I opened the door to persistent knocking, unable to believe that anyone in the town hadn’t heard about the cancellation of the festivities to benefit the orphanage. There was a heavy thunderstorm, the wind snorted outside, rattling my windowpanes. It seemed as if the old house was making me aware of its displeasure at being used in such a common way?
He was dripping wet, wearing the ubiquitous tan raincoat of the men of the village, and seemed oblivious to the expensive tapestry splayed across my wooden floors. Under the circumstances, I couldn’t be upset, for I had chosen to hold the fete in the midst of such grandeur, desperate for company of any kind.
As he entered and saw that he was the only guest, he apologized, but he was unaware of the cancellation. As the lights started blinking off and on, like they couldn’t make up their minds what to do, I was thankful for his presence. I was not a bit afraid of being alone with the dishy, self-described bachelor-for-life vicar.
Eventually, the lights decided to simply go out. He and I lit candles and sat by the roaring fire. We drank mulled wine and ate our fill of the cookies and pies meant to be sold at the fete, as we discussed the unexpected topic of the duties associated with being a vicar’s wife. I was surprised that I was interested, having chosen spinsterhood, rather than the loss of freedom that I believed attended marriage.
By the end of the night, both of our resolves to stay single were rocked, for we both had noted how pleasant it was to have someone with whom to weather the literal and figurative storms of life. It was quite a copacetic experience.
Fictional story written for Three Things Challenge #36: oblivious, circumstances, tapestry. Also for the Saturday Mix, Unique Personality, from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. The prompt is in bold print.