Long-Term Love

Reads: 195  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 3

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is my entry for When PencilMeetsPaper's spring contest, inspired by the picture of the litle house :)
This is a fictional account. My parents were not alive during WW11, nor was i born anytime before 1990.
Hope you enjoy :)

Submitted: April 23, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 23, 2011

A A A

A A A


A/N: This is a fictional account. I was not born anytime before the 1990's :)

The old house that sits in a copse of trees behind the winding crick, covered in vines and climbing roses, has a long history. Dating back to World War II, in fact. That little house holds more stories than most of your grandparents have memories...and if you listen closely, you might hear a whisper, traveling through the walls faster than the town gossip to a juicy secret. And if you stay quiet, you might even be able to hear the words...

This tiny cabin knew a sense of creation as the last nail was hammered home and the final board whitewashed with a last stroke of the brush. The soil around it was imbued with sweat, the result of hard human labor. The gardens to the front and sides were lovingly planted with hollyhocks and bluebells, tulips and roses. The vegetable garden was furnished with tomatoes, pumpkins, beans, and potatoes. The mistress of the house, a young maiden of nineteen, and her newlywed husband, of twenty-two, moved in and soon had the house looking like a home. A fire, crackling merrily, flames throwing shadows on the walls, and a hot meal were always waiting on the checkered dropleaf table for when the young man came home from work. He and his wife would then finish the last of the chores together and sit by the flames, reading and listening to the radio or simply chatting. Their sense of intimacy would keep their love alive in later years...

This log home held its breath as the mistress stopped eating--instead nibbling on anything and everything she could find--and uncomfortably continued the housework sluggishly, watching a baby bump emerge in the mirror. It watched in anticipation as the man moved the double bed over to make room for a baby bassinet, and sanded away all sharp corners on the wood furniture. It watched as the woman began wearing looser dresses to accommodate her growing belly, and started taking naps every afternoon.

The quiet house smiled in satisfaction as the man brought home an Alaskan Malamute puppy, who would soon grow and help to stave off the stinging chill of winter and isolation. The pup, named Lewis, would bring love and laughter to the hard times ahead.

The wood cabin wept with the couple as they mourned the loss of their child. The mistress wept bitter tears of heartbreak and helplessness as she watched her baby bump recede, finally vanishing all together. The husband wept too, the two curled up together, needing the familiar comfort and companionship.

The sturdy home felt the Great Depression take hold, feeling the carefully-maintained whitewash weather, chip and wear away, and seeing the vegetables being even more carefully regulated. It saw the maiden's cheeks hollow out, ribs protrude, and fingers slenderize to the bone. The man looked worriedly on, urging his wife to eat but naught succeeding.

The watchful cabin listened carefully as news of a threat to the peaceful life the couple had worked so hard to create came through...a man by the name of Adolf Hitler was gathering forces across Germany and persecuting people of the Jewish faith. It shuddered when America joined what would come to be known as World War II. And though the mistress begged and pleaded with her husband not to enlist, he saw that he had no choice. Though he hated to do so, he joined up, and returned one afternoon wearing the army's outfit and carrying his belongings from work. His wife simply fell to pieces. He tried to convince her that it was a noble thing to do, and that she should be proud he was serving his country, but she would not be persuaded. Heartheavy, he left a few days later, instructing her to stay strong, if only for his sake. Goodness knows she tried...

For five long years, the house and its inhabitant waited anxiously for the man to come home. Thank the Lord, he did. He came walking up the path beaming, looking for his lady love.The cabinsmiled at the ecstatic, tender reunion. The maiden seemed to revive at once, going from a drooping, wilted weed to a proud, prominent daise bursting forth in a shower of color. Their passionate reunion sparked hope in the heart of the home.

The warm cabin laughed ecstatically as the mistress brought forth healthy, beautiful twins into this world. The birth went off without a hitch, and the couple's bond only grew stronger as they lived, loved, laughed, played, and grew with their children.

Now, the old house sits empty, a bit worse for the wear. A thick layer of dust coats the furniture and the climbing roses grow slightly wild. But, once a year, the old couple shuffles, hand-in-hand, down the overgrown path to the plot of land they purchased so many years ago, and straighten things out a bit-- weeding, dusting, and rearranging-- and reminisce.

Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can almost hear the babbling of the crick as it plays over rocks. I can smell the thick fragrance of violets, daisies, and petunias hanging in the clear spring air. I can see the couple, watching their childrengambol among the gardens. And if I listen closely, I can very nearly hear my mum and dad, who had survived so much with the other right by their side...I can almost hear them whisper to each other,

"I...love...you..."


© Copyright 2019 Dannika Summers. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply