” Leta said plaintively. “She hurts, how can you say this is best?”

Elizabeth placed her hand over Leta’s. A rare gesture of warmth from her. “As I said before. It’s so different nowadays. Think of how small our lives were, how simple. How our entire life revolved around our families and our towns. She has a chance to branch out. To see new things, to do something of her own. She doesn’t have to have a small life.”

Kesiah nodded but objected slightly. “I’m not sure I had a small life. I was born in Virginia, married in Tennessee and died in Illinois. I did see more of the country than some. More than LaVerne or Leta as a matter of fact. Even though I was much much older than either of them. They both lived in the same town their entire life.”

“LaVerne still has life!” Leta cut in harshly. Her mother heart still feeling protective of her only daughter, even now.

Elizabeth continued, “Yes, LaVerne has life, but she has fought for the variety in it, for the new experiences and the travel. She made the choice to root herself to her husband, family and town, but she’s tried very hard to fly to different places. I’m not sure but that she doesn’t have a wanderlust that she’s never been able to quench or to soothe.”

“She always tried to do what she thought was right.” Leta said. “And yes, I did, I stayed in one town my entire life. I was happy here, all I needed was right here. I had no reason to leave. Who is to say that our girl isn’t like me, that she doesn’t need to branch out and live some flamboyant life? What if this is what her heart desires? This town, this boy, this life?”

“It doesn’t matter if this is the boy she wants. It’s done, over. He’s gone. He’s married. Would you wish her to interfere in a another woman’s marriage?” Abby asked.

The room was quiet.

The room was quiet for a while. Everyone knew that of course, Leta wouldn’t wish the girl to tamper with another marriage. To make her say that out loud was not necessary, but the conversation was stalled. Halted. No one could think of how to pick of the threads of conversation and begin again.

So the room remained quiet.

Beginning

Previous

The girl lay in the grass all alone. She looked into the sun, squinting her eyes so they appeared closed, but she could still be blinded by the shard of sun that broke through her lashes. The sun made her eyes tear, but her eyes had been teary so much that this was nothing new.

She had her first heartbreak. Her childhood love had married someone else just after his eighteenth birthday. She always thought they would have a happy ending, but clearly he was going in search of that without her.

It was silly to think of her life being over at eighteen. Who got married at eighteen, clearly it was silly to even be this broken up over it.

Which only brought on fresh tears. It did matter, she was unhappy. Whether or not it was a good idea, she was dying inside because she wouldn’t have her chance to fill that dream with him.

Inside the house, the women sat clucking around the table.

Belle sighed. “She thinks how she feels at eighteen doesn’t matter. How many of us were married by eighteen?” They all nodded in agreement.

Ellen said, “I was the youngest, I was fifteen.”

“That girl wouldn’t be allowed to drive a car for another year!” Leta said.

“Well, I never knew anything about any cars.” Ellen smiled.

Elizabeth nodded, “So different nowadays. So different.”

From the back room came a cough. Almost a wheeze. Even here, she wasn’t well. As she shuffled in she said, “I was twenty and aught when I was married.” Elizabeth nodded at her.

“So you were, Mother, so you were.” Others might have made a gentle tease about being practically an old maid at age 20, but Kesiah Applegate Hamilton was not one of those women. She was a simple minded woman, kind enough, but not particularly funny. She was less rigid than her daughter Elizabeth or her granddaughter Abby, but she was far from being lighthearted ever. To make a joke at her expense would be almost cruel because she wouldn’t know how to parry it back to you and the air would lay empty and awkward like an unreturned kiss or I love you.

Kesiah settled into her sturdy chair with the wide arms. She carefully placed her feet on the footstool, she was never tall in her youth, and as she aged she only grew smaller, she was well below five feet by this time.

Out in the grass lay the girl. Still staring at the sun, still feeling her heart breaking in her chest. Her life lay out before her like a gray wet page. Like smeared newsprint, wet, soggy and smeared. Like a newspaper chewed up by a dog. A rabid dog. A rabid, smelly dog. She luxuriated and stretched into her misery. No one had ever been as miserable as her. She thought of the clothes in her closet. Far too happy, she needed dark clothes. Perhaps a veil for her hair. She spent a long time in that grass planning her self imposed induction to the life of a solitary nun. She schemed how to begin acquiring a large army of cats to keep her company. Her salary would go to kitty litter and cat food. She needed no man to keep her warm, she would have her kitties to keep her company.

The door opened and a voice called to the girl from within. The girl rose and went inside. Her cat plan put on hold to follow her grandmother’s voice.