For Part I of this story, CLICK HERE; For Part II , CLICK HERE; For Part III CLICK HERE
It started with a jacket - a jacket with a small tear. The sea captain was a stickler about his appearance and immediately wished to fix his uniform. Although his mother would do anything for him, "anything" did not include sewing. It would ruin her manicured hands, so she thought, and so she avoided manual labor of any kind.
The captain's Mother, we'll call her Mrs. Henderson, vaguely remember overhearing from some other folks in town that her neighbor Olivia was a great seamstress, and prompt in doing the job and returning the garments. She also knew of a more established seamstress in town, who had a storefront and was a custom clothesmaker for people of status. Considering her son of high status, she mentioned both women, one for reputation, the other for proximity, all the while gently nudging her son to go into town.
The captain, definitely a man of class, was also fond of practicality. He chose proximity.
On the day that he planned to deliver the jacket to Olivia, he planned to wear a clean white shirt with khaki pants. Glad to be home, he relished the opportunities provided him to "dress down" when he was on furlough and away from commanding people and things. But instead, he donned his uniform because he was going in public, to the home of someone he did not know, and he didn't want to appear too familiar. He check himself in the mirror, picked up the jacket to be mended and headed out the front door.
Olivia was sitting at her window, with a mending job in her lap, needle in hand. She focused intermittently between her work and the children who were in her plain view. Quietly moving her lips, she recited Scripture verse to herself, Psalms 34 to be exact, ..."Bless the Lord, oh my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name...". This was her way of staying encouraged, continuing to be grateful, and keeping that pleasant smile on her face.
Although Mrs. Henderson and Olivia were neighbors, the houses were not exactly close together. There were still quite a bit of beautiful foliaged land in between houses and each house itself, although modest in size sat on a couple of acres. The captain strolled slowly down the street towards Olivia's house, taking in all of the sights and sounds of home. It was not often that he had the opportunity to take a walk without the weight of business concerns. This furlough would last almost two months and he intended to enjoy every moment of it.
His shoes crunching underneath him on the gravel path that led to the house, the captain broke a small sweat. It was quite a warm day already. He noticed Olivia in her window, noticed her smile, and her moving lips. He paused for a brief second, half wandering at her simple natural beauty and half wandering if he had stumbled onto the property of a person not having a full deck. He remembered his mother's recommendation and knew she would have been aware if this was the case. The captain called out to her as he held up the arm holding the jacket.
"Hello, mending work?"
Olivia looked up. "Oh, hello. Sure...come on up. Children we have company."
Quickly, a six year old girl immediately stopped her play and ran into the house ahead of the captain. Another girl, about four years of age ran up the steps leading to the house and grinned broadly at the captain as he approached the porch. "Tank 'u fo comin' to owa howum".
The captain laughed aloud and said a hearty, "You're welcome!" He climbed up the steps and entered the house. There Olivia was, standing to greet him.
"Now what can I do for you captain?"
"Well, it looks as if I've put a rip in my jacket and I was hoping that you could mend it for me. I've heard from around that you do a great job."
"I do try my best. Let me take a look at the damage". She gently took the jacket from the captain's arms and ran her slender fingers over the spot in question. "Well, captain, this jacket is very well made and this rip ought to be easy enough to fix. I can have it ready for you in about half an hour if you like".
"Half an hour! Indeed, I heard you worked fast but I didn't realize... Miss, there is truly no need for such a hurry. I can pick it up tomorrow morning if it is all the same to you."
Just then, the six year old, walked proudly into the room with a glass of iced tea. "Captain, please enjoy something cold for such a warm day". Charmed the captain bowed just a tiny bit to the little girl who in turn curtsied and took the tea.
The captain turned to compliment Olivia on her training of her children. "My what a job you've done with your young ones. So helpful and well behaved."
"Thank you Captain." Olivia smiled a little and glanced down. "The jacket will be ready for you in the morning. Feel free to come by after nine."
The seamstress named the price to which the Captain happily agreed, and he turned to walk out the front door, glass in hand. Walking onto the porch he paused for a second, and brought the glass to his lips. Olivia stepped onto the porch after him and made her way behind his back over to a white rocking chair . She settled in with his jacket, needle, and thread in hand.
