Time Well Spent as a Ghost

Chapter 14

Sylvia left her room and walked down the hall, holding onto the railing as she slowly descended the stairs. She'd rinsed her handkerchief, put on clean nightclothes, and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. She wanted to walk around the yard, on her own, one last time while she had the strength. Visit the hens. Bring some flowers from the blackberry garden to the graves.

It was Sunday. The quiet of the house was rare. The kitchen and pantry were in disarray with it being blackberry season. The hutch in the pantry was sitting open, ready for the dozens of brandy and jam jars that would be stored in the cupboards until they could be brought to town. She realized she'd have to wait on the back porch for awhile since the rain had been steady and the path to the graveyard would be too muddy just yet ...

She brought a cup of tea to the porch and closed her eyes against the cloudy, gray world, reassuring herself that she'd done enough, more than anyone had a right to ask of her. And possibly most of her pain had been inside herself, the result of grief or self-pity or anger that she hadn't been able to express, for her own reasons. Maybe the others were unaware, just accepting that her fate was one of loss and perseverance. The continuous patter of rain fell overhead, but behind her eyelids a bright, vivid flash of colorful light sparked and then faded and then illuminated her consciousness with warmth and peace. Sylvia sat, curled up in a chair facing the cemetery. She rested her arm on the railing, reaching out toward her son and husband, and her head slowly fell to the side.