The Sacrifice

Mary stared out the kitchen window at the large oak in the back corner of the yard. The leaves, yellow and orange, were gently drifting down to its base and eddying around the old rusting lawn chair. Her reverie was broken by her husband’s heavy tread.

“Mary, is there coffee?”

“In the pot where it usually is.” She couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice. Every morning was the same.

He poured himself a cup and sat down in his chair and pulled the paper toward him, quickly rummaging through it to the obituary page. Mary went to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs. The bacon was already frying on the stove.

“Didn’t we know a Frank Clark? He’s dead of a heart attack – 58.”

Her heart skipped a beat and she gave her husband a startled look, but he was just reading the obituaries as he did every morning and didn’t look up. She stared out the kitchen window at the oak tree the cool egg still clutched in her hand. It couldn’t be her Frank Clark. No. No. He was young and vibrant. She slowly realized her husband was still reading.

“. . . Thirty-two year resident, no children, no wife survived by a brother and mother.”

She slowly took a deep breath and still staring out the window, she responded to her husband, “We didn’t really know him. He was the man who added your den to the house thirty years ago.”

“How do you remember all that stuff? The name did seem familiar, though. It should have after writing all those checks to him. Course, it would cost a hell of a lot more now to add a whole room to the house . . . ”

He continued his monologue, but Mary tuned him out. She continued with breakfast preparation and her own thoughts. She wondered why Frank had never married. Memories of their first meeting thirty years ago flooded into her consciousness against her will. He had been so serious with his estimates and drawings but a lock of his thick blond hair had kept falling across his face and he had to keep brushing it aside. She remembered the embarrassment she had felt toward her husband who had treated him like an incompetent boy. Yet, Will had only been ten years older. Now, looking back, the age difference seemed minimal, but then he seemed so much younger. She had been a married woman with three children and him, barely past boyhood. Now he was dead and she continued to live. She forced her mind back to the sizzling bacon and eggs she was preparing to break into the pan.

She interrupted her husband, “Will, do you want one or two eggs.”

“One, I’m not that hungry this morning. Everybody I know is dying.”

“That’s not true and you really didn’t know Frank Clark. He was around the house for maybe three months and then you never saw him again.”

“Yeh, but I knew him. And didn’t my friend, Pete, just die last month. I’d known him all my life. We went to high school together. He was three months younger than I am. What have I got to live for anyway except the grim reaper?”

“Oh, don’t get so melodramatic. Pete was always sickly and you’re healthy. You’re just bored because you think you don’t have anything to do since you retired. There are a. . . .”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he interrupted. “Fixing and painting this house and I don’t want to do that.”

“I wasn’t going to say that but that is an idea. The house is getting a bit seedy. I was going to say you could take up a hobby, or take a class at continuing education. You worked very hard and now you need to do something that is fun.”

“Humph. I am not going to be some old senile man sitting around making things out of –- popcicle sticks.” He took a big swig of coffee and began to eat his egg and bacon that Mary had set before him. He ate as if he had to rush to a fire in the next five minutes. She turned and looked out the window not wanting to see him wipe his plate clean with a piece of toast. The back door was open and she could hear the wind rustling the leaves and another sound, a soft mewing sound almost like a kitten mewing. She knew he would be finished soon and out of the house. She wondered where he went, but it was better than the first few months of retirement when he sat around the house all day unshaven in his pajamas watching television. At one time, she had dreamed that after he retired they would travel or do things together, but so far that had not happened. Their youngest daughter lived 200 miles away and they had only gone to visit her once in the two years since his retirement. All her suggestions had met with excuses, resistance, or just plain hostility. She finally had just given up.

“Mary!”

“Huh” Will’s demanding voice intruded into her memories.

“You are getting dingier and dingier every year. I’ll be back at noon. Make tuna and macaroni for lunch. I don’t want some greasy hamburger or cold sandwich. You don’t have anything to do except laze around anyway.”

Before she could come up with a flip retort, he had wandered out of the kitchen leaving his half-eaten toast and bacon where he had finished it. She looked at the greasy plate with disgust. Forty plus years of washing grimy dishes, grimy clothes and a grimy house were almost more than she could bear. Sometimes, she almost hated him. She whipped the dishes of the table and scrapped the crud into a can she kept under the sink. They didn’t even have a garbage disposal. Will didn’t see any sense in them and why should he; he had never washed a dish in his life.

She poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and sat down in her chair to eat her toast. She picked up the paper and stared at the grainy out-of-date picture. It was her Frank Clark. No children. She tried to recall the last time she had seen him. It had been at least 20 years ago. She had thought he had finally married and moved away. Again, the window drew her. Again, she thought she heard a mewing sound. Maybe a kitten was stuck in a tree.

The air had that fresh crisp autumn scent. She walked across the yard to where she thought she had heard the sound. She looked up into the branches of the oak, but could see nothing. Most of the leaves were yellow and the ground under the tree was crinkly with the yellow and orange leaves. She sat down in the rusty metal lawn chair she had drug out here so many years ago and here it had remained. Will just mowed around it. She should get up and get her work done; Will would be back for lunch before she knew it, but she could not move. She glanced back toward the house. The den needed paint as much as the rest of the house, now. White paint was pealing off a few pieces of the wood siding that Frank had so expertly installed. Frank, shirtless, pounding nails, his slender hips girdled with his leather carpenter’s belt came unbidden to her mind. She remembered the tangy smell of lemons mixed with the smell of his warm body when she brought him glasses of lemonade. They would talk while he was drinking about innocent unimportant things. She remembered feeling embarrassed because she could hardly keep her eyes from staring at his tanned, smooth chest glistening with perspiration. After they became lovers, she had sat in this same chair and watched him work marveling at his muscled body, broad shoulders, lean waist and hips. He was not very tall, but he had a presence of strength. He moved with the sure steps of a dancer. Her heart still yearned for him, but now he was dead, really dead. Would he still be alive if she had left everything and gone off with him? She would never know. Her eyes filled with tears and she muffled a quiet sob which seemed to echo through the gently rustling leaves. She did not see her children much anymore. Yet, she had stayed with her husband because of them. However, within ten years, all had gone and she had been left with nothing. Sobs rose in her throat and choked her. She swallowed and briskly rubbed her eyes. Fiercely, she pulled herself up and purposely strode back into the kitchen and plunged into washing dishes. Tears silently trickled down her cheeks and mingled with the dish water. She would call Mandy.

Drying her hands on the towel, she picked up the phone and dialed Mandy’s number. She was about to hang up when Mandy’s breathless hello rang in her ear.

“I was just about to hang up.”

“I was on my way out the door. Mom, is something wrong?”

“No, I was thinking you might like to go shopping with me this afternoon?”

“Oh, Mom, I’d love too, but I can’t. This is Wednesday and I work at the hospital today. Did you forget?”

“No, I just didn’t think about it being Wednesday. All the days just run together. Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”



“This is a very busy week for me. Is it something special you need to do?”

“No, not really. It was just a spur of the moment idea. I haven’t seen much of you the past couple of months. When the kids were little, it was always so much fun going shopping.”

“Mom,” Mandy interrupted. “Maybe, we can get together one afternoon next week. I’ve got to run now or I’ll be late.”

“Oh, yes, all right. Why don’t you, Steve and the kids come to dinner Sunday? We’d love to see you.”

“This weekend is the Oktoberfest at church. That’s why I’m busy. Did you forget? I ask if you wanted to come.”

“I guess I did. You know how your father is about church things.”

“You could go without him, you know. I could get Steve to come pick you up. Think about it. Call Amy. She would love to go shopping. Got to go.”

“I’ll let you know. Bye.”

Dejectedly, she hung the phone up. Mandy was always busy. Mandy was a homemaker just as she had always been, but somehow it was different for her. She was active in the PTA, her church, and various other activities she found deserving or interesting. Steve had even seemed to encourage her in contrast to Will’s attitude that a woman’s place was in the home.