"Oh, Miss, I don't want you to stop working on your previous project to fit me in. Once again, I need my jacket in no hurry".
"Captain, it's no problem at all, I was only mending one of my own dresses. I will finish it later. Please, have a seat and enjoy your tea."
He took too large steps and sat down in a brown wicker chair near the door. They sat in silence and peace for about five minutes. Nothing really was said. Nothing needed to be said. Here on this porch amongst paint-chipped wood, and mismatched furniture was peace. Children's laughter, trees bustling, and sun shining, peace seemed invited and hovered over this little spot. Olivia worked quietly. The captain sipped the tea ever so slowly, enjoying the calm and the unexpected sense of comfort. He drank every last drop, put the glass on the wood floor, and rose to his feet.
"Thank you for the tea and I will see you in the morning."
Olivia nodded and smiled. The captain walked down the steps and back onto the gravel driveway.
As he rounded the bend in the road and gradually lost sight of Olivia's home, he smiled at the memory of the children chasing each other through the yard. He loved children. He hoped to have some of his own one day. It was just a matter of meeting the right person.
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Monday, April 02, 2007
Sunday, March 18, 2007
A Story - Part III
For Part I of this story, CLICK HERE; For Part II of this story, CLICK HERE
Let us call the young black woman Olivia. I do not know her name. No one living today does.
For many days and nights after the captain's death, Olivia sat in the chair by the window, looking out on her children as they played. The young mother's housework did not get done, her chores went unattended to. Her mind was filled with a plethora of thoughts. Her face reflected the heaviness consuming her insides, and her shoulders conveyed the burden she felt.
These days and nights were a stark contrast to Olivia's normal disposition. She had always been characterized by a light and cheerful spirit, welcoming anyone into her life that happened to cross her path. She smiled...much of the time. Accepting her lot in life, this mother of small children proved to be made from the stuff women of old are rumored to made of - hard working, resourceful, and multi-talented. She had no choice. Married to a man who came and went as he pleased, Olivia learned early on in her marriage that if she would enjoy her life in the least, she would have to make it enjoyable. Gone were the expectations of happily ever after she had brought with her into her union years ago. They had all been replaced by willpower, a refusal to give up, and smiles....lots of smiles.
From the moment she laid eyes on her first born, her mind was made up. Her children deserved her smiles regardless of the situation they had been born into or the cares their mother carried. And smile she did. Through day after day of work born alone she smiled. Through week after week of her husband's absence she sat on the grass with her children in and around her lap, laughing and playing as if she was one of them. Through month after month of not having enough money, enough compansionship, or enough love, she fixed her eyes on the beauty of life that she intentionally looked for and successfully created.
Her house was simple, welcoming, and serene. The climate of this coastal town led it's inhabitants to lean towards a heavy usage of light colored furnishing and decor. Olivia's home was no different. Cream colored draperies hung at every window and framed simple rooms that held many wicker items. The walls were white as were the shutters that stayed open most of the time. The smell of home greeted any visitor because Olivia always had something on the stove cooking. If it wasn't food, it would be orange peels, apple skins, cinnamon sticks or the like. She let nothing go to waste. Olivia took pride in her home. It was always clean. She brought the beauty of the outdoors inside. Flowers grew wildly in abundance around the town and Olivia always stopped and picked a few to add color within her walls. Walking into her home was like walking into a peace of heaven.
Olivia made her own heaven. Amidst her husband's indiscretions, inconsistent employment, and addictions, money was scarce. This industrious woman made it a practice to take in ironing, sewing, and other people's children to make ends meet. She kept a garden and sold it's wares. She took cleaning jobs, bringing her children along if necessary. They were well behaved and caused her no trouble. She even ran errands occasionally. She had no buggy, no horse, no means of transportation other than her own two feet. Despite the cards dealt to her, she greatly rose above her circumstances, thus earning the respect of her community in spite of her shameful situation. In a town where the plight of a woman, a black woman, held no real thought in the mind of most whites, this woman not only earned respect but also earned compassion. People went out of their way to support her with their patronage.
