Wednesday, 7 September 2011

short story #2

The Home Coming

Jaqulline sat on the window seat looking out at the preparations for Harrison’s grand home coming party. The caters were putting the final touches on the outdoor tables and the decorators were placing the banners over the gate way. The guests would be arriving soon and she would need to go down to greet them with Mother and Father.
‘Harriette, fetch me my gloves’ she told her lady. As Hariette found her gloves Jacqueline stood in front of her full length mirror and looked over her gown once more, she wished Harrison could have helped her pick it out but she knew her would have loved it any way. Her hair had been piled up and set in a beautiful masterpiece atop her head. She fingered the locked Harrison had given her before she left, he had handed it to her saying he loved her and would she wait until he came home. She opened it and looked lovingly into the eyes of the man she had loved so dearly from the moment she had met him.

‘ma’am. Your gloves’ Hariette had returned and Jacqueline snapped out of her memories with a start, how she longed to see Harrison again, look deep into his eyes, feel the warmth of his lips on hers.
‘Come, Jacqui,’ Hariette prompted ‘let’s get these gloves on.’ She helped Jacqueline into her gloves and fixed the veil over her eyes. ‘Your mother and Father are waiting for you in the entrance way.’

Her parents greeted her in the front room and lead her to the door to greet the first of the first of the guests, Harrison’s Mother and Father. They took her into their arms and gave her the warmest of hugs. More guests had arrived and needed her attention; she turned from parents with a tear in her eye. Harrison’s home coming would be emotional to say the least. People had taken their seats and the trumpeter had begun to play. Jacqueline stood and looked down the path towards the procession that would bring Harrison back to her.

She was glad of the veil that Hariette had fixed over her face earlier as tears streamed down her face. Tears of joy and frustration mixed into a river of overwhelming sadness. She turned and ran toward her love as she heard a whisper behind her: ‘that trumpeter plays a very good funeral march, doesn’t he.’

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