Bradford Legacy Drabble
This is one of my non-Chapter 25 related drabbles for my CreMo goal. It was inspired by an old simspiration prompt. Something along these lines will probably appear in a future chapter so it can be considered a spoiler, but if you've been reading my legacy you should know this is coming.
Prompt: “Gather up your tears, keep ‘em in your pocket/Save them for a time when you’re really going to need them.” ("If I Die Young" - The Band Perry)
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for support. She’d done it. Somehow, she’d done it. It had taken every ounce of strength in her being to send her beloved husband off with a smile on her face, and she was exhausted. Drained. Completely wiped out. It had probably been rude to leave her in-laws downstairs; after all, they were sending their son off to war. She should have stayed in the parlor, sitting and accepting the sympathetic visits of their friends and neighbors. She couldn’t face their feelingless platitudes and their false promises that everything would be fine. They didn’t know that. There was no way of knowing that.
Alone in the solitude of her room, the room she’d shared far too briefly with her husband, she allowed herself the indulgence of tears. She stumbled forward to the bed, and buried her face in a pillow to muffle the anguished sound of her sobs. She wanted to be alone, and neither her mother nor sister-in-law would give her the privacy she craved if they heard her.
She was never really certain how much time passed that late morning as she wept into the pillow. It could have been a few moments or several hours. What had broken her out of it, however, was crystal clear in her mind. She had wrapped her arms around the pillow, which had the lingering smell of her husband’s aftershave, and her arm had brushed across a stiff piece of paper. She opened her eyes and they locked on an envelope, her name written across the front in her husband’s hand.
She reached into the nightstand drawer where she kept her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. Once they were dry enough, she carefully opened the flap and pulled out the piece of paper inside to read its contents.
After reading the letter, she pressed it to her lips and drew in a shaky breath. She carefully refolded the paper and placed it on her nightstand. She then got up off the bed and stood in front of the mirror.
Her face was a mess. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and her mascara had smeared and run down her cheeks.
“You’re stronger than this,” she murmured to her reflection before going into the bathroom to wash her face.
Several minutes later, she was putting the finishing touches on her redone makeup. The cold water she’d washed her face in had reduced the swelling of her eyes and toned down the redness, and the makeup concealed the fact that she’d given into her self-pity. As she put the cap back on her lipstick, she looked her reflection square in the eye.
“Alice Bradford, that is the last time you let your emotions get the better of you. If Nick has the courage to face the Simmans, you can have the courage to let him. No more tears unless something really bad happens.”
There was a knock on the door. Alice called out permission to enter, and Dotty’s red head poked into the room.
“The Seiffs are here, and they brought food. Mama wanted to know if you wanted to join us for lunch.”
Alice barely suppressed a groan. Rosalie was the last person she wanted to deal with that day, but she was family, after all. “Of course,” she said, forcing a smile on her face. “I’ll come down with you.”
“You don’t have to. We’d all understand.”
Alice got up from her dressing table and put her arm around Dotty as she guided her sister-in-law towards the stairs.
“You’re so brave, Alice. I hope that I can be as brave as you were when it’s my turn to be the smiling, supportive wife sending her husband off to war.”
“I’m sure you will be,” Alice said, giving no indication of her earlier breakdown. “We ladies are a lot tougher than most people give us credit for.”
Prompt: “Gather up your tears, keep ‘em in your pocket/Save them for a time when you’re really going to need them.” ("If I Die Young" - The Band Perry)
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for support. She’d done it. Somehow, she’d done it. It had taken every ounce of strength in her being to send her beloved husband off with a smile on her face, and she was exhausted. Drained. Completely wiped out. It had probably been rude to leave her in-laws downstairs; after all, they were sending their son off to war. She should have stayed in the parlor, sitting and accepting the sympathetic visits of their friends and neighbors. She couldn’t face their feelingless platitudes and their false promises that everything would be fine. They didn’t know that. There was no way of knowing that.
Alone in the solitude of her room, the room she’d shared far too briefly with her husband, she allowed herself the indulgence of tears. She stumbled forward to the bed, and buried her face in a pillow to muffle the anguished sound of her sobs. She wanted to be alone, and neither her mother nor sister-in-law would give her the privacy she craved if they heard her.
She was never really certain how much time passed that late morning as she wept into the pillow. It could have been a few moments or several hours. What had broken her out of it, however, was crystal clear in her mind. She had wrapped her arms around the pillow, which had the lingering smell of her husband’s aftershave, and her arm had brushed across a stiff piece of paper. She opened her eyes and they locked on an envelope, her name written across the front in her husband’s hand.
She reached into the nightstand drawer where she kept her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. Once they were dry enough, she carefully opened the flap and pulled out the piece of paper inside to read its contents.
After reading the letter, she pressed it to her lips and drew in a shaky breath. She carefully refolded the paper and placed it on her nightstand. She then got up off the bed and stood in front of the mirror.
Her face was a mess. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and her mascara had smeared and run down her cheeks.
“You’re stronger than this,” she murmured to her reflection before going into the bathroom to wash her face.
Several minutes later, she was putting the finishing touches on her redone makeup. The cold water she’d washed her face in had reduced the swelling of her eyes and toned down the redness, and the makeup concealed the fact that she’d given into her self-pity. As she put the cap back on her lipstick, she looked her reflection square in the eye.
“Alice Bradford, that is the last time you let your emotions get the better of you. If Nick has the courage to face the Simmans, you can have the courage to let him. No more tears unless something really bad happens.”
There was a knock on the door. Alice called out permission to enter, and Dotty’s red head poked into the room.
“The Seiffs are here, and they brought food. Mama wanted to know if you wanted to join us for lunch.”
Alice barely suppressed a groan. Rosalie was the last person she wanted to deal with that day, but she was family, after all. “Of course,” she said, forcing a smile on her face. “I’ll come down with you.”
“You don’t have to. We’d all understand.”
Alice got up from her dressing table and put her arm around Dotty as she guided her sister-in-law towards the stairs.
“You’re so brave, Alice. I hope that I can be as brave as you were when it’s my turn to be the smiling, supportive wife sending her husband off to war.”
“I’m sure you will be,” Alice said, giving no indication of her earlier breakdown. “We ladies are a lot tougher than most people give us credit for.”