Everything was so vast and glorious. Turning back toward the house, he asked Three Speed to step aside. âEven though you played hooky from work today,â he whispered, âIâll still see if I canât fetch you somethinâ from my plate.â
Everything from the tongue to the tail started wagging. John patted the mutt on the head and headed for the washroom. Dirt or no dirt , he thought, a man cleans up for supper.
Alice was already propped at the table when John took his respected seat at the head of it. Hunched in her own chair, she noticed John with indifference. She was too distracted, her fingers fumbling for her long, gray locks of hair. Twirling long strands into curls, sheâd stop momentarily, play with her place setting and then go back to her hair. John took notice of the tiny wrinkles in the corners of her mouth; permanent tattoos of a life of happiness when her smile would dance across her beautiful little face. From there, he worked up to those dark eyes that always shined with life, only to find an empty, stoic glare. Aliceâs entire face was set like granite and the sight of it made him feel like he was sucking air through a straw.
Elle put the last of the meal on the table, offered a brief prayer of thanks and asked Alice, âDo you want some salad?â
Before she could even process the question and muster a reply, Elle answered with action and dished some out.
John watched as Alice concentrated on the slow, awkward path that her fork took from the plate to her mouth. Before long, she was wearing more food than tasting it. When she had finally abandoned the futile task, without so much as a thought Elle slid her chair over and began spoon-feeding her mother-in-law. John looked on in horror, his eyes locked on his wifeâs blotchy hands, the skin now as fragile and thin as crepe paper. He remembered how she had once been, hovering over the kitchen table like an orchestra conductor, a dozen steps ahead of any guest that sat. The things those hands could once do, he thought. They never rested. Now, they were gnarled and twistedâlike curled-up maple leavesâincapable of working so much as a spoon. To think she has no idea what those hands were ever used for or all the people they touched . His stomach kicked up something that left the slow burn of whiskey in his throat. Time can be so unfair , he thought.
John recalled thinkingânot so long agoâthat life was supposed to return to the way it had once been when it was just him and Alice. Though theyâd each lost a little bounce in their step, he was looking forward to showing the folks down at the Grange Hall that they still had it. We might even sneak a roll in the hay when we get back to the house, he hoped. It never happened that way, though. Her body was tired and the gears in her mind had slipped into reverse. Life had hardly returned to the way it had once been. Instead, it had become more a matter of surviving the days rather than living them.
Though John normally didnât come up for air until his plate was clean, he fiddled with his fork while Alice continued to audition for no one. In her common gibberish of late, her lips twitched and out of the babble a complete sentence finally arose. âI know. I know. Churn the butter, churn the butter, then feed the wood stove. Churn the butter, churn the butter, then feed the wood stove. I know. I know. But I ainât takinâ a bath ⦠not until Pa says I have to and Pa ainât been around for quite a spell now.â
In between episodes of belly laughter and cries of things that go bump in the night, Elle continued to feed Aliceâjust as she was sure to bathe her, brush out her hair and even clean her bottom when Mother Nature called. And all of it would be done with love, patience and dignity. It was clear that Elle would keep her vigil and watch over Alice until her final hour. John wondered again, What did my bitter son