Leta had been a widow for three months. In addition to the
great swells of loneliness that raged inside of her, she was also trapped by an
increasing anxiety about her financial future. The money she and her late
husband Al had set aside went quickly after his death, and as a homemaker, she
had almost no opportunity to earn an income on her own. In addition, she had
two other mouths to feed, bodies to clothe and take care of. She sold her
husband’s automobile, which proved to be only a temporary respite. The
neighbors, her church friends and family were supportive, but at some point,
she knew, something had to change.
One of her neighbors, Mr. Ora Freeman became a particular
help to her. One afternoon, he was
passing by and saw her attempting to cut the small patch of grass that
comprised her front yard and insisted that she allow him to finish, as well as
cut the grass in the back. He did not like, he noted, to see a woman doing
man’s work.
After that initial offer of service, he stopped by more
regularly, every couple of days, just to make sure everything was fine. Leta
learned very quickly that he was handy around the house. He fixed a drip in the
kitchen sink, removed an unruly bush, repaired the leg of an end table and even
painted the closet in her daughter Vivian’s bedroom. While he didn’t bring
chocolates for Vivian and her younger son Dale every time he stopped by, he
brought them enough that they began to refer to him as “the candy man.”
He was also good company for Leta, whose ache frequently
seemed so overwhelming that she dare not breathe. He spoke respectfully of her
late husband, made sure that she had an outlet for her own grief and paid
several compliments. He seemed to notice everything. Consequently, she began to
style her hair and dress better for his visits.
One late afternoon in mid-October, after he had raked the
leaves on the front lawn and they were enjoying a fresh cup of coffee and
Leta’s special raisin-filled sugar cookies, their usual conversation took a
turn. His breathing became deeper and heavier, and he raised himself to his
full height, even sitting in the kitchen chair.
“Now, Leta,” he began with an certainty she had not heard
him express previously, “we’ve known each other for a couple of years now,
haven’t we?”
“Yes,” she answered, suppressing the desire to ask why the
conversation seemed to be taking a different turn.
“And we enjoy spending time with one another, don’t we?”
“Yes, you’re very good company. You’re a good man, Ora.”
“Well, I’ve been thinkin’. You and me—we seem to get along
well enough. You’re a woman. I’m a man. Me and your children get along. I like
them pretty well. We’re both of a certain age, and it seems to me like a good
idea that we get married and set up a house together.”
Leta nearly gasped in surprise, but repressed it with a
little grunt. Ora continued:
“Now, I know that you and Al was really close, and I know
this is sudden and unexpected. But let’s face it, women and men are meant to be
together. And I think it would be an honor if you were to become my wife. I
promise you I will take care of you and Vivian and Dale. I really like your
kids. And gosh darnit, I have feelings for you!”
Leta still hadn’t spoken, but even as the surprise roared
inside her head, she could still hear him.
“There I’ve said my piece, and I’m gonna give you some time
to think it over. It’s a big change for you, I know. But I hope you’ll say
yes.”
With his final “yes,” he gently laid his large hand over
hers. A warmth she had not felt in months rode from the veins in that hand
throughout her entire body. She looked him right in the eye and said, “All
right, I’ll do that.”
To be continued.
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