[Original Fic] The Window
The Window
Sydney Alexis
I stood by the old window, looking out at the lake and field below. It had been so long since I had said goodbye to him.
The morning that he left me, I had helped him get into his uniform. He looked so handsome as he stood on the train deck. An almost angelic smile crossed his lips as he told me he loved me one last time. I hugged him fiercely. The back of my mind was filled with a million scenarios. Most of them he was injured...or worse. I'd begged, pleaded, even cajoled him into not going. I was close on a few occasions. Each time though duty and honor outnumbered my selfish reasons. So, I did what every other woman of the time did; I smiled at him sweetly, hugged him, and kissed him goodbye for God knows how long would pass before I would see him.
The weeks passed. Every one I got a letter from him. From basic training, he was sent to the war. Letters became scarce as he was sent to the front lines. Quite a few came in with large black lines through them. Fear that the enemy would learn military strategy from them I suppose. I learned not to mind them. What was important was that they told me he was still alive, he wasn't hurt, and that he loved me.
The war continued on for years. Funny how the mind can play tricks on you. Features of his face once so clear in your mind start to fade. His voice did too. I can recall the timbre- dark, deep, and lush. I used to fall asleep listening to that voice speaking to me in soft tones. Those carefree days of my youth are long gone though. I've been spending my days raising the girl he's never seen, telling her how wonderful her father is. At night, we pray together for his safety. The worry is a constant companion, and has taken a toll on me.
I go through the motions now of a good wife. I wake up every morning at 5:30. I get my daughter up, dress her for school, get her out to the bus stop on time, and dash off for work. I come home exhausted, but somehow manage to cook dinner for the two of us. At night, I tuck her in and make my way to my bedroom. In the beginning, when I had first learned I was pregnant and alone, I would cry. To be truthful, I was scared. Alone, without anyone to help me, I worked long hours to make ends meet. I barely scrapped enough together each month to survive myself. How was I supposed to afford a child?
I never told him any of this of course. I kept all of my letters light. Each on dripping with the love I had for him, news of our daughter's milestones, events in our small town, but never anything to upset him. He had enough to deal with there. Every letter I received was a mixture of fear and his professions of love. He couldn't tell me any details just that what had seen haunted his dreams. In four year's time, we were both different people.
I had a ritual of my own to pass the days away. Other woman in the neighborhood told me I was ill of mind for doing it. Somehow, I felt compelled. Every evening, a well dress officer in a government vehicle would drive through town to deliver notices to the local woman regarding their husband's injuries. A lucky few had their husbands return to them during these hours. Their injuries requiring time off. Death notices came in the early morning. It was the Army's efficient way of giving the wife time to make funeral arrangements before the office of 'transportation' closed.
This evening was, however, different. I stood in the window, sipping tea. The sun had just set behind the mountain range as twilight set in. In the distance, I saw a dark silhouette. A man, crossing the the bridge onto my property. Could it be him? I had to wait until he was in the full moonlight to be sure.
My heart was pounding faster and faster. I trained my eyes upon the sight, willing them to focus. Years of sewing in the factories had ruined my eyesight. Now, I would give anything to see clearly even for a moment. After all these years, I knew that I could not take a telegram. I waited by the window, knowing that if is was him, I would hear the keys in the door. I closed my eyes tightly, concentrating for the sound. Minutes seemed like hours as I waited, but it came as surely as the sunset. It was followed by heavy footsteps ascending the staircase.
Then I felt it. He was kissing me. He started at me neck. I turned towards him. He looked so much older. The lines on his face had deepened. His lips where so salty as they pressed against mine.
He pulled back, and regarded me for a minute.
"I've missed you."
Before I could utter a greeting, he had returned to kissing me.
His hands slid to the back of my hair, and loosened my French Twist. I could feel it falling to my waist. I pulled back.
"What happened? Were you hurt? How did you get back? I didn't see a car."