She thought of Amy, Billy’s wife. She knew she would be glad to go shopping with her. All three of her children were in college now or married and she did not know what to do with herself. A spark of realization flashed in her mind. Amy had lived for others as she herself had done and now that her children were gone she had no real purpose in life. Mary had never really liked being around her daughter-in-law. Her passive dependence got on her nerves. She sighed deeply. Had she been any different? She wished she could tell her to do something with her life before it was too late. She doubted, however, that Amy had ever done anything to violate her marriage vows as she had done so many years ago. Mary had suspected that Billy had been involved with another woman several years back, but she had said nothing. She was sure that Amy had suspected something too because she had gone around sad and distraught for a year, but that had seemed to pass. Billy was a lot like his father, a hard worker and good provider, but he was insensitive and opinionated. She wondered if Will had ever had an affair. He had plenty of opportunity especially in his forties. I guess it didn’t matter now. Maybe she should call Amy, but not right now besides what would she tell her anyway that she could hear. She wished she could call Carol, her youngest daughter, but Will would nag her about the unnecessary expense of a daytime call. Besides she hated to call her at work.
Again, the window drew her and she heard that quiet sound, but it seemed a little louder almost the sound a newborn baby made. She wondered if any of the neighbors’ daughters or granddaughters had a baby recently. There had not been a newborn baby in the neighborhood for twenty years, not since Barbara had her baby. She remembered that time with sorrow and guilt, too. She had let her friend down and it had never been the same since. It seemed like yesterday that Barbara had told her that she thought she might be pregnant and she did not want it. She had been 45 and her two children were grown. She had wanted Mary to help her find someone to do a discrete abortion. Mary remembered with shame her hysterical outburst about murdering her unborn child. Barbara had the baby and Mary had stayed away. She had let her think it was because of her thoughts about abortion. She could not tell her it was because of her own guilt and shame over what she had done. She could not stand seeing her pregnant or the joy in her face after her baby girl was born. They had slowly returned to visiting each other a few times a week but it was just not the same as before.

She forcefully pulled herself away from the kitchen window and headed toward the bedroom to make the beds, but instead wandered into the den, the source of her grief and joy. Frank’s face, glowing, his eyes so blue lost in ecstasy, his lips so soft so gentle so hungry, flooded her memory. This room had been their flower strewn meadow where anything was possible. She had brought a picnic basket and secret unquenched longings into this room so long ago. She remembered the first time they had made love. She had been so nervous and excited at the same time and he had been so gentle and confident.

Afterwards she had felt that her transgression was visible to any who dared to look because she felt as if her whole being glowed. Of course, no one had noticed anything. She had known she was breaking vows, committing the unpardonable sin, but the feelings were so marvelous so loving even so pure she could not stop herself. Frank had made her feel like the most special person in the world; he had vowed eternal love. For the next year, she had lived for the moments they had together with a wild intermingling of pain, pleasure, guilt, indecision, exhilaration and passion. She had become an expert at deception, but during that whole year, they had never had a whole night together. She could never find a way to justify a weekend away from home.

She looked at the clock. It was time to start Will’s lunch. She had wasted the whole morning daydreaming and feeling sorry for herself. Well, this afternoon she would do something productive.

She had just dumped a can of peas in a pan to heat when the screen door slammed.

“Mary, lunch ready?”

“Just about. Well, what did you do this morning?”

“Met Hank at the park. Thought we might go fishing in the morning. I told him you wouldn’t mind packing us a lunch. We’ll be gone all day. Maybe some fried chicken and potato salad.”

She grimaced but didn’t say anything to her husband; stiffly she continued to put salt, pepper and ice tea on the table. After she sat down, she asked, icily, “What is Helen doing today? Her potatoe salad is better than mine.”

“True, but she is at her mother’s. Did you forget? Her mother is very ill. They don’t expect her to pull through. She’s about 90 so she’s had a good long life. Hank’s wishing she would go on and die so Helen can come home. He misses her. That’s why I suggested fishing. Get his mind off his troubles.”

Mary looked at her plate and gritted her teeth and thought, ‘Misses her cooking more likely and if one more person asks me did I forget today I’ll scream.’ She looked up at him and said sweetly, “Why didn’t he go with her. Maybe she could have used his help. It’s rough to lose your mother.”

“He don’t like being around sick people and besides he never really liked Helen’s brothers. He might go up there this weekend. I guess we’re lucky that both our parents died before they became a bother.”

“Guess we are.” She remembered her mother the last year of her life, active and still busy with her clubs and church. She had died in her sleep three months passed her 75th birthday. She still missed her after ten years. She had not been that close to her, but she had loved her energy, wit and charm. Her husband, Mary’s father, had died young, leaving her to raise Mary alone. She had never remarried. She had remained faithful to her father’s memory even after death. During her affair with Frank, she had longed to talk to her mother, but her mother was very reticent about anything remotely related to sex. Mary still had the little pamphlet her mother had given her when she was eleven entitled “What every young girl should know.” published in 1928. Mary sighed and began clearing the table.

Will was already up and heading for his chair in the living room. He would watch the news channel and fall asleep in his chair.

Mary washed the dishes and stared out the window thinking of all the times she had stared out this same window. The baby was crying again, but it seemed louder now. A breeze blew a flurry of leaves off the oak tree and she stopped washing to watch them drift down to the ground so light and golden. They were dead, but more beautiful than when they had been attached to the tree. Would death bring peace and release or would she be thrown into some fiery furnace for her sins? She finished the dishes and got the chicken out of the freezer.

