Murder at the table- A we-write Short Story

Grandma put up with Grandpa for 60 years

of marital bliss, aka un-bliss. Lloyd and Leona, living like paupers while "his" (their, she reminded him in vain) assets were frozen in several million dollars worth of land, tractors, combines (yes, two, not one, of the house-sized, house-priced behemoths), and grain bins bursting at the seams with rotting corn or beans because prices were too low for him to sell, or so high, Lloyd Bossum would have to - gasp! - pay taxes.

Every birthday, Valentine's Day, holiday and Mother's Day, Leona cooked as usual for the man who was once upon a time handsome and charming. He swept her off her feet and lured her from town life, social life, a life, and overnight, after the "I do, until death us do part," he transformed from handsome boyfriend to Property Owner. She was his property. His servant.

All their children wearied of her complaining and his narcissism, but that's just the way things were, and Leona declared it was her lot in life. See, right in the Bible, it said so. "Accept your lot in life." She could recite it from memory but she didn't get it: It is good for people to eat, drink, and enjoy their work under the sun during the short life God has given them, and to accept their lot in life. Ecclesiastes 5:18.

Funny how she passed over the part where her God wanted his people to enjoy life. The county fair was on, but "it took all the fun out of it" to pay $5 for a hot dog, Lloyd said, he who was worth millions. He was no longer able to climb the fence to avoid paying admission at the gate, and Leona had half a mind to go without him, but Lloyd knew that would never happen. Now that Lloyd was 87 his mind wasn't as sharp as he'd always claimed it to be, and even his tongue wasn't as sharp as it once was, but Leona's was sharper than ever.

He stood in the doorway of the hot August kitchen as she canned tomatoes, froze sweetcorn and pickled his beloved beets. Work, work, work, and never a break from it, she whined.

Lloyd shuffled out to the barn.

"All the good people dying," Leona muttered over the steaming kettle of fruit jars being sterilized, while Lynnae, their youngest, pursed her lips and shucked corn. "Mean old S.O.Bs like him never die."

Well, there was a new twist! Leona had never uttered a profanity in all her life, and S.O.B. was in itself a blasphemy, so Lynnae knew her mom's stoic endurance was being strained to the limit.

Lynnae had blurted out what her sub conscious had been mulling over. 2 days ago -at the bi- annual un-official cribbing meet of the Bossum clan that had attracted the 4 brothers, 3 sisters ( including Lynnae) and 5 of the 11 grandchildren (including Lloyd Jr.) S. O. B. was about the kindest word in the floral descriptives used for grandpa. Grandma on the other hand was defended by the shrill protests of the 2 daughter's that had married away into far away cities as soon as they were 19 years old. The feisty twins, the granddaughters had also defended poor gramma -always slaving away for you louts- as well.

All in all the opinion was that even if grandpa died soon- which was pure fantastical thinking- grandma would be a worse boss- not so overbearing, self centered and mean but even more stingy and myopic by habit of living the frugal farm life for last 60 years- The 16 year old Christmas decorations was a classic example not to mention the 30 year old bathroom fixtures and the 40 year old kitchen utensils and crockery. The near drunkenness had evaporated fast when Lloyd Jr. - the eldest grandson had squawked out about how six months ago he, Lloyd Jr.had persuaded grandpa by hounding him very morning for nearly 100 days to take out a 3 million dollar life insurance policy citing that they could fleece the same company for Medicare discounts potentially worth over 500K once they had a policy in place. The idea of fleecing a multi-national giant had pleased grandpa more than the policy details.

So Lynnae was just echoing the sentiments which most children were thinking. She lapsed into silence as the mound of corn grew steadily and in a few minutes she was half asleep over the mound of corn hands still working- zoned out was what the grandchildren called her- when Lloyd came in and plonked down in his favorite chair. He literally shook her out of the stupor to ask where the mum was as them jars were ready. She did not notice the blue velvet envelope he was clutching as she left the kitchen in search of her mother.

" The finagleling scrub, dagnabit! Twenty Seven Thousand Dollars! Holy Mother. The old scoot is off the rails!"
Lynnae was too shocked to respond to this. Her 84 year old white haired, pink cheeked, wholly docile mother was punching the laundry basket uttering unheard of curses. "Mother! you OK; come come sit down."
"Let go Lynnae, don't act daft. I'm right angry at your poppa; enough to burst a vein. For 60 years I keep him in line, going straight to work an back; not spending a penny on nothing but farm equipment. And when he learnt, he himself came to save money, I thought my work was done and he had changed his spending ways. Not spending on fairs and theater and potzblitz, I had made him a right man. But today I discovered in the roll top a receipt for- for $27000! AArgh." She threw a paper ball at Lynnae and stalked towards the kitchen murder on her mind.

P.S. I really think women are good with saving money contrary to popular belief.

This is the first part: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@carolkean/death-on-the-table-part-one-or-we-write-or-carolkean-with-sarez

The Contest: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@freewritehouse/2ava83-we-write-partner-up