Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Husband and Wife (08/08/14)
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TITLE: One Candle Short! | Previous Challenge Entry
By Danielle King
08/13/14 -
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A wasp hovered above the flowers draped carefully across his knee. Delightful summer blooms, each chosen carefully for its heavenly scent or its delicate shade. A freshly picked mix of lilac and pink stocks, with rosemary and purple rain freesia.
A modest bouquet. Natural, unpretentious. Like her.
The sparrows foraged for seeds and insects. She loved to watch the fledglings finding their wings under mother’s watchful eye. It prompted sweet memories of nurturing their own brood, long ago.
Mothers; human, bird and the animal kingdom worldwide, all driven by instinct to protect and nourish their own.
The cycle of life birthed in her a deep sense of awe and wonderment at the miracle, life itself.
And that’s what he loved most about her - her unsophisticated passion for the commonplace, familiar things. To her each new day was a precious gift from God.
He glanced at the flowers, picturing her face lighting up as she stretched out her arms to take them from him. Those pale blue eyes filled with gratitude as she delighted in the heady fragrance, stroking each pretty bloom tenderly with a dainty finger. You are the kindest, most thoughtful man on earth, she would tell him.
He shuffled to pull a large white handkerchief from his pocket.
She had no desire for trinkets and baubles. No interest in fine clothing or expensive perfume. There is nothing to equal the seductive fragrance of a cottage garden after rainfall, she would say. Nor the magic of a bluebell wood in springtime.
He mopped a solitary tear and blew his nose hard, before scanning the scene.
The woods; what could be more evocative than rambling through ancient woodland awash with native bluebells. Their deep violet-blue colour and distinctive bell shaped flower were like precious friends, welcoming, with a fine spread after winter’s dearth.
The breeze carried voices from afar. Carefully, he laid the blooms on the seat, and reaching for his stick, steadily rose to standing. He waited awhile, until the light headedness passed, before cautiously bending to gather the flowers.
Gradually, one shuffling step at a time, he trundled along the familiar path, halting only to aid progress with a much needed blast from his inhaler.
The voices were closer. It seemed they were calling a dog. A helicopter hovered in the sky, marring the tranquillity of the ancient haven.
He laboured on the last lap, but off the way-marked path, a sharp turn by the Giant Oak took him along an old, narrow and partly overgrown cobblestoned road.
He knew it well. With his stick, he cleared a space for each precarious step. Ahead, the ancient gnarled Yew came into view. Almost there, he paced himself.
Finally, with the dogged determination of an old soldier, he triumphantly passed through the back entrance where the gates had fallen into disrepair, his goal in sight.
The old village church, where the tiny bell in its cote at the west end ceased to ring out long ago. The heart of the community, where they wed, had babies baptised, and finally…
It was too painful. He plodded on, round the front, by the vestibule and just off to the right, until finally his knees buckled beneath him.
Shaky fingers reached out to trace the engraved words.
In loving memory of Hannah Grace, who departed this life to be with the Lord, on…
“Soon now Gracie,” he gasped. “I’m done waiting.”
Tenderly, he kissed each bloom before placing it on his beloved wife’s resting place.
He heard the commotion outside the churchyard, but had neither strength nor will to move.
“ARTHUR.” A jubilant voice rang out. “He’s over here - in PJ’s and slippers.”
The young carer raced up the path. Dropping to her knees, she engulfed him in a relieved and affectionate bear hug.
“You scoundrel,” she sobbed. “Everyone is worried sick about you. Whatever were you thinking?”
“Sorry to alarm you dear, but you see, it’s my Gracie’s birthday today. She’s 98 years old.”
“And you are 100 tomorrow. C’mon, there’s a party to prepare.”
Arthur was bundled in blankets and stretchered into the waiting ambulance. An oxygen mask hindered further conversation.
Back at the nursing home, staff were icing the birthday cake they’d baked especially. Huge, to accommodate 100 candles.
Arthur fretted about celebrating such a milestone in life without his Gracie beside him. Yet needlessly,
Because God always listens when His children pray!
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I didn't quite understand the ending part about God and prayers. Was it that he was praying to be with her? Could be just me.
I liked it. Gently evocative with lovely imagery.
You gave us such an eloquent description of every step Arthur took along the path, that I felt like I was there. I truly thought you were going to end it with him dying right there on her grave, and, oddly, that would have been okay with me. I felt his frustration as he had to wait some more.
Great job!
I'm so glad Arthur's caregiver scolded him ever so gently, in naming him a scoundrel.
Perfect ending!
Judges please take note - Numero Uno ranking, thank you..
I loved this moving, touching sweeping piece.
I love the elderly, worked in nursing homes my entire career, and appreciate this so much.
Oh and the ending! Chilling in a beautiful inspiring way.
Yes...winner all the way.
God bless~
God bless~