7 views
Why he married her? #2
The next few days I lived solely for the cards that drifted back from along his route- then a letter came, saying that he was at home and at work. I went about the house wondering how I could appear at all natural with such a fierce fire burning inside me. I was almost ill and spent my spare time in bed. But the burning eased the conflagration settled to a steady flame to light my life. Henry no longer irritated me. Let him live in his memories! I had memories too!
Our bodies may be prisoners, but our thoughts are free: no walls can keep them in or out. I always spoke to Page as if he were near, and many times I was sure that my thoughts, flying east, met his, winging westward through the night.
Time has a trick of slipping by quickly when we are not anticipating some event. Nearly a year had passed. I heard from Page only at infrequent intervals, through his letters to Dad. I was glad of it; it made my part much easier. Not that it was easy at that. Many a night I stared into the dark, racked by forebodings. Suppose Page should marry! I had no right to expect him to stay free. I was purely selfish. Why, why must I grow old giving my youth to one who did not even care for it, and denying the one who promised to wait? It was not easy.
June again—Henry was going to the county seat on some business for the bank and I went along to do some shopping. It was a lovely day. We left the house at one o’clock; left so casually the house that neither of us would see again. I cannot tell you how it happened—there are so many motor accidents on our hard roads. I recall screaming as the big bus bore down upon us.
I came to in the hospital. Dad was beside me. I knew where I was. I do not think I asked, “Where am I?” and I did not ask, Where is Henry?” I believe I knew before Dad told me a few days later. At least, I felt no surprise, no grief, no relief—just nothing at all.
Mother would be there, and then Dad. I also recall Mother Dunne sitting by me. They came and went, and went and came. It didn’t matter. It must have been weeks before I asked for a mirror. But mother was there when I asked. I caught the look passing over her face, and promptly insisted that the mirror be brought. She tried to prepare me a trifle. I imagined scars and bruises. My face had been spared, but it looked so strange, framed in -white hair instead of black!
I could not grasp it—this white-haired stranger! I held the glass and stared at her till they took the mirror from me.
As I got lots...
Our bodies may be prisoners, but our thoughts are free: no walls can keep them in or out. I always spoke to Page as if he were near, and many times I was sure that my thoughts, flying east, met his, winging westward through the night.
Time has a trick of slipping by quickly when we are not anticipating some event. Nearly a year had passed. I heard from Page only at infrequent intervals, through his letters to Dad. I was glad of it; it made my part much easier. Not that it was easy at that. Many a night I stared into the dark, racked by forebodings. Suppose Page should marry! I had no right to expect him to stay free. I was purely selfish. Why, why must I grow old giving my youth to one who did not even care for it, and denying the one who promised to wait? It was not easy.
June again—Henry was going to the county seat on some business for the bank and I went along to do some shopping. It was a lovely day. We left the house at one o’clock; left so casually the house that neither of us would see again. I cannot tell you how it happened—there are so many motor accidents on our hard roads. I recall screaming as the big bus bore down upon us.
I came to in the hospital. Dad was beside me. I knew where I was. I do not think I asked, “Where am I?” and I did not ask, Where is Henry?” I believe I knew before Dad told me a few days later. At least, I felt no surprise, no grief, no relief—just nothing at all.
Mother would be there, and then Dad. I also recall Mother Dunne sitting by me. They came and went, and went and came. It didn’t matter. It must have been weeks before I asked for a mirror. But mother was there when I asked. I caught the look passing over her face, and promptly insisted that the mirror be brought. She tried to prepare me a trifle. I imagined scars and bruises. My face had been spared, but it looked so strange, framed in -white hair instead of black!
I could not grasp it—this white-haired stranger! I held the glass and stared at her till they took the mirror from me.
As I got lots...
