An Unfinished Chore

An Unfinished Chore

When Angela Martin woke up on the morning of her 57th birthday she felt surprisingly good, a definite change from the way she had been feeling over the long dreary winter days and months, each day seemed to present another new challenge and obstacles seemed to appear at every turn.

“Today will be a better day!” She whispered. Wrapping her quilt around her shoulders, she rose from the bed and went to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, she saw a strong sun shining across the snow dappled valley below. “Yes!” She pumped her free hand in the air and smiled. “It will definitely be a better day!”

As she walked across the room to the armoire, she let the quilt fall to the floor and stared critically at the reflection gazing back at her. Turning first to the left and then to the right, she sucked in her stomach and appraised her nude body. “Not too bad for an old broad.” She thought to herself, an impish smile playing across her full lips. “If Harold was here this morning, I doubt if I would get much work done. Of course, Allan would be scandalized if he saw his mother prancing around naked.”

Not bothering to dress just yet, she set to work running a brush through her graying auburn hair and pulled it into a practical bun at the back of her head. Looking again at her reflection, she nodded her approval and selected a worn calico dress from the hangar. After gathering her undergarments from the bedside chair she quickly dressed and went to the door.

Pausing at the closed door near the top of the stairs, she knocked firmly and called out. “Allan? Time to get up dear, spring has finally arrived! You know what we have to do this morning.”

“Yes, Ma,” her son’s muffled reply came from behind the door. “I know.”

In the kitchen, Angela poked the coals in the stove and added a few sticks of kindling, before taking the large bucket from the counter and striding to the door. “Hurry along dear,” she called up the stairs, “I will get the water for coffee and then you can go see if you can finish that hole today.”

“I will, Ma, right away.”

As Angela walked across the barnyard to the well, she paused for a moment beside the sturdy, rough hewn coffin resting upon two sawhorses beside the barn. “Allan will get that hole dug today, Harold.” She whispered, her hand gently resting on the rough boards. “I believe the meadow will be thawed enough to finish the digging today.”

Once again taking the bucket in hand, she strode purposefully to the well. “I do wish that death could have picked a better time of the year, but I guess death doesn’t read calendars.” She sighed and tied the rope securely before dropping the bucket into the dark water below.

493 words