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Romantic
Stories
Roses
Sophie's face faded into the gray winter light
of the sitting room. She dozed in the armchair that
Joe had bought for her on their fortieth anniversary.
The room was warm and quiet. Outside it was snowing
lightly.
At a quarter past one the mailman turned the corner
onto Allen Street. He was behind on his route, not
because of the snow, but because it was Valentine's
Day and there was more mail than usual. He passed
Sophie's house without looking up. Twenty minutes
later he climbed back into his truck and drove off.
Sophie stirred when she heard the mail truck pull
away, then took off her glasses and wipe her mouth
and eyes with the handkerchief she always carried
in her sleeve. She pushed herself up using the arm
of the chair for support, straightened slowly and
smoothed the lap of her dark green housedress.
Her slippers made a soft, shuffling sound on the
bare floor as she walked to the kitchen. She stopped
at the sink to wah the two dishes she had left on
the counter after lunch. Then she filled a plastic
cup halfway with water and took her pills. It was
one forty-five.
There was a rocker in the sitting room by the front
window. Sophie eased herself into it. In a half-hour
the children would be passing by on their way home
from school. Sophie waited, rocking and watching
the snow.
The boys came first, as always, runnng and calling
out things Sophie could not hear. Today they were
making snowball as they went, throwing them at one
another. One snowball missed and smackd hard into
Sophie's window. She jerked backward, and the rocker
slipped off the edge of her oval rag rug.
The girl dilly-dallied after the boys, in twos
and threes, cupping their mittened hands over their
mouths and giggling. Sophie wonder if they were
telling each other about the valentines they had
received at school. One pretty girl with long brown
hair stopped and pointed to her face behind the
drapes, suddenly self-consious.
When she looked out again, the boys and girls were
gone. It was cold by the window, but she stayed
there watching the snow conver the children's footprints
A florist's truck turned onto Allen Street. Sophie
followed it with her eyes. It was moving slowly.
Twice it stopped and started again. Then the driver
pulled up in front of Mrs. Mason's house next door
and parked.Who would be sending Mrs. Mason flowers?
Sophie wondered. Her daughter in Wisconsin? Or her
brother? No, her brother was very ill. It was probably
her daughter. How nice of her.
Flowers made Sophie think of Joe and, for a moment,
she let the aching memory fill her. Tomorrow was
the fifteenth. Eight months since his death.
The flower mans was knocking at Mrs. Mason's front
door. He carried a long white and green box and
a clipboard. No one seemed to be answering. Of course!
It was Friday - Mrs. Mason quilted at the church
on Friday afternoons. the delivery man looked around,
then started toward Sophie's house.
Sophie shoved herself out of the rocker and stood
close to the drapes. The man knocked. Her hands
trembled as she straightened her hair. She reached
her front hall on the third knock.
"Yes?" she said, peering around a slightly
opened door. "Good afternoon, ma'am,"
the man said loudly. "Would you take a delivery
for your neighbor?"
"Yes," Sophie answered, pulling the door
wide open. "Where would you like me to put
them?" the man asked politely as he strode
in.
"In the kitchen, please. On the table."
The man looked big to Sophie. She could hardly see
his face between his green cap and full beard. Sophie
was glad he left quickly, and she locked the door
after him.
The box was as long as the kitchen table. Sophie
drew near to it and bent over to read the lettering:
"NATALIE'S Flowers for Every Occasion."
The rich smell of roses engulfed her. She closed
her eyes and took slower breaths, imagining yellow
roses. Joe had always chosen yellow. "To my
sunshine," he would say, presenting the extravagant
bouquet. He would laugh delightedly, kiss her on
the forehead, then take her hands in his and sing
to her "You Are My Sunshine."
It's was five o'clock when Mrs. Mason knocked at
Sophie's front door. Sophie was still at the kitchen
table. The flower box was now open though, and she
held the roses on her lap, swaying slightly and
stroking the delicate yellow petals. Mrs. Mason
knocked again, but Sophie did not hear her, and
after several minutes the neighbour left.
Sophie rose a little while later, laying the flowers
on the kitchen table. Her cheeks were flushed. She
dragged a stepstool across the kitchen floor and
lifted a white porcelain vase from the top corner
cabinet. Using a drinking glass, she filled the
vase with water, then tenderly arranged the roses
and greens, and carried them into the sitting room.
She was smiling as she reached the middle of the
room. She turned slightly and began to dip and twirl
in small slow circles. She stepped lightly, gracefully,
around the sitting room, into the kitchen, down
the hall, back again. She danced till her knees
grew weak, and then she dropped into the armchair
and slept.
At a quarter past six, Sophie awoke with a start.
Someone was knocking on the back door this time.
It was Mrs. Mason.
"Hello, Sophie," Mrs. Mason said. "How
are you? I knocked at five and was a little worried
when you didn't come. Were you napping?" She
chattered as she wiped her snowy boots on the welcome
mat and stepped inside. "I just hate snow,
don't you? The radio says we might have six inches
by midnight, but you can never trust them, you know.
Do you remember last winter when they predicted
four inches, and we hand twenty-one? Twenty-one!
And they said we'd have a mild winter this year.
Ha! I don't think it's been over zero in weeks.
Do you know my oil bill was $263 last month? For
my little house!"
Sophie was only half-listening. She had remembered
the roses suddenly and was turning hot with shame.
The empty flower box was behind her on the kitchen
table. What would she say to Mrs. Mason?
"I don't know how much longer I can keep paying
the bills. If only Alfred, God bless him, had been
as careful with money as your Joseph. Joseph! Oh,
good heavens! I almost forgot about the roses."
Sophie's cheeks burned. She began to stammer an
apology, stepping aside to reveal the empty box.
"Oh, good," Mrs. Mason interrupted. "You
put the roses in water. Then you saw the card. I
hope it didn't startle your to see Joseph's handwriting.
Joseph had asked me to bring you the roses the first
year, so I could explain for him. He didn't want
to alarm you. His 'Rose Trust,' I think he called
it. He arranged it with the florist last Apirl.
Such a good man, your Joseph..."
But Sophie had stopped listening. Her heart was
pounding as she picked up the small white envelope
she had missed earlier. It had been lying beside
the flower box all this time. With trembling hands,
she removed the card.
"To my sunshine," it said. "I love
you with all my heart. Try to be happy when you
think of me. Love, Joe."
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