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Authors: Anne Doughty
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you,’ she said honestly.
He pressed her hand weakly.
‘I know that,’ he said steadily. ‘But you are young and may have a long life ahead of you.Think of Elizabeth. Think of me. We neither of us expected to find joy in a loved one. Please, my darling, promise me you will not turn away from what could bring you joy.’
Sarah could think of nothing in the whole world that could bring her joy without Hugh to share it, but his eyes were upon her, moist, red-rimmed, yet full of love. What could she possibly say? They had always been honest with each other. Even when she was very young she’d told him what she thought and he’d listened and pointed out other possibilities she might not have been aware of. But now there was neither time nor energy for argument or discussion. She could not be dishonest, but neither could she deny him anything that might comfort him.
‘I promise you I’ll not turn my back on the world, the good and the bad. If I could ever love anyone it would be because I’ve loved you for so long. You taught me what love was.’
‘You will love again, my dear. I know you will. And I bless the man you give your love to. Only I know how fortunate he will be.’
He closed his eyes and lay so very still she thought he’d fallen asleep, but a few moments later he opened them again and smiled.
‘Don’t go away, Sarah. Close your eyes and we’ll both have a little sleep. You’re tired too.’
And she had slept. With his hand in hers, she haddozed off and not wakened till she heard the song of a blackbird through the open window. She had shivered slightly in the cool air of the early dawn and looked carefully at the sleeping figure beside her. He seemed paler and more deeply asleep.
She’d gone to the window and stretched, drawn in the freshness of the very early morning and returned to the nurse’s chair to take the cold hand that lay inert on the unruffled bedclothes. How long she sat watching him she could not measure, but she did know he died peacefully before the first sunlight had dispersed the shadows of the night.
She wiped her tears with the back of her wrist and lay looking out at the garden. Despite the cold, frosty nights, growth had begun. The same weeds that tempted her mother to start work would be springing up in the flowerbeds she and Hugh had tended together. It was one of the pleasures she’d encouraged him to enjoy. Something to set against the hard work, the endless pieces of paper, the decisions about what raw materials to buy, or what to charge for finished goods and how best to transport them to their far-flung customers.
She hadn’t set foot in the garden since Hugh died, as her mother had reminded her that very afternoon, as near to chiding her as she would ever come.
‘Sarah dear, we all have our work to do and sometimes it seems to take all the time and energythere is, but you have to have other things too. Small pleasures. Little enjoyments, like flowers on the table. We need encouragements, even when we’re happy and things are going well for us. We need them even more when we’re unhappy.’
‘But what difference can it make, Ma?’ she’d thrown back at her. ‘Hugh was all the encouragement I ever needed and now he’s gone. What point is there in life at all, except his work, which I do for him?’
‘Sarah, what would Hugh say to you if you said there was no point in life, except work?’
Rose got up to make a fresh pot of tea for their two china mugs sat cold and untouched on the corners of the stove. She looked over her shoulder and saw Sarah glance down at her hands, her tears past now, her cheeks no longer streaked and puffy.
‘Hugh would say we’re given life to live to the best of our ability.’
‘And what about using one’s talents?’
To Rose’s great delight, her daughter laughed, recalling an old contention the two of them had argued about for years.
‘He said one had to use
all
ones gifts, not just the useful and everyday,’
He pressed her hand weakly.
‘I know that,’ he said steadily. ‘But you are young and may have a long life ahead of you.Think of Elizabeth. Think of me. We neither of us expected to find joy in a loved one. Please, my darling, promise me you will not turn away from what could bring you joy.’
Sarah could think of nothing in the whole world that could bring her joy without Hugh to share it, but his eyes were upon her, moist, red-rimmed, yet full of love. What could she possibly say? They had always been honest with each other. Even when she was very young she’d told him what she thought and he’d listened and pointed out other possibilities she might not have been aware of. But now there was neither time nor energy for argument or discussion. She could not be dishonest, but neither could she deny him anything that might comfort him.
‘I promise you I’ll not turn my back on the world, the good and the bad. If I could ever love anyone it would be because I’ve loved you for so long. You taught me what love was.’
‘You will love again, my dear. I know you will. And I bless the man you give your love to. Only I know how fortunate he will be.’
He closed his eyes and lay so very still she thought he’d fallen asleep, but a few moments later he opened them again and smiled.
‘Don’t go away, Sarah. Close your eyes and we’ll both have a little sleep. You’re tired too.’
And she had slept. With his hand in hers, she haddozed off and not wakened till she heard the song of a blackbird through the open window. She had shivered slightly in the cool air of the early dawn and looked carefully at the sleeping figure beside her. He seemed paler and more deeply asleep.
She’d gone to the window and stretched, drawn in the freshness of the very early morning and returned to the nurse’s chair to take the cold hand that lay inert on the unruffled bedclothes. How long she sat watching him she could not measure, but she did know he died peacefully before the first sunlight had dispersed the shadows of the night.
She wiped her tears with the back of her wrist and lay looking out at the garden. Despite the cold, frosty nights, growth had begun. The same weeds that tempted her mother to start work would be springing up in the flowerbeds she and Hugh had tended together. It was one of the pleasures she’d encouraged him to enjoy. Something to set against the hard work, the endless pieces of paper, the decisions about what raw materials to buy, or what to charge for finished goods and how best to transport them to their far-flung customers.
She hadn’t set foot in the garden since Hugh died, as her mother had reminded her that very afternoon, as near to chiding her as she would ever come.
‘Sarah dear, we all have our work to do and sometimes it seems to take all the time and energythere is, but you have to have other things too. Small pleasures. Little enjoyments, like flowers on the table. We need encouragements, even when we’re happy and things are going well for us. We need them even more when we’re unhappy.’
‘But what difference can it make, Ma?’ she’d thrown back at her. ‘Hugh was all the encouragement I ever needed and now he’s gone. What point is there in life at all, except his work, which I do for him?’
‘Sarah, what would Hugh say to you if you said there was no point in life, except work?’
Rose got up to make a fresh pot of tea for their two china mugs sat cold and untouched on the corners of the stove. She looked over her shoulder and saw Sarah glance down at her hands, her tears past now, her cheeks no longer streaked and puffy.
‘Hugh would say we’re given life to live to the best of our ability.’
‘And what about using one’s talents?’
To Rose’s great delight, her daughter laughed, recalling an old contention the two of them had argued about for years.
‘He said one had to use
all
ones gifts, not just the useful and everyday,’
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