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Margaret's Time
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Margaret's Time |
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T.Rose Junior Member
since 2000-08-17
Posts 20 |
Dear Readers, Fellow Writers, and moderators, I am greatful for any suggestions on improvements.Your thoughts are always truely appreciated. Thank you for reading my story. Margaret's Time Thinking I genuflect, Hot tea cooking, Geese on a lake, To see them as they swim The time glides, Peace This is a story about a woman's life and the way she came to the place she is today. The woman, Mrs.Margaret Macklin, is sprucing things up in the cabin, in a wooded lakefront campsite, that she just bought with the life insurance money that she received today. She received it because her husband Patrick, who was a police officer, was killed in the line of duty. She bought the land because it reminded her of her home back in Ireland. As soon as she saw it she said to the salesman,"The builders had to be from my hometown; They just had to be. The roofs', all seven of these cabins look like the thatch work my father did when I was a little girl." Inside cabin number four, the mainhouse and office of the grounds, there is a great view of the lake. It is a warm still blue lake set with the looks of rolling green hills all about it. There are trees near all the cabins but there was none around the lake itself. " Oh what a lovely view", Margaret said softly as she looked over towards the window while hanging a bell on the hook that is above the door. She thought how strange life is. Margaret walked over and sat down on the window's ledge. She sat there for a long time just looking out at the lake, listening to the birds and writing on the pad she has taken to make a repair list with. "Finally, a time of peace," she thought, smiling to herself. "Thirty years of insecurity gone; With no more than a gunshot; Now Patrick's life is over. And now, mine will begin again. I look towards the water once again to build my fortunes. Now, I will take all I have and place it in this lake front cabin property. I will build a life for myself. To think back thirty years when I just turned sixteen and my father told me I was being sent to America to be married! To marry a Mr. Patrick Macklin a thirty year old man who is in law enforcement and was made widowed. This was a man that I had never heard about before. I never met him before, but now I am to be his wife. I remember how I felt that day, the day the ship set sail, I remember the words my dad told me as I boarded that ship: "Me darling, you are the last of my girls, and the one who will make me proud. I give you a fine man to marry. Now my job is done and you will belong to him now. Do well by him, and he will make sure that you will be happy." "My dad was a loving man, but he did not really know what Patrick was really about. My dad was told by Patrick's family about what a fine and upstanding man he was. Patrick Macklin came with his family to the states during the famine of Ireland. His wife and two of his three children died on their way over to America. When he arrived, he worked hard to become a citizen. When he became a citizen, he joined the police force and sent word to his family to help him find a wife. "I landed in the New York harbor, frightened and alone. Nobody was there to meet me when the ship landed and I was told I was not allowed to leave for four days. On the fourth day, I went through all sorts of lines and there was even one line where a man was going to give me a different name to live by. But I told him," Sir, I am being sent here to marry and my name is going to be taken away from me soon enough, so you need not to be troubling yourself with the likes of me." That man just looked at me as if I had slapped him or something and at that I looked down at the floor as if I was ashamed of myself ; I didn't know why. Just then, I heard a strong voice call out behind me," Margert O' Tool?" I felt a hard heavy hand on my shoulder and that same voice "Are you Margert O'Tool, the same Margert O'Tool from the town of Glemoria?" There as I turned I knew this life would be never again my own. There he stood the man that I had to marry. He wasn't a bad looking man, but on the contrary he was more handsome than any of the boys at the schoolhouse dances. He was just unknown to me and there he was standing, handing me a two year old and saying, "Come little mother it's about time for you to settle into your new life." We went right down to a church and Patrick said, "Margaret this is father Tom. He is our family priest and he will be baptizing all the babies that we will have." with that, this man I knew all and all for six hours was now having me standing in front of man, and god, and pledging my life to him: "Till death do you part." We lived in a coldwater flat. It was on the westside near Amsterdam and a hundred and fourth street. He worked hard and we did try to have babies but there were two years of trying and there was none. Patrick kept saying, "my father says "Your no-one without family." He himself was the youngest of twelve children. He told me that he was always told that "having a wife and many babies is the