When Olivia was not working, her favorite place to sit was at her window, watching her children play, her smile visible to any passerby.
Now, this same window framed a sad face, a grieved face, a face that could not be made to smile. The eyes spoke of defeat and depression. Olivia looked out of the window watching the children play but her mind was not focused on the sight in front of her. Her thoughts took her to a day, more than a year before, when, sitting at her window, she happened to noticed a man, dressed in uniform, walking along her street.
You see, it was also through this very window that the distinguished captain first saw this unbelievable woman and took notice of that warm, inviting smile.
Read Part IV
Let us call the young black woman Olivia. I do not know her name. No one living today does.
For many days and nights after the captain's death, Olivia sat in the chair by the window, looking out on her children as they played. The young mother's housework did not get done, her chores went unattended to. Her mind was filled with a plethora of thoughts. Her face reflected the heaviness consuming her insides, and her shoulders conveyed the burden she felt.
These days and nights were a stark contrast to Olivia's normal disposition. She had always been characterized by a light and cheerful spirit, welcoming anyone into her life that happened to cross her path. She smiled...much of the time. Accepting her lot in life, this mother of small children proved to be made from the stuff women of old are rumored to made of - hard working, resourceful, and multi-talented. She had no choice. Married to a man who came and went as he pleased, Olivia learned early on in her marriage that if she would enjoy her life in the least, she would have to make it enjoyable. Gone were the expectations of happily ever after she had brought with her into her union years ago. They had all been replaced by willpower, a refusal to give up, and smiles....lots of smiles.
From the moment she laid eyes on her first born, her mind was made up. Her children deserved her smiles regardless of the situation they had been born into or the cares their mother carried. And smile she did. Through day after day of work born alone she smiled. Through week after week of her husband's absence she sat on the grass with her children in and around her lap, laughing and playing as if she was one of them. Through month after month of not having enough money, enough compansionship, or enough love, she fixed her eyes on the beauty of life that she intentionally looked for and successfully created.
Her house was simple, welcoming, and serene. The climate of this coastal town led it's inhabitants to lean towards a heavy usage of light colored furnishing and decor. Olivia's home was no different. Cream colored draperies hung at every window and framed simple rooms that held many wicker items. The walls were white as were the shutters that stayed open most of the time. The smell of home greeted any visitor because Olivia always had something on the stove cooking. If it wasn't food, it would be orange peels, apple skins, cinnamon sticks or the like. She let nothing go to waste. Olivia took pride in her home. It was always clean. She brought the beauty of the outdoors inside. Flowers grew wildly in abundance around the town and Olivia always stopped and picked a few to add color within her walls. Walking into her home was like walking into a peace of heaven.
Olivia made her own heaven. Amidst her husband's indiscretions, inconsistent employment, and addictions, money was scarce. This industrious woman made it a practice to take in ironing, sewing, and other people's children to make ends meet. She kept a garden and sold it's wares. She took cleaning jobs, bringing her children along if necessary. They were well behaved and caused her no trouble. She even ran errands occasionally. She had no buggy, no horse, no means of transportation other than her own two feet. Despite the cards dealt to her, she greatly rose above her circumstances, thus earning the respect of her community in spite of her shameful situation. In a town where the plight of a woman, a black woman, held no real thought in the mind of most whites, this woman not only earned respect but also earned compassion. People went out of their way to support her with their patronage.
When Olivia was not working, her favorite place to sit was at her window, watching her children play, her smile visible to any passerby.
Now, this same window framed a sad face, a grieved face, a face that could not be made to smile. The eyes spoke of defeat and depression. Olivia looked out of the window watching the children play but her mind was not focused on the sight in front of her. Her thoughts took her to a day, more than a year before, when, sitting at her window, she happened to noticed a man, dressed in uniform, walking along her street.
You see, it was also through this very window that the distinguished captain first saw this unbelievable woman and took notice of that warm, inviting smile.
