The Proposal

“Dear Agatha, I have finally finished thinking. I am sorry it took so long. Alfred.”

The letter had arrived by the courier that afternoon. A small white envelope with a folded letter inside. Agatha brought it to her nose. The scent of fresh paper and cedar wood filled her nose. Along with the letter came tiny wood shavings from the carpenter shop where Alfred passed his time in retirement.

They had once been engaged, but Alfred had been free-spirited and at times juvenile, even as a grown man. He had run off to war and chased many women. She had loved him and waited, but then she had moved on with her life. She had married Mark and they had wonderful children and grandchildren.

After all this time, he wanted to marry her? “Better late than never,” she muttered.

“Granny, Granny” cried Margaret, running by her with her handmade doll.

Agatha dropped the letter on the counter and attended to her granddaughter. “What is it dear?” she asked, doing her best to lower herself to meet the young girl's eyes. Her knees creaked and they did not work as well as they once had.

“Jared is trying to steal my doll,” Margaret lamented, “He wants to tie her to the train tracks out back and watch the train clip her head off.”

Agatha tried not to laugh. It would be funny, but she had worked hard to make that doll for Margaret and didn’t want to see it destroyed. Besides, Arianna would not appreciate her children being so close to the tracks. It was hard enough to keep them away and her daughter had more than once asked her to think about moving, but she loved listening to the trains rumble behind her house. This was her home. The place where she and Mark had lived until he passed and he was buried out back. Leaving meant, leaving him behind. She groaned, returning to her full height. “Jared!”

“What Gran?” he asked, appearing at the door. Margaret hid behind her, clutching her doll and keeping it far out of reach.

“What did I tell you about going near the tracks?”

“Awww…come on, Gran. It’s going to be great,” said Jared.

“No. Now go play ball or I’ll make you read to your sister,” she ordered.

Jared’s eyes went wide and he quickly disappeared, running out the front door and slamming it behind him.

The oven beeped behind her and she struggled towards it with little Margaret still attached to her dress. Out of it, she pulled the fresh bread. Steam rose from it, filling the house with the smell of yeast. Her mouth began to water while she placed it on the counter and flipped it over to keep the bottom from growing moist.

A long time ago, Mark would have sliced it for her. It was one of the things she missed about having him around. It was always the little things. A jar out of reach, sliced bread, or a nail that needed to be driven into the wall for a picture - the small things that her husband had once taken care of. They brought him back to life for a short moment when she wondered where he had disappeared and then he died all over again when she recalled he was gone. She sighed and prepared the bread knife herself.

Margaret disappeared outside, finally getting the courage to leave her protector and Agatha felt relief. Hopefully, Jared would leave her alone this time.

Jared reappeared at the door where his sister had disappeared 20 minutes prior. His hand rested on the door frame and he was hunched over.

“Are you alright?” asked Agatha. She wondered if he had followed through with his master plan and been over by the tracks with his sister's doll.

“Gran, there’s a man out in the fields. He…He…he says he’s here to see you.”

“Oh? What about?”

“He won’t say.”

Agatha removed her apron and hung it up, leaving the bread forgotten on the counter. She looked in the mirror and fixed the few strands of grey hair out of place. Her looks had long since gone, but she still considered the importance of being presentable. If it was who she thought it was, then he had certainly moved fast.

She left the house, struggling down the stairs of the porch and out into the fields with Jared leading the way in front of her. He had the legs of a strong youth and ran at times, the dogs chasing behind him, barking excitedly. They took off further out into the fields, leaving her far behind.

Margaret appeared at her side, taking hold of her hand. It was so tiny in her own and the skin was ever so soft against her well-worn palms that only the farm life could provide.

Stalks of golden grass, passed by her, their long tips waving in the wind which swept through it, creating a pattern almost like waves in an ocean of gold. He stood there, haloed by the blue of the sky, staring out at the fields in front of her. Alfred. The man she had once loved, now old with thinning white hair and hunched over, using a cane to support him. Dressed in an old, patched suit of grey wool. She was almost certain if he turned that she would find spectacles upon his nose and crow's feet to match her own.

It had been a long time since they had seen each other. Years had passed and they had both grown old. They had written to each other since Mark had died and sought comfort in each other’s loneliness. Agatha approached him and memories flooded her mind - of Alfred visiting her when they were younger, before Mark. Of their time, secretly concealed beneath the long grass, hidden together and looking up at the stars. He had been handsome then.

Alfred turned.

Just as she suspected, he had grown old just as she had, and he had spectacles on. Beneath them, still lay the essence of the man she had once loved, somewhere deep inside his tired green eyes. Concealed within them was the mischief and adventure, hidden but she could still see it. She paused and wondered whether he truly intended to stay this time. He approached her and Agatha felt the nerves become butterflies in her stomach. What was she thinking? She was too old for this nonsense.

“Who is that, Gran?” asked Margaret, in awe.

Alfred knelt before her, using his cane to support him. He pulled out a small black box and opened it. “Agatha Richards, will you marry me?”

Agatha smiled, “Yes. Better late than never.”