Glancing in the living room, she saw her husband snoring in his chair. She stared at his slack face, lips parted, a drop of spit glistening at the corner of his mouth. The site filled her with revulsion. The chicken became an icy weight in her hands and she dropped it into the sink. She sat heavily on the stool at the end of the counter and looked at the pale yellow wall phone.

Somewhere a baby cried. She reached out and picked up the handset and without thinking dialed Barbara’s number.

She did not say anything immediately after Barbara’s initial hello. Barbara’s second irritated hello jarred her into speech.

“Barbara . . . ” She hesitated now not even knowing what to say or even why she had called.

“Mary? Is that you, Mary? Is anything wrong?”

“Are you busy? I thought I’d come over for tea.”

“Great. I’ll put the kettle on.”

Mary sat at Barbara’s kitchen table sipping her tea and nibbling on oatmeal cookies that Barbara baked by the dozens. Barbara, her brow knitted with concern, sat across from her drinking her own tea.

“How’s Ann doing? I haven’t seen her since summer.”

“She is a senior this year so she is quite busy. She moved out of the dormitory into a small apartment with another girl. She even has a part-time job now,” Barbara answered.

“It’s hard to believe she is graduating from college. It seems like just yesterday that you found out you were pregnant.”

Barbara looked away. “Time passes.”

“Barbara?”

She looked back at her waiting.

“Is there any newborn babies in the neighborhood – grand babies, great grand babies – that you know of?”

“No. The Jackson’s next to me sold their house to a young couple, but I don’t think they even plan to have children. I’ve talked to the wife a couple of times. She’s a lawyer. Anyway, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She did not want to tell her she had been hearing a baby cry, unless she said something first. Barbara would think she was crazy or dingy as Will always called her. Maybe it was just in her head.

“Barbara.” The words choked in her throat.

“What is it? You sure are acting strange today. Did something happen?”

“I’m sorry.”

Barbara gave her a perplexed look. “Sorry for what? Sorry you are acting strange?”

Mary stared at her cup. She didn’t even know she was going to say that. Tears welled in her eyes. She swallowed and blinked. She was becoming a maudlin old fool. The baby cried louder. She glanced at Barbara’s worried face. Didn’t she hear it? She swallowed again. “Oh, Barbara, I’m sorry I was so cruel to you when you got pregnant with Ann.”

“Mary, Mary. There is nothing to feel sorry about. That was along time ago and you were right. Ann has been a joy from the day she was born. I tried to tell you that even before she was born, but it seemed you avoided me. I don’t blame you for that. It was an awkward time.”

“Frank Clark is dead.”

“Frank Clark. Who’s Frank Clark and what does he have to do with Ann?”

“You don’t remember Frank Clark, the young man who built Will’s den.” She could hardly hear over the crying of that pathetic tiny newborn.

Barbara looked confused. “The man who built the den. That was long before Ann was born. Our kids were barely teenagers. I don’t see the connection. Mary, what are you trying to tell me?”

“I loved him. He never married. Now he is dead and I am still living.”

Barbara was silent. Mary watched her squint as if to see back into the past, past Ann, past her other two children’s college to that summer thirty years ago.


She looked back at Mary. “I remember that summer. All our kids went to camp at the same time and we had a whole month with no children. I remember you were very happy that summer but I thought it was because you didn’t have three kids underfoot plus half the neighborhood kids. Will was gone a lot that summer, too, I think. He had gotten a promotion.”

“Yes, that was why he had decided we could afford the extra room. He said he needed a place to work at home. You know I don’t think he very ‘worked’ in that room.”

Barbara paused, thinking, “I do recall the man who built the den, now. He was young, blond and good looking, but I never guessed your feelings toward him. Why didn’t you say anything? We talked about everything then.”

“I don’t know. I wanted to talk about him. I think I was afraid if I spoke of it that the magical feeling would disappear.” She took a sip of her tea. “He said he loved me; he wanted to marry me – but that wasn’t that summer. What would my life be now if I had left Will and married Frank? Would he still be alive?”
“Who knows, but your life sure would have been different.” She stopped to pour each of them a fresh cup of tea. “You saw him more than just that summer?”

“We continued to see each other for almost a year.”

“How in the world did you manage that without anyone finding out? You don’t even drive.”

