by Sarah Earlene Shere, Hosanna Heralds, ©2022
(Nov. 11, 2022) — [See Part 1 here.]
Sarah laid down the paper with a sigh. More bad news, worse than bad, it was tragic. She watched the rain drops racing down the window beside her, leaving tracks behind them. “It’s as if Heaven cries with us,” she mused aloud.
The porcelain clock above the fireplace chimed the hour, bringing her mind back in from the battle fields, not far away, and drawing her attention back to her editor’s office. Wiping her eyes with a hanky, she began to give attention to closing up for the night. Making her way downstairs, she was met by Washington, the kindly old gentleman who kept the building clean and all things in working order. He was wringing his hat in his hands as he anxiously approached her, his accent giving away his southern roots and lack of education. “I think it’s best if y’all stayed awhile and waited out the rain.”
Sarah smiled at the worried expression on the gentle brown face. The white color of his coarse hair gave away his age, reminding her that her own silken curls were streaked with silver. Long had she been encouraged by her adult children that it was time she retired from her editor position at the magazine and retreat to the country, but her mind was too active for her body to sit still, and she saw too great a need for a feminine voice in a rough world of men to sit down and be silent. Washington understood all this, as the two of them had enjoyed many lunchtime talks and long conversations when the others had gone home. He would never tell her what to do, but she knew he worried about her and would often use excuses to stay just to make sure she was safe.
Sarah patted his hand. “You needn’t concern yourself about me. My home isn’t far, and I could walk the path to it blindfolded, if I had to. See, I have my umbrella and am dressed as warmly as I can be. Besides all that, Bessy will have a warm fire and a bowl of hot soup waiting for me when I get home. Take care of yourself, Washington, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Reluctantly, the gentleman nodded and turned away, only looking back to respond when Sarah inquired about his family. She saw his black eyes fill with tears as he replied, “No news.” Sarah breathed in her own tears and held them back and said a silent prayer for Washington’s daughter who was (along with his grandbaby) in the midst of trying to make her way north to him.
The rain had let up as Sarah made her way home. The crisp air and the smell of rain refreshed and reenergized her. She was walking up the steps of her house when she fancied she saw, in the lamplight, a small streak of blue and gray darting into a crack in the nearby rock wall.