Dorothy’s Milky Letter
Amy was sitting on the bench waiting for Harry to arrive. Autumn leaves were falling everywhere around. In a few minutes the old grave-digger finally appeared.
‘Hello Amy! Aren’t you playing with other girls today?’
But Amy wasn’t interested in playing games with her friends.
‘No Harry. I’m not. I came here to hear another story. Shall we start?’
‘Happy to hear that Amy. Of course, let’s begin our walk.’
It was a strange scene to observe: a small girl wearing an orange autumn jacket and blue shoes walking side by side with and old hunched man wearing a black coat among lanes of graves.
‘So Harry, who is this lady?’, Amy pointed at one of the graves.
‘Oh, my dear. This is the old Dorothy. Her life was remarkable and I’m sure, you would enjoy listening a story about her. Have a sit here.
This is Dorothy Michaels O’Conor. Her ancestors arrived from Scotland about 50 years before the first gold rush in Cabarrus County, North Carolina.
She was born on February 8th, 1914. Last time I saw her was her 95th birthday in 2009. She passed away late afternoon the same day. I believe no one can forget her grey eyes and her deep voice. One of her legs was shorter than the other one and she was slightly limping while walking. No one knew why her skin was so pale. There was no one so white in her family.
The whole town loved her, because she was our milk supplier. A very, very capable milk supplier I would say’
Amy looked at Harry. She looked baffled.
‘What do you mean by capable, Harry?’
‘I mean she was a very talented entrepreneur able to negotiate the best sheep milk price in the whole region. She wasn’t a tough character at all, but still she had an extraordinary negotiation skill that made all the farmers make her good discounts. I would say she was aware who she was… like she was a conscious being. Hopefully you understand what I’m saying.
Dorothy was one of those people who are always ready to listen, always ready to help. She literally lived to serve others.’
Harry stopped talking for a moment as he was trying to recall a particular event in the past to come up with an example but could not recall anything . A minute later he continued:
One day, when she was in her late twenties Dorothy, received a letter... or let’ say a love letter. It was left in a basket among the milk bottles. The author of the letter was a young soldier who was passing by the town and bought a bottle of milk the day.
She was in the grocery store and her basket was left on the porch. He sneaked silently, left the envelope and ran away as he didn’t want to miss the train to Boston.
Dorothy was really impressed. In the envelop she found a poem about herself. It was so authentic! She felt like the author knows her better than she know herself. Thinking about him every day she soon found herself in love.
A week later she received one more letter from Boston.
She had to express her feelings as well. Finally she decided to reply. She included her phone number as well. It was 1942 and it was a shame not to be able to hear his voice by phone. Thanks God, at the beginning of the spring she received a call from him.
A few months later Dorothy and her soldier knew each other so well, that they they were aware of tiny details from their childhood and youth.
A year and half later, I think it was September 15th , the train from Boston arrived in the town.
Dorothy was waiting at the train station wearing a black dress and a black hat. The soldier appeared in a dark blue suit and the moment they saw each other, they started moving to each other striving for a warm hug and kiss they were going to exchange.
They got married about eight months later. It was the seventh day of May. And their life was the most beautiful fairy tale I've ever experienced.
'Yes, little Amy. The soldier I was talking about is Harris Emington Stevenson. This is me Amy.'
Amy looked amazed. She was staring at Dorothy’s image trying to imagine her manners, her voice and her grey eyes when she was smiling to Harry in the moment they met at the train station.
The old Harry stood up from the bench they were sitting on for the last hour.
‘It’s time to go Amy’
Amy left the graveyard inspired. Even though she was only eight years old, she was already imagining how one day many years later, another girl will point at her grave and ask a grave-digger to tell her the story of that mysterious woman from the photo. The name on the grave said „Amy Hamilton Balware”.
Kind regards,
@steemfluencer
Image source: https://pixabay.com/en/forest-bench-park-wood-walk-1016993/
Nicely done! Very melancholy, and I like the setup here of remembering the dead and the past, as seen by a child.
Thank you! I used almost all of my capacity. The only space for improvement I see from my current level are the descriptions. They could add up to the atmosphere.
Oh, what a sweet story! I'm so glad I finally caught up on some of the top entries from @josie2214's contest. Congratulations on your 3rd place tie! It is well deserved! I really enjoyed your tale, and seeing it all from Amy's perspective.
Haaa! 3rd place tie? Last time I checked there was nothing.. Thank you Jayna! I really put a lot of efforts here. Going to check it now.
Nice post dear. I love what you are doing here
It's actually not a nice post. You shouldn't love it @austinesmart. You should hate it!