Read Part IV
Saturday, March 10, 2007
A Story - Part II
For Part I of this story, CLICK HERE
The word of the captain's death came as a sad surprise to most. One person, however, did not have a full blown moment of shock. His mother felt it. As many people who love deeply, she knew something was wrong before the local authorities darkened her doorsteps. She felt him, felt his presence, and she could pinpoint the exact moment that she sensed a void in the atmosphere of her heart.
She sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, awaiting the impending news from the officer. As she watched his lips move, she listened with her heart - even as it simultaneously broke into a thousand little pieces.
Alone...alone...she was now all alone...
Her husband had left her long ago, and she had put her every waking moment thereafter providing, caring for, and loving her only son. He had made her so proud. What a successful man he had become, only to have his life wasted by a random accident at sea.
As she led the officer to the door, bid him goodnight, and closed the door, her thoughts turned to his funeral service. Who should come? Her mind flipped through the images of people they knew and the woman wondered who might even think it necessary to attend. They had lived a secluded life. Her efforts had been spent on raising her son. Fellowshipping with acquaintances and friends had no place in her life. His efforts each day culminated with the smile he saw on his mother's face at the beauty of his life and the success he worked hard to achieve. His mother needed fulfillment from no other.
So, she planned a small funeral. Beautiful flowers were chosen and a casket designed, all to hold her most precious possesion...the body of her beloved son.
The funeral was held in a small chapel near the sea. The church windows, plantation-like shutters comprised of old slatboard, parted horizontally, letting in the breeze. The doors were left open and the smells and the sounds of the market wafted in lingering in the air. The minister spoke softly, the waves roared in the distance, and tears fell silently onto the old woman's lap.
She wanted this moment, this farewell to last a long time so that she could revel in the memory of her son and not be chided for it as she assumed would be the case sometime in the days to come. The grief stricken woman planned two musical interludes into the program, just organ, that would give her the time and lengthen the inevitable. During the second interlude, she turned to look over her shoulder and see who had thought her son's life worthy of their presence to say goodbye.
She hadn't really invited anyone. Lost in her own grief, she called the necessary parties and decided to let the rumor mill work on its own. In attendance were only a few people who had known the mother and her son a very long time - people who'd known the captain as a small boy and watched him grow. Behind her to the right sat a favorite teacher, a close school friend, and the pastor who'd baptized him. They comprised about half of the total in attendance.
Over her left shoulder sat a couple of other acquaintances, but they went unnoticed. The only thing she could see was the black woman, head bowed, sitting sullenly on the back pew.
More coming soon...
Read Part III
The word of the captain's death came as a sad surprise to most. One person, however, did not have a full blown moment of shock. His mother felt it. As many people who love deeply, she knew something was wrong before the local authorities darkened her doorsteps. She felt him, felt his presence, and she could pinpoint the exact moment that she sensed a void in the atmosphere of her heart.
She sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, awaiting the impending news from the officer. As she watched his lips move, she listened with her heart - even as it simultaneously broke into a thousand little pieces.
Alone...alone...she was now all alone...
Her husband had left her long ago, and she had put her every waking moment thereafter providing, caring for, and loving her only son. He had made her so proud. What a successful man he had become, only to have his life wasted by a random accident at sea.
As she led the officer to the door, bid him goodnight, and closed the door, her thoughts turned to his funeral service. Who should come? Her mind flipped through the images of people they knew and the woman wondered who might even think it necessary to attend. They had lived a secluded life. Her efforts had been spent on raising her son. Fellowshipping with acquaintances and friends had no place in her life. His efforts each day culminated with the smile he saw on his mother's face at the beauty of his life and the success he worked hard to achieve. His mother needed fulfillment from no other.
So, she planned a small funeral. Beautiful flowers were chosen and a casket designed, all to hold her most precious possesion...the body of her beloved son.
The funeral was held in a small chapel near the sea. The church windows, plantation-like shutters comprised of old slatboard, parted horizontally, letting in the breeze. The doors were left open and the smells and the sounds of the market wafted in lingering in the air. The minister spoke softly, the waves roared in the distance, and tears fell silently onto the old woman's lap.
