I Don't Believe in Happily Ever After, Part Six, by L. A. Keller

“I gave up on happily ever after. Maybe I'm not cut out for a relationship. Maybe, I just don't like being committed to one person for longer than two weeks.”

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Part Six

Wyatt took his cue to leave, tossing Charlotte over his shoulder against her squeals of protest.

            “I hope to see you before you leave,” he called out to Clare as the screen door slammed behind him.

            Mae led Clare into the living room and pointed at the plaid reclining rocker indicating she should take a seat.  Mae walked to the mantle and picked up a black and white photo in a tarnished silver frame.

            “Child, I’ve weathered many storms and so has this old place. I was born here, as were your momma and you. My great granddaddy plowed this farm behind two mules and his daddy before him. Your ancestors are buried in that cemetery on the hillside. Your grand-pop planted that tree which you swung on when you were younger than Charlotte."

            “I know all that, Granny. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay here. People move on, have better lives. I hoped you would be ready to sell this old eyesore and move to the city with me.”

            Mae’s hands shook but Clare wasn’t sure if it was from the anger she could see brewing in her eyes or from age.

            “I’m a God fearing woman but right now I’m sorely tempted to take his name in vain. Instead, I’m going to let you sit here with this photo and think about how wrong your words are. You have no right to judge my life as not good enough. You have no right to decide I should leave my home.”

            “But Granny.”

            “I’m disappointed in you, Clare. I’m very, very disappointed.” With those words Mae dropped the photo in her lap and stomped down the hall. Clare flinched as the bedroom door slammed.

            Clare looked at the faded image in the frame. It was taken the day her great grandparents married.  It was a grainy black and white image of a grim woman with a white high-necked blouse and billowing skirts. She stood behind a man seated in a hard backed chair, his hair slicked to the side and a neatly trimmed mustache barely covering a slight smile.

            It didn’t appear as if either party was overly joyed at the prospect of married life. Clare imagined they anticipated a hard life of laboring on the farm, with little time for pleasure. She recalled Mae telling her the story of how Ian McGlennie had requested, Clare’s namesake, Clara McNaughton’s hand. He had promised her father he would never beat her, would make sure both she and any future children would be fed and always have shoes. Not exactly the most romantic gesture but they were steadfast in their love for sixty years and Clara was devoted to him. Ian had been a good, hardworking man and a devoted father to nine children. Mae’s father was the one of the second set of twins. Now, Mae and Clare were all that remained of their legacy.

            The sun was starting to set and Clare regretted not purchasing wine when she drove through the small town. She wandered to the dining room and turned the key in the antique china cabinet. Why it remained locked when there was no one to sneak into the liquor was a mystery to her but she was happy to find there was still a dusty bottle of whiskey.  Grabbing a jelly glass from the kitchen, Clare dropped two ice cubes into the bottom and filled it with the potent drink.

            Unconscious that she still held the picture, she wandered to the front porch and sat in a rocker. She bit her lip and wished she would have had more patience instead of blurting out her wish to sell the farm. On the long drive here, she had rehearsed how she would present the plan to Mae.  She would start by remarking casually how much work the old place needed and then talk about her upcoming wedding and finish with how many fun things there were to do in the city. She wanted to take Mae to the theater and to hear the symphony. She would describe how easy it was to dial for dinner delivery from any number of restaurants rather than slaving in a hot kitchen for hours.

            This was all Wyatt’s fault! He stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong and filled Mae’s head with false hope and big dreams. Clare swallowed the whiskey in one gulp and decided she had wasted enough time. She was going to give Wyatt a piece of her mind right now.

            She left the photo on the rocking chair and dashed inside to grab her keys. Mae remained locked in her room. Clare contemplated leaving a note but decided it was easier to explain after the fact.

            Wyatt’s family farm was only two miles down the road. Clare stomped on the gas and left a hurricane of dust in her wake as the rental car bumped over the ruts in the washed out gravel road.

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Happy Trails,

Leslie

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