True Love WC 288

True Love

My trembling finger hovers over the brass button. Bradley will hear the bell and answer the door if I press it.

I tiptoe through the raindrops and peek through the parlor window. He is sitting in his easy chair, dressed in his maroon velvet smoking jacket, as always.

You see, I have wandered past Bradley's house many evenings. He is always sitting alone in the parlor, sipping from his nightly cup of mead—his meerschaum pipe lounging in the ashtray.

I hurry back to the covered entry, my ringlets drooping, my coat soaked through, smelling of wet wool.

I am alone; I am lonely. I did not fathom this outcome when I told him I wouldn't marry him all those years ago. He truly loved me and could never be with another. I broke his heart, and now I will piece it back together.

My finger hovers again… He will run into my arms and tell me he loves me. Of that, I am certain!

I engage the doorbell.

I hear a female voice.

“Darling, I'll get it.”

I turn to flee. The door opens. I turn back.

An exquisite woman in a flowing silk robe stands In the doorway—a vision in emerald green.

“May I help you?”

I fumble for an answer. “I'm—um—selling subscriptions to—ah—um—The Ladies Home Journal, ma’am.”

“Sorry, we’re not interested. Have a good night,” she says as she closes the door.

I have no choice but to leave.

Walking away, I hear Bradley say, “Who was that?”

“Nobody!” she says. “Well, some bedraggled soul peddling magazine subscriptions. In this rain. Poor thing must be desperate...”


So much for true love.