Late in the evening, Godwin comes into the room, moves closer to me, and I almost tell him how I feel about what he’s just said, of his remark that there’s a chip in Aggie’s headstone, but instead, I just stay bent over the bed, smoothing the toile beneath my hands until he’s behind me, and I feel a swell, then a kiss on the scar at the nape of my neck. And when he and the quiet settle into me, I smell the hog grain and the sawdust far above his desire to satisfy me, and somehow, it all remains absolutely unfamiliar. At the end, while his hips are still flooded with pleasure, he smooths the wrinkled fabric of my dress down around me, and I tell him where to find his leather satchel and that I’ll have johnnycakes for him in the morning before he leaves, but no fresh flowers for the table. There’s only wolfsbane in the garden.
We eat before dawn, praying the hail storm moves through before the sun wakes and warms the ground. Aggie’s old percolator murmurs at us from the counter. I have been unable to debride this hollow place, this wound of a house, of Aggie, Godwin’s first wife. She’s buried opposite the house, on high ground just beyond a pasture of old, dense sward. The dark bloom of her headstone covers the corners of my rooms and absorbs the light. When it rains, I am certain bits and pieces of her ride the rivulets down the hill and seep between the clapboards. I once believed that the overly-revered eventually lose their vitality, but it isn’t true. Aggie’s voice swirls in the brew of Godwin’s coffee, her hand guides his own across the wrinkles in my dress.
“I’m off now,” he says, as he moves toward the door. Godwin is leaving to buy a cosset lamb and will be back by nightfall tomorrow. “No need to come out. Colder than it should be out there.”
I go to him anyway and place a brown paper sack in his hands before he’s able to shut the screen door behind him. I tell him that I’ve wrapped his sandwich in wax paper and that there’s pound cake too. A strand of frigid air finds its way between us and lifts the smell of rose milk from my skin. Godwin starts to speak, but then lowers his head against the scent of me, as the wind has already gone.
“What?” I say.
But he waves me off and pushes the little sack deep into his satchel and strides across the porch and into the front yard. About midway to the truck, Godwin, with his back still to me, pauses for the smallest of moments, presses his gloved fingers to his lips and blows a kiss. I wouldn’t have been able to make it out, had the swing of his hand been less dramatic. And as I fall into a smile for this kiss blown to me, he tips his hat, a gesture only done in the direction of the intended. Far up the hill, on higher ground, Aggie nods in return. It is their ritual, just now known to me: A kiss and a nod.
Many hours after Godwin’s departure, I pack, then eat supper. I leave two bottles for feeding the lamb and a note to keep her away from the garden.The wolfsbane would kill her. I will leave, though my husband will forever remain, so that one day he can be buried next to his wife, Aggie, their bodies making the soil where the ewes graze, all the richer.
The porch rail has dried and cracked and leaves a splinter in my hand. It’s all I’ll carry with me from here. I don’t know why it was so cold this morning, but I’m off to another dream, as this one has failed to thrive, and I will always build my home opposite the sun.
So gorgeous!
I appreciate you taking the time to read “Fogbow,” Kyoko. Many thanks!
Your lovely story was a perfect start for my day. Thank you for sharing. This story will linger with me a long time.
Thank you so much, Sue. And thank you for reading!
Beautiful and elegant prose that conveys the aching resignation of its unnamed protagonist. You sense that her pain is familiar to her, yet she maintains the will and hope to try once again. A delightful read.
Hosojiro, Thank you for your thoughtful comment. Much appreciated!
You had me at hog grain and sawdust, but the rich, completely unobtrusive nods to a simpler, rural world painted a poignant, engaging narrative. You managed to end it with the perfect last line. Incredible job!
Kristi, sometimes hog grain and sawdust is enough! Lol. Thank you so much for reading “Fogbow,” and for your very thoughtful comment.
A brilliant piece of writing—so much honesty and emotion revealed in a few, well-chosen words.
Thank you, Ginger. That is so kind of you. And thank you for taking the time to read “Fogbow.”
Wonderful, beautiful writing. Well done!
Thank you for reading, and taking the time to comment, Vishal! Much appreciated!
Wonderful, I immediately found myself there. Thank you Fana. Max
Thank you so much for reading! It means the world!
This is stunning. Perfectly crafted and paced. I love this author’s work and have only one selfish complaint – I’m forever wanting more of the characters she creates.
Gina, thank you! I’m so happy you love the characters as much as I do.
An absolute joy to read this again, Dana! What a stunning piece.
Many thanks, Laura.
Very skillfully written story. So much told by actions rather than words. Well done. I really enjoyed this well-crafted story.
Hi Norah, I’m so glad you enjoyed “Fogbow.” I hope it stays with you at least for a little while. ☺️
Such an evocative story of the old and the new. I did thoroughly enjoy it and the characters snuck in under the story and hung about forever.
Hi Karen,
Thank you for reading “Fogbow.” It means so much to me that you enjoyed the story.
such an evocative snapshot of a complicated but emotionally rich relationship. captivating stuff~
Thank you for reading. I’m so glad you enjoyed it.
An absolute stunning read. Lulled into the story by the author’s masterfully chosen words and imagery, I felt transported into the story itself. Well done.
Many thanks, Julie! I’m so glad you were transported.
Gorgeous language. So intriguing! I loved this.
Thank you so much for reading “Fogbow,” Lanette. I’m glad it resonated with you. I love to hear that.
This is an elegant, well-crafted story and your details tell everything. Moving work.
Karen, thank you for reading”Fogbow” and for taking the time to leave a comment. It means a lot.
What gorgeous writing. Such poetic prose. Your imagery was lyrical and vivid. I thoroughly enjoyed this piece!
Thank you, Patricia!
Beautiful story. I felt like I stepped into another time
Jack, Thank you so much for reading! I’m glad it transported you.
Proves that the rules made are meant to be broken. And great that the sentences which could be run-on but AREN’T can link and be beautiful and have a cadence that carries through. And that that style is carried through. Not flash in the pan. Less is more. The intimation of the disconnect is so much stronger than vividly describing it. We know who both of these people are, and we understand the gulf between them which will never be bridged.
Pierce, What a thoughtful reply. Thank you for the close read, and for your comment.