She wanted this moment, this farewell to last a long time so that she could revel in the memory of her son and not be chided for it as she assumed would be the case sometime in the days to come. The grief stricken woman planned two musical interludes into the program, just organ, that would give her the time and lengthen the inevitable. During the second interlude, she turned to look over her shoulder and see who had thought her son's life worthy of their presence to say goodbye.
She hadn't really invited anyone. Lost in her own grief, she called the necessary parties and decided to let the rumor mill work on its own. In attendance were only a few people who had known the mother and her son a very long time - people who'd known the captain as a small boy and watched him grow. Behind her to the right sat a favorite teacher, a close school friend, and the pastor who'd baptized him. They comprised about half of the total in attendance.
Over her left shoulder sat a couple of other acquaintances, but they went unnoticed. The only thing she could see was the black woman, head bowed, sitting sullenly on the back pew.
More coming soon...
Read Part III
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
A Story - Part I
This story begins with two neighbors. One middle-aged white woman lived next door to a young black woman. They were cordial but were not friends. The day and time did not allow them to be friends. There was no slavery, only the remnant of a sense of class and of difference. They chose to be cordial.
The black woman was married, or had been married at one time. People assumed she had been married because she appeared to be taken care of. No man seemed to live with her and she did not work so people just assumed. She also had a few children. Maybe three or four. No one was really sure because she kept a flow of relatives' children in and out of her home. No one really cared because her children, any of the children, did not get into trouble nor did they cause trouble.
The two women went through their lives, co-existing from a distance. There was no reason to pay attention to the other. But things changed.
The white woman's son was a captain. He was her prize possession as she was alone in this world other than him. He spent months at sea, sailing cargo back and forth from one location to another. He was a good captain, stern, but he got the job done. He commanded his crew with a firm hand. His interest was making money and making deadlines. He delivered on his promises.
His crew worked for him because he paid them well. They didn't like him nor did they truly respect him. They feared him. He had no concern for them personally. His interest in them was solely professional. Deadlines were to be met at all cost. Schedules were more important than sleep, food, or sickness. Steam from boiling water can only build up in a teapot so long before it bursts forth. Human spirits work the same way.
As the captain stood at the helm of his ship, observing the looming landscape before him, he had no idea that sight would be his last. He had no memory of the blow, no feeling of betrayal, and no sense of fear. His crew had grown tired and taken their perception of justice into their own hands. Their captain was killed and thrown to sea. His waterlogged body would be discovered on the shore, two miles in from the scene of the crime, an arm missing from the apparent bite of a shark. His name goes unknown. The person who told me this story did not know the man's name. Only that he lived the life of a captain and that he died a betrayed man. Why does he even matter? Stay tuned...
Read Part II
The black woman was married, or had been married at one time. People assumed she had been married because she appeared to be taken care of. No man seemed to live with her and she did not work so people just assumed. She also had a few children. Maybe three or four. No one was really sure because she kept a flow of relatives' children in and out of her home. No one really cared because her children, any of the children, did not get into trouble nor did they cause trouble.
The two women went through their lives, co-existing from a distance. There was no reason to pay attention to the other. But things changed.
The white woman's son was a captain. He was her prize possession as she was alone in this world other than him. He spent months at sea, sailing cargo back and forth from one location to another. He was a good captain, stern, but he got the job done. He commanded his crew with a firm hand. His interest was making money and making deadlines. He delivered on his promises.
His crew worked for him because he paid them well. They didn't like him nor did they truly respect him. They feared him. He had no concern for them personally. His interest in them was solely professional. Deadlines were to be met at all cost. Schedules were more important than sleep, food, or sickness. Steam from boiling water can only build up in a teapot so long before it bursts forth. Human spirits work the same way.
As the captain stood at the helm of his ship, observing the looming landscape before him, he had no idea that sight would be his last. He had no memory of the blow, no feeling of betrayal, and no sense of fear. His crew had grown tired and taken their perception of justice into their own hands. Their captain was killed and thrown to sea. His waterlogged body would be discovered on the shore, two miles in from the scene of the crime, an arm missing from the apparent bite of a shark. His name goes unknown. The person who told me this story did not know the man's name. Only that he lived the life of a captain and that he died a betrayed man. Why does he even matter? Stay tuned...
Read Part II
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