way to a happy life and without them you can never be happy." I will never forget the look on Patrick's face when on my nineteenth birthday I told him we were going to have our baby. I never saw a man so overjoyed. That very night he took up an old steamer trunk from the basment and started to take out the dresses that belonged to his first wife."These are things I kept for you. I thought to keep them for you and look, look I have a crid and all, they're still downstairs." "Oh my love, You have finally made us a family and now there will be nothing to stop us from being happy, I love you!" That was the first time that he ever said that he loved me; A part of me knew, did know, he loved me but he had never said it before. For the next five months Patrick treated me like I was the pot of gold at the end of his rainbow, but little did I know our happiness was not to be.It was on a hot sunday when it happened. I was on the roof hanging the wash. All the children were playing out with their mothers while their mothers hung out the wash. I backed up to let a little girl pick up her dolly's bottle and fell over my own wash basket. I awoke in a hospital bed. Patrick was not allowed to come in the room for several days. During that time I was told by my the doctor, that I lost our baby and there would be no chance of another. I sat there so frightened. Patrick could send me back to my father in disgrace. I thought of the old law, a woman who can not produce any children is not really married. By custom he had the right to toss me down at my father's doorstep and to spit out his distane at what I now was;A barren and a waste. Afterwards, when the doctor let Patrick in the room, he never did come. He didn't come in the room until I was ready to come home, and then all he did was make sure I got home. He was never home after that, other than to have meals and sleep, he worked. He took any overtime he could get. It was as if I lived alone most of the time. He did this for all these many tears; until the day he was shot. That day, I was standing in our kitchen making his lunch as I have always done and he came into the room. "Margaret, please I need to talk to you so would you come here and sit for a moment?" His voice was in a softness I hadn't heard in years. It was as if he was going to tell me someone died. He held out the chair and I sat down. "Margaret, I have been a fool all these years. Could you ever forgive me?" "For what?" I looked at him stunned. I couldn't believe my ears. "I couldn't face you." Fears started to rise up in his eyes: after the baby I I... I blamed myself for what happened and I couldn't. I didn't know how... Oh Margaret do you have it in your heart to forgive your old fool? You know I love you? I do you know, You've been a good wife to me. "He held out his hands, lifted me from the chair and held me in his arms, hard. I swelled up with tears. After all these years of thinking I was guilty of not being a proper wife and he himself felt guilty of the things as well. "Oh, Patrick, we have both been such fools." Just at that moment the clock struck the hour. Wiping my eyes, I said, "Patrick you are going to be late for work, you better go. We can talk more when you come home tonight." I didn't know this was going to be the last time I would see Patrick alive. It was just about the time Patrick would be coming home and I was setting the table when the doorbell rang. I never felt this way before, the dish fell from my hand. When I opened the door, there stood two of Patrick's friends from the department. I knew, they didn't have to say a word; I knew! At the wake, my step daughter, Clare came over to me and said, "Mom, I know you and dad had a hard time because you and he had no real children of your own. But, I would like to tell you, you were always a great mother to me, Clare held my hands in hers and continued, and dad knew this, he ever told me so the last time I saw him, He told me "If anything ever happened to me, you are to remember she is your mother..." and that I should take care of you. Dad loved you very much, but it was always you who took care of us." Clare put her arm around me and said, "We will get together more often. As soon as you are ready. My husband and kids will help you put everything in order. Ok mom?" I just sat there as sad as I was I sat there, smiling. All of a sudden a bell rang out. Margaret didn't realize how long she was sitting there looking out at the water. The door opened and three small children came running in, calling out, "Grandma, this place is great!" Clare and her husband came in the door behind them, "Mom, it's beautiful" Margaret seeing her family and all the love around her, thought to herself, "Oh, My father was right," with her eyes pointing up looking towards the heavens; thank you!" [This message has been edited by T.Rose (edited 08-28-2000).] |
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| © Copyright 2000 T.Rose - All Rights Reserved | |||
Marge Tindal 
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
T.Rose~ Oh, how I enjoyed the easy way this read. Thank you for sharing your talent. ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ noles1@totcon.com |
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