|main menu | forum | standard categories | authors | new stories | search | links | settings | author tools|
|Orphan (standard:romance, 2923 words)|
|Author: Maureen Stirsman||Added: Oct 18 2002||Views/Reads: 4040/1387||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|It was a nice little family, Lawrence, Therese and the baby, Sophie. It was one of those love stories that only take place in books, almost like a fairy tale. It was just that way. They were the picture of a happy family, and they were as happy as the|
THE ORPHAN It was a nice little family, Lawrence, Therese and the baby, Sophie. It was one of those love stories that only take place in books, almost like a fairy tale. It was just that way. Lawrence and Therese took the baby for walks in the park, swinging her between them. Her laughter decorated the maple trees like Christmas ornaments. They were the picture of a happy family, and they were as happy as they looked. They were—until that cloudy, rainy, gray day that Lawrence stood in the examining room while the doctor listened to the cough. After that, in spite of the horrid tasting medicine the condition did not improve and gradually Lawrence stopped walking in the park. When his body racked with the cough he tried to hide the bright red stains in a white handkerchief. His blue eyes, once so alive, had sunk in his pale face. The doctor wanted to admit him to the sanitarium but Therese was frightened and begged him not to leave her. “I will take care of you. I will change your bedclothes. I will make your favorite meals. Don't leave me, Lawrence. Please don't leave me. I couldn't bear it.” On those first long sunny days in June, Lawrence sat in the lawn chair and the doctor made house calls. The hot days of August found him sitting in the shadow of a large maple, and in October at the kitchen table watching the leaves fall. By January he couldn't sit up. His cough shook the bed. Therese read to him from the lovely book of poems they bought in the quaint little bookstore on their honeymoon only three years before. He coughed and tried to hide the white handkerchief. Therese tended his needs and those of the baby, Sophie, and only slept in fits when her head finally touched the down pillow. Yet she said, “Don't leave me, Lawrence, please don't leave me. I couldn't bear it.” Lawrence only looked at Sophie from the doorway of the sick room. Therese held her and said, “Make patty cake for Daddy, Honey. Make patty cake.” That was January. They stood at the cold grave on a windblown Tuesday in February with the snow swirling around their woolen hats and coat collars. ... Therese did the best she could raising the toddler, trying to make up for the loss of her father. Sophie was an active child and got into the things all two-year-olds do, and Therese watched her maybe too closely and held her maybe too tightly. Therese worked evenings in a bakery bringing home soft white bread and sugar-decorated ginger cookies as treats for the little girl. The work schedule was difficult but the neighbors were good with Sophie. When Therese was not working, she spent every minute with the child. Therese taught the little girl to look at the picture of Lawrence and say, “Daddy.” When she was four years old she began to ask questions. Therese explained the best she could and told her, “Never leave me, Sophie. I love you too much. It would break my heart.” Sophie never did. The hard work and long days took their toll on the young mother, and then with an unbelievably cruel turn of fate Therese contracted pneumonia. She took the medicine faithfully but it was ineffective. Little Sophie stood in the doorway of the bedroom and watched the neighbors and doctor minister to her mother. “Look, Mommy, patty cake,” she said. It was then that Therese wrote the letter to her cousin Maude. They had never been close, she and Maude, in any sense of the word. Maude lived in Boston, a hundred miles away. She was her Aunt Jessie's child and Therese had not seen her in years but she was the only family she had left, and Therese reluctantly took up pen and paper and beseeched her to care for Sophie. ... Maude Saint John was dressed all in black; long dress, gloves and large hat, but in spite of the mourning clothes, her smile was sweet and her soft bosom comforting. She held Sophie's hand as they stepped up into the car of the train. The little four-year-old tried to pull away but the matronly cousin gently took her to her seat. Sophie pressed her Click here to read the rest of this story (232 more lines)
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Maureen Stirsman has 21 active stories on this site.
Profile for Maureen Stirsman, incl. all stories