“There are buses and the kids were in school all day. Will was out of town on the weekends a lot; my mother was still alive. I became very adept at lying and sneaking around. That didn’t feel good. I would ride the bus to town and he would meet me in a restaurant. We would go out in the country or to one of his houses he was working on that was empty. He only hired day labors to help him when he needed an extra pair of hands.” She paused. "You know we never went to a motel or spent one night together and I never even saw his apartment. I was so terrified someone was going to see us.”

“It’s hard to picture you doing all that and I don’t blame you. Will has always seemed very distant and definitely not romantic. But I still don’t see how having an affair 30 years ago has anything to do with Ann’s birth 20 years ago.” She studied her friend.

Gripping her cup, she tried to keep the tears back. She had carried her terrible secret so long that she couldn’t even imagine that she was so close to confessing her awful sin. Now that Frank was dead, somehow it didn’t seem to matter anymore.

She took a deep breath and plunged in, “When you got pregnant, it brought back a lot of unpleasant memories and also all the longing and the love I had felt for him.” She stopped. Tears ran down her cheeks and she wiped them off with the back of her hand.

Barbara handed her a box of tissues understanding beginning to touch her face. Awkwardly she patted her hand.

Mary blew her nose and took a deep ragged breath and mumbled, “I got pregnant.” She studied Barbara’s face to see the disgust or shock, but all she saw was compassion before continuing, “I took castor oil, worked too hard, jumped off steps, took scalding hot baths – you know all the stupid things we thought brought on miscarriages – nothing worked.”

“You were pregnant and no one knew not even Will. How did you keep your husband from knowing? When I got pregnant with Ann, Joe almost knew before I did. I do remember that you gained a lot of weight that next summer after the den was built. I accused you of middle age spread. Oh, Mary now I am the one to be sorry. I should have guessed. It must have been so awful for you. Why didn’t you just say you were pregnant and let Will think it was his?”

“I think I would have if we had been having – sex on a regular basis. But we hadn’t had sex in months. He had been so caught up in succeeding at work that he had not paid much attention to me for a long time. Even before Frank. That’s how I knew for sure it was Frank’s baby. Will did not notice anything except that I was getting fat which, of course, he made lots of sarcastic remarks. You know how he is about me getting fat”

“But you didn’t have a baby. What happened?”

“After the first few months of aborted attempts at killing it, I just ignored it and ate. Now, I’m not sure what I thought I would do when the time came for him to be born – go to the county across town and give it up for adoption, have it and say I forgot to tell anybody. I really don’t know. I was just crazy during that time. I broke up with Frank as soon as I discovered I was pregnant. I was very awful to him. He called me for months during the day. I finally got an unlisted number. I told Will I was getting crank calls. He never knew that he might have been a father. I feel sick about that too. He never married and he never had children. I killed his only son.”

“Oh, Mary, you didn’t kill him.” She hesitated. “Did you?”

“No, I didn’t suffocate him, or strangle him or anything like that when he was born, but, yes, in a way I did kill him. All those crazy attempts, not going to the doctor, not taking care of myself.” She was silent, contemplative.

Barbara finally asked, “How did it happen?”

“It was a fall day like this one. The trees were all yellow and gold. I went into labor in the night. I think I must have been about six months gone. I told Will I had the grippe. After the kids left for school and Will left for work, I started bleeding, heavily. I really didn’t know what to do then. I thought I might die. At about 10:00 a.m., he was born. There was a lot of blood. He didn’t cry, but I think he may have been born alive; I wrapped him in a clean dish towel, but by the time the afterbirth was born, he was blue and lifeless. I didn’t know what to do. I sat on the kitchen floor a long time just holding him and crying. Then panic or reason – I don’t know which – took over and I . . . put him in a bread wrapper – Wonder Bread – and then a shoe box . . . he was very tiny – all that food I ate – it seems he would have been bigger – and I buried him in the back yard under the oak tree. He’s still there. No marker. No nothing. Just my guilt. I scattered leaves over the disturbed earth. By spring, there was nothing to show that the earth had ever been touched. I went on with my life. I tried to pretend it never happened. I tried to believe that I was not a murderer. But my neglect killed him. My sin.” She looked at Barbara sadly. “When you got pregnant with Ann, it brought it all back except it was worse, because I knew I had made the sacrifice for nothing. My children were gone and Will was as distant with me as ever.” She bit her lip, “Oh, I wished I had told Will, I wish I had gone to the doctor . . . been smart . . . made Will think it was his . . . left him and married Frank. Something. My life has been such a waste. Frank’s death brought it all rushing back. I guess I rationalized that somehow I was protecting him. Then it wasn’t so bad.”

