convinced herself that she loved him, but in the past few days she’d realized she never had.
The funeral had been a blur, but thankfully, her women friends had taken care of everything. After the service at First Lutheran, they’d brought food over to the house and encouraged her to eat, amazed that such a skinny little lady could pack away so much fried chicken. Cora had tried to work up some genuine tears for the graveside service, but all she really felt was regret. Regret at a life spent with a man she didn’t even like. Secretly, she’d dreamed for years of a long widowhood. She would lie in bed at night listening to Kirby snore, and pray that he would go to his reward before she did. Even a year’s peace and quiet would seem heaven-sent.
It was hard to talk about Kirby now without people getting suspicious. Everyone expected Cora to be in mourning, to cry and moan about how much she missed him. The truth was, she hardly knew he was gone. He had never really talked all that much. Oh, he did the grocery shopping and fixed little things around the house when they needed it, but he’d never been much company. That’s what Cora’s cat, Winthrop, was for. She doted on him, which made Kirby mad. Winthrop was a little Russian blue, with a sweet disposition and an even sweeter face. Most of the time, Kirby was either out in the garage working on one of his projects or sitting in front of the TV with a beer in his hand. Cora thought Kirby was a cold-blooded reptile. Now that she could see again, being on her own was nothing short of bliss.
Cora had met Kirby when she was seventeen. Her mother had been dead for many years by then. Cora had lived with her father and four younger siblings on a farm in southern Minnesota. For all practical purposes, she was a mother to her brothers and sisters, and a servant to her father. When the Lutheran church in town got knocked flat by a tornado, several young men came down from the Cities to help rebuild it. The pastor had asked Cora’s father if he had a spare room where one of the young men could stay. Kirby moved in the following weekend.
It wasn’t exactly love at first sight, though Cora was definitely attracted to him. Kirby was young and strong, and back then, she figured his silence meant that he was deep. It took her many years to discover that she’d mistaken dull for deep, but by then they were married and living in Rose Hill. Fact was, when she was seventeen, she was sick to death of being her father’s indentured slave, and Kirby offered a way out. Only problem was, she realized too late that she’d simply given up one form of slavery for another. At least with her dad, she didn’t have to sleep with him. Cora suspected that Kirby wasn’t very good in the lovemaking department. They’d never had kids. Cora wanted to find out what the problem was, but Kirby refused to go to a doctor. So, they remained childless, a source of great sadness for her.
When it came to life in general, Cora’s expectations had never been high. Maybe that had been her problem all along.
It still bothered her that Kirby had talked about divorce before he died. The nerve of a man like him wanting to divorce a woman like her. If anyone was going to demand a divorce, she should have done it. When it came to marriage, she always felt that men got the better end of the deal. All she knew was that she would never tell a living soul what he’d said. What would her women friends think? Cora assumed the old goat had a roll in the hay every now and then with that awful Mabel Bjornstaad. Mabel was the town whore. Then again, it was fine with Cora, especially if it kept him away from her. But divorce?
Cora was four years younger than Kirby. A spring chicken by some standards. Sure, she had hearing problems, and the cataracts, but she could still enjoy life. She walked a mile or two every day. Loved to garden. Maybe, down deep in her soul, she did understand what Kirby was talking about the day
The funeral had been a blur, but thankfully, her women friends had taken care of everything. After the service at First Lutheran, they’d brought food over to the house and encouraged her to eat, amazed that such a skinny little lady could pack away so much fried chicken. Cora had tried to work up some genuine tears for the graveside service, but all she really felt was regret. Regret at a life spent with a man she didn’t even like. Secretly, she’d dreamed for years of a long widowhood. She would lie in bed at night listening to Kirby snore, and pray that he would go to his reward before she did. Even a year’s peace and quiet would seem heaven-sent.
It was hard to talk about Kirby now without people getting suspicious. Everyone expected Cora to be in mourning, to cry and moan about how much she missed him. The truth was, she hardly knew he was gone. He had never really talked all that much. Oh, he did the grocery shopping and fixed little things around the house when they needed it, but he’d never been much company. That’s what Cora’s cat, Winthrop, was for. She doted on him, which made Kirby mad. Winthrop was a little Russian blue, with a sweet disposition and an even sweeter face. Most of the time, Kirby was either out in the garage working on one of his projects or sitting in front of the TV with a beer in his hand. Cora thought Kirby was a cold-blooded reptile. Now that she could see again, being on her own was nothing short of bliss.
Cora had met Kirby when she was seventeen. Her mother had been dead for many years by then. Cora had lived with her father and four younger siblings on a farm in southern Minnesota. For all practical purposes, she was a mother to her brothers and sisters, and a servant to her father. When the Lutheran church in town got knocked flat by a tornado, several young men came down from the Cities to help rebuild it. The pastor had asked Cora’s father if he had a spare room where one of the young men could stay. Kirby moved in the following weekend.
It wasn’t exactly love at first sight, though Cora was definitely attracted to him. Kirby was young and strong, and back then, she figured his silence meant that he was deep. It took her many years to discover that she’d mistaken dull for deep, but by then they were married and living in Rose Hill. Fact was, when she was seventeen, she was sick to death of being her father’s indentured slave, and Kirby offered a way out. Only problem was, she realized too late that she’d simply given up one form of slavery for another. At least with her dad, she didn’t have to sleep with him. Cora suspected that Kirby wasn’t very good in the lovemaking department. They’d never had kids. Cora wanted to find out what the problem was, but Kirby refused to go to a doctor. So, they remained childless, a source of great sadness for her.
When it came to life in general, Cora’s expectations had never been high. Maybe that had been her problem all along.
It still bothered her that Kirby had talked about divorce before he died. The nerve of a man like him wanting to divorce a woman like her. If anyone was going to demand a divorce, she should have done it. When it came to marriage, she always felt that men got the better end of the deal. All she knew was that she would never tell a living soul what he’d said. What would her women friends think? Cora assumed the old goat had a roll in the hay every now and then with that awful Mabel Bjornstaad. Mabel was the town whore. Then again, it was fine with Cora, especially if it kept him away from her. But divorce?
Cora was four years younger than Kirby. A spring chicken by some standards. Sure, she had hearing problems, and the cataracts, but she could still enjoy life. She walked a mile or two every day. Loved to garden. Maybe, down deep in her soul, she did understand what Kirby was talking about the day
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