He silenced me with his touch rather than words. A ice cold hand slid up my back and drew me to him. I realized I didn't care how he had come to be here.
I unbuttoned his jacket and shirt and threw them to the floor. His arms and chest where much more built from the last time that I saw him. The many years of carrying heavy equipment had strengthened his muscles. Scar tissue was evident on his arms and chest, but I felt them rather than saw them.
The first time was frantic. The second was slow and methodical as we rediscovered each other. He finally relented and simply covered the pair of us with a quilt and wrapped his arms around me.
We spent the next few hours trying to recapture the time lost between us- talking, laughing, crying. He refused to speak of the war, and I didn't push. Instead, I told him how I had gotten along all these years raising our daughter alone. He soothed me, the words rumbling from his chest. Just before sunrise, I fell asleep with my head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.
"I love you. Never forget that. I will always be with you," I heard him say as I drifted off.
I awoke the next morning to find myself alone in bed. I got up, put on my robe, and headed downstairs, following the smell of fresh pancakes. When I arrived in the kitchen, I found a stack of pancakes on the table, syrup, butter, and my daughter eating away at her own plate.
"What happened to your father?"
"Daddy said he had to go. That they were calling him home, but that he loved us both."
"Stay here, sweetie," I said, kissing my daughter's forehead.
I walked around the entire house looking for him, calling his name. As I got to the area near the door, the doorbell rang. A man in dress uniform was there.
"May I help you?" I asked, holding the top of my robe.
He took off his hat, and pulled a small yellow sheet of paper out of his briefcase.
"The Department of the United States Army regrets to inform you that your husband was killed in the line of duty last night. I am so sorry for your loss."
The officer handed the telegram to me and left my porch. I walked back into my house in a daze.
Then the words that he had said last night echoed through my mind "...I will always be with you."
A/N:This was originally written for someone that I had cared about a great deal. I stumbled across it the other day when I was cleaning out my email box. It truly was the first outside the box idea I had followed. I hope you enjoy it.
Sydney Alexis
I stood by the old window, looking out at the lake and field below. It had been so long since I had said goodbye to him.
The morning that he left me, I had helped him get into his uniform. He looked so handsome as he stood on the train deck. An almost angelic smile crossed his lips as he told me he loved me one last time. I hugged him fiercely. The back of my mind was filled with a million scenarios. Most of them he was injured...or worse. I'd begged, pleaded, even cajoled him into not going. I was close on a few occasions. Each time though duty and honor outnumbered my selfish reasons. So, I did what every other woman of the time did; I smiled at him sweetly, hugged him, and kissed him goodbye for God knows how long would pass before I would see him.
The weeks passed. Every one I got a letter from him. From basic training, he was sent to the war. Letters became scarce as he was sent to the front lines. Quite a few came in with large black lines through them. Fear that the enemy would learn military strategy from them I suppose. I learned not to mind them. What was important was that they told me he was still alive, he wasn't hurt, and that he loved me.
The war continued on for years. Funny how the mind can play tricks on you. Features of his face once so clear in your mind start to fade. His voice did too. I can recall the timbre- dark, deep, and lush. I used to fall asleep listening to that voice speaking to me in soft tones. Those carefree days of my youth are long gone though. I've been spending my days raising the girl he's never seen, telling her how wonderful her father is. At night, we pray together for his safety. The worry is a constant companion, and has taken a toll on me.
I go through the motions now of a good wife. I wake up every morning at 5:30. I get my daughter up, dress her for school, get her out to the bus stop on time, and dash off for work. I come home exhausted, but somehow manage to cook dinner for the two of us. At night, I tuck her in and make my way to my bedroom. In the beginning, when I had first learned I was pregnant and alone, I would cry. To be truthful, I was scared. Alone, without anyone to help me, I worked long hours to make ends meet. I barely scrapped enough together each month to survive myself. How was I supposed to afford a child?