“Mary, what a terrible burden. You have been punishing yourself for thirty years. If every woman went to hell that was unhappy about a pregnancy, hell would be overcrowded. I know for a fact that if you hadn’t gotten so hysterical I would have had an abortion 20 years ago. I definitely did not want to have a baby at 45. It’s not the same, but somehow that should balance things out. It’s time to forgive yourself and let the past go.”

“I don’t know. The only person who seemed to truly need me and love me, I rejected and for what? My children don’t need me. I don’t think Will ever needed me except for cooking and cleaning. I am just a convenience. We’re not even friends.”

“All of us have our regrets. Yours are harder to bear, because you have had to carry them alone for so long. You never had the opportunity to really grieve for your baby. Frank’s death brought all that back and now you will have to grieve for him, too.” She paused. “When was the last time you saw Frank?”

“About 20 years ago. The same year you got pregnant. For years, I constantly watched for him so that I could avoid him. If I saw him, I would turn, cross the street, go into a store – anything to avoid a confrontation. That afternoon I was thinking of something – I don’t remember what – and I almost literally ran into him. He invited me to have coffee. We went into Woolworth’s. We talked a bit. It was strained. I had so many things I wanted to say to him, but couldn’t. He told me he finally had his own construction company – that had been his dream – and that he was dating a divorced woman with children. They were planning on marrying as soon as her children got use to him. I remember telling him I was glad for him, but my heart was breaking. We parted and I came home. I didn’t even finish shopping. I remember that. I was miserable for months. Then you told me you were pregnant. I haven’t gone shopping by myself downtown since then. About that same time, they opened the shopping mall and there was no need to go downtown. I never saw him again. He just vanished from my life. I assumed he had gotten married and moved away.”

“You stopped looking for him. When he was single, you could secretly imagine that someday you might be together again under different circumstances. Let go of that old record. Get on with your life.”

“I’m 65. My life is over.”

“Nonsense. I’m 65, too, and I don’t think my life is over. You’re healthy and you can do things without Will.”

“I can’t even drive. I should have gone with you when you learned to drive.”

“You still could, you know. Besides there are still buses, taxis, and friends.”

“Maybe.” She looked up at the kitchen clock.

“I’d better get home. Will wants me to fry chicken for fishing tomorrow.”

“Tell him to get Kentucky Fried.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you can. And you can forgive yourself for a mistake you made 30 years ago.” They both stood.

“Mary.”

“What?”

“I’ve missed you. I’m glad you told me.” She hugged her.

“I’ve missed you, too. I don’t know what I am going to do, but I do feel a little better.”

“Tell Will to make his own lunch ‘cause you’re retiring, too. We’ll start doing things again. Ann was another blessing. She kept my husband from retiring at 65. He says he can’t afford too until she graduates. Now she is thinking of going to graduate school.”

Mary did not go into the house, but into the backyard and sat in the rusty chair under the tree. She intertwined her fingers, dropped her head and whispered to the sun dappled leaves that covered the tiny grave in a cloak of gold, “I’m sorry, little one. Forgive me. Rest in peace in the arms of God. Now you and your daddy can be together. I’m sorry you can’t be buried in a satin-lined box in a cemetery with a lamb as a headstone. Your resting place will always be here under a blanket of leaves with dogs barking and birds chirping. Good bye, little one.”

The crying stopped and the silence was filled with rustling leaves and birds chirping. Slowly she got up and walked back to the house. The frozen chicken still lay in the sink where she had dropped it. She picked it up. It was still icy. Methodically, she walked to the refrigerator and deposited it back in the freezer.

Will found her on the front porch rocking.

“Mary, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I was visiting Barbara.”

“You could have told me you were going some place. Shouldn’t you be starting that chicken? And what about supper?”

“Oh, I was going to tell you. You’ll need to pick up some chicken from Kentucky Fried. I don’t feel like cooking chicken.”

“What’s wrong with you? You sick?”

“No, just tired. I’ve decided to retire, too.”

“What do you mean retire? You never worked.”

She stared at him coldly, before she spoke, “I’ll cook breakfast and supper, but you’ll have to get your own lunch. I’m going to be doing other things.”

She quickly got up from the rocker and went into the house before he could say anything. She smiled to herself relishing the shocked look on his face. It was not going to be easy, but she was going to do something with her life. It was time to let the past go.