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t h e l o n g e s t d a y the shortest day |
year. Not because of the solstice. Their people held no truck with such
things.
It was a matter of convenience. Not of rush. No, nothing like that. They
looked at the days and they looked at the planting and the building of the
house and when Alice would be done with her teaching for the year. It was
the soonest and the best day for them, the 21st of June.
Alice and Tim were
practical folk.
Tim's older sister, Jessica, didn't take well to the date when Alice told
her. Just sat there on the front porch and rocked and dabbed her eyes with
her handkerchief. Staring at Alice and saying over and over. "How could
you do it? How could you even think of getting married on dear
Dorothy's laying-away day?"
Then Jessica would stop rocking and stare even harder at Alice and Alice
felt this sinking into her stomach feeling that nothing would ever make life
right in Jessica's eyes. Dorothy had been dead for thirteen--or was it
fourteen years? Alice was never quite sure. A tragedy, yes, for a little
girl to die that way. But to mark off a day on the calendar!
To mark off
forever the day, not the day she
died, but the day she was buried!
Alice turned and looked at Tim and saw the dark clouds edge round his eyes.
He had loved his little sister. Loved her and didn't get to see her in the
hospital before she died. Blamed himself for that as much as if he was the
one driving the truck that careened into the egg stand. He'd been out
plowing in the far field and, with everyone racing Dorothy to the hospital
and standing wait, no one thought to send a message out. It was only at
sunset when he returned to the dark windows of the farmhouse with no smells
of supper cooking that he knew anything was wrong. And Jessica hadn't
thought to leave him a note. She was the only one of the family who could
write back then. Well, she and Timothy. She hadn't thought to leave a note
to come to the hospital. She was too busy explaining to everyone who could
hear that it wasn't her fault the little girl was at the egg stand wasn't
her fault at all it had been not her fault at all not her fault
So they got married. Timothy and Alice did. On the 21st of June just as
planned. A bright Saturday morning with the sun shining
to bless the
newly-weds. Timothy was dressed in his best suit and Alice in a white satin
gown. They moved into their new just-finished house and set to making a
life together.
Came the day their first anniversary rolled round Alice
didn't think
anything of it when Tim's hand hesitated over the tie-rack that morning.
Didn't think anything of it at all. Red tie, black tie, blue tie, striped.
They were all pretty much the same--though the blue picked up the color of
his eyes and the red made a pretty splash. But he chose the black tie often
enough that she didn't think anything about it.
It was Sunday and they went to church and then they drove out to the farm
for their weekly visit with Jessica. Dinner on the farm, she didn't mind
that too much, even if it was every week. Still they'd celebrate
with a supper for two that evening, Alice thought.
But when she walked in the door, there in the front parlor, no face smiling
happy wishes, but Dorothy's picture on the mantel and the fireplace draped
with black crepe and a candle burning in a small glass jar.
And Alice knew that her anniversary would always be the longest day
of the
year.