HomeMy WebLinkAboutVillage Squire, 1973-04, Page 194
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One more mile
a short story
by William Keith
The dark pebbles of earth splashed across the rich
walnut finish, rolled to the edges and dropped off.
The bands slackened and the coffin slid from view.
The small band of mourners turned their backs on the
grave and started toward the waiting cars.
"You'll ride home with us, Mrs. Thomas?" the
minister offered.
"No, thank you Reverend. I think I'd rather walk."
"But it's almost a mile! "
"I've walked many a mile before. I think I can
still make one more."
"But I don't like to leave you alone like this... at
a time like this."
"I'll be all right. Besides, I want to be alone for
a while. I have to think. Thank you anyway Rev-
ere nd. "
He knew there was no sense arguing. She was one
of those strong old women that reminded him of a
stern school teacher. He'd never be able to change
her mind. Then too, if anyone could take the shock
it would be her. He turned and climbed into the car
beside his wife.
Now she was alone. The hearse was gone, the
small handful of sympathetic neighbours had departed
and the minister's car was disappearing past the stone
pillars that guarded the entrance.
She began the long trek home.
Alone. Really alone. Far the first time in her
life. To go back to the empty house. To know that
this time it would stay empty. That tonight she would
go to bed alone and that tomorrow she would get up
alone.
Was he really gone? How could someone be gone
who had filled nearly fifty years of your life? No one
would ever see his face again. Pictures would be the
only reminder. In time, they too would fade.
As she passed the e'Ljance gates she noticed the
bronze plaque on one of the pillars. It read "Lest
we forget". Would she ever really forget? Could
she forget? That Easter Day almost fifty years ago
in her mother's parlor when they'd been married. It
was a small afair too, like this had been. Just a few
close relatives, their parents, John's brother who was
best man and her best girlfriend Julia who was bride-
smaid. And the minister, of course. How different
he was from the minister today. Not that Reverend
Michaels wasn't nice, but Reverend Hardy had been
a family friend for years. He'd baptized her seven-
teen years earlier. He knew her as if she had been
his daughter. After the ceremony he had been the
first to kiss the bride.
And that evening she and John had caught the train
for Toronto. It had been such a wonderful time.
Their love was so strong, so beautiful.
And the city, the city was so exciting, so big, so
frightening. She'd been glad when they'd left to go
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