I never told him any of this of course. I kept all of my letters light. Each on dripping with the love I had for him, news of our daughter's milestones, events in our small town, but never anything to upset him. He had enough to deal with there. Every letter I received was a mixture of fear and his professions of love. He couldn't tell me any details just that what had seen haunted his dreams. In four year's time, we were both different people.
I had a ritual of my own to pass the days away. Other woman in the neighborhood told me I was ill of mind for doing it. Somehow, I felt compelled. Every evening, a well dress officer in a government vehicle would drive through town to deliver notices to the local woman regarding their husband's injuries. A lucky few had their husbands return to them during these hours. Their injuries requiring time off. Death notices came in the early morning. It was the Army's efficient way of giving the wife time to make funeral arrangements before the office of 'transportation' closed.
This evening was, however, different. I stood in the window, sipping tea. The sun had just set behind the mountain range as twilight set in. In the distance, I saw a dark silhouette. A man, crossing the the bridge onto my property. Could it be him? I had to wait until he was in the full moonlight to be sure.
My heart was pounding faster and faster. I trained my eyes upon the sight, willing them to focus. Years of sewing in the factories had ruined my eyesight. Now, I would give anything to see clearly even for a moment. After all these years, I knew that I could not take a telegram. I waited by the window, knowing that if is was him, I would hear the keys in the door. I closed my eyes tightly, concentrating for the sound. Minutes seemed like hours as I waited, but it came as surely as the sunset. It was followed by heavy footsteps ascending the staircase.
Then I felt it. He was kissing me. He started at me neck. I turned towards him. He looked so much older. The lines on his face had deepened. His lips where so salty as they pressed against mine.
He pulled back, and regarded me for a minute.
"I've missed you."
Before I could utter a greeting, he had returned to kissing me.
His hands slid to the back of my hair, and loosened my French Twist. I could feel it falling to my waist. I pulled back.
"What happened? Were you hurt? How did you get back? I didn't see a car."
He silenced me with his touch rather than words. A ice cold hand slid up my back and drew me to him. I realized I didn't care how he had come to be here.
I unbuttoned his jacket and shirt and threw them to the floor. His arms and chest where much more built from the last time that I saw him. The many years of carrying heavy equipment had strengthened his muscles. Scar tissue was evident on his arms and chest, but I felt them rather than saw them.
The first time was frantic. The second was slow and methodical as we rediscovered each other. He finally relented and simply covered the pair of us with a quilt and wrapped his arms around me.
We spent the next few hours trying to recapture the time lost between us- talking, laughing, crying. He refused to speak of the war, and I didn't push. Instead, I told him how I had gotten along all these years raising our daughter alone. He soothed me, the words rumbling from his chest. Just before sunrise, I fell asleep with my head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.
"I love you. Never forget that. I will always be with you," I heard him say as I drifted off.
I awoke the next morning to find myself alone in bed. I got up, put on my robe, and headed downstairs, following the smell of fresh pancakes. When I arrived in the kitchen, I found a stack of pancakes on the table, syrup, butter, and my daughter eating away at her own plate.
"What happened to your father?"
"Daddy said he had to go. That they were calling him home, but that he loved us both."
"Stay here, sweetie," I said, kissing my daughter's forehead.
I walked around the entire house looking for him, calling his name. As I got to the area near the door, the doorbell rang. A man in dress uniform was there.
"May I help you?" I asked, holding the top of my robe.
He took off his hat, and pulled a small yellow sheet of paper out of his briefcase.
"The Department of the United States Army regrets to inform you that your husband was killed in the line of duty last night. I am so sorry for your loss."
The officer handed the telegram to me and left my porch. I walked back into my house in a daze.
Then the words that he had said last night echoed through my mind "...I will always be with you."
A/N:This was originally written for someone that I had cared about a great deal. I stumbled across it the other day when I was cleaning out my email box. It truly was the first outside the box idea I had followed. I hope you enjoy it.