A Gift For The Giving - A Very, Very Short Romance

 

 

 

 

A GIFT FOR THE GIVING

A Very, Very Short Romance

BY JEAN DANIEL

 


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

A Gift For The Giving

A Very, Very Short Romance

Jean Daniel

Copyright 2026

All Rights Reserved.
 
A GIFT FOR THE GIVING
1956 –

It was a typical Saturday on the Monroe farm. Selma Monroe was taking down the wash, clothespin by clothespin, breathing in the fresh spring air; it reminded her of the cool mint ice cream her mama used to make on family picnics. It was a day like all the rest, chores to be done, a set routine, shifting slightly with each season. She was used to it, thought nothing of her situation: it was her chosen life, no regrets, few sorrows. It was a good life, in the country.

Frank Monroe, her husband of twenty five years, was up in the fields, would normally be plowing with the tractor, but the breeze carried no whirr of an engine, just the occasional twitter of a passing bird, or the squeal of a child, as their full brood played tag in the front yard.

Selma took in the wash and folded it. Then she returned to the grassy plain and tried to peer over a nearby hill towards the rich pasture beyond in hopes of spotting Frank. No luck. She climbed the hill, and there he was, in the distance, down on all fours, making a valiant effort to get that old tractor moving just one more time. Somehow, he always did, even if he had to piece it together with junkyard finds and elbow grease, with a lot of sweat in between.

He worked so hard, without complaining, and never imagined another way of living. This was his chosen life: no regrets, few sorrows. It was a good life, though, maybe, an unappreciated one. Had she ever thanked him for his faithfulness, his honesty, and his caring, giving heart? Or was her calm, silent return of those qualities enough?

Selma had a little bit of savings, made from sewing and mending she had done for her new, younger neighbors. She'd meant to keep it safely put away, as a guard against unexpected hardship, but … well, they'd always managed somehow. It wouldn't hurt to use it, just this once.

"Mary Beth!" she called out to her eldest.

"Yes, Mama?"

"Come in here, would you?"

The girl entered the bright white kitchen, noticed her mother's savings, spread out upon the red vinyl cloth on the table.

"What's up, Mama? Isn't that your ‘keeping money’?"

"It was, but, Mary Beth … now don't think I've lost my mind … but I want you to take half of it, and get me these things at the grocery … then, when that's done, I want you to pile the youngin's in the station wagon, and take them to the movies. There's enough here to buy each of you a soda, and a hamburger, maybe even some popcorn … but mind you don't stay for the second feature. I don't trust the safety of that place after a certain hour."

"What is all of this, Mama? It's been months since we saw a show, and this grocery list: steaks, asparagus, is awfully fancy. What's the occasion?"

"It's just, oh, a gift … for the giving. Run along now. Your daddy'll be in for his supper in a few hours."

Mary Beth did as she was told, shaking her red curls in amazement as she left.

Once the kids were gone, and dinner near done, Selma had time to get ready. She washed up with a rose-scented soap, put on a blue gingham house dress with a pleated skirt that she had sewn herself, and slipped on a pair of blue, bow-tied pumps her ritzy Aunt Lillian had given her for her birthday. She styled her auburn hair up into a French twist and dared to dab her lips with a subtle pink shade of lipstick that Mary Beth had brought home from the drugstore. Those few rare moments of being alone gave her time to collect her doubts.

"Will Frank think I've gone insane?" she wondered as she peered out the bedroom window, watching for his usual return.

Frank was walking slowly down from the tractor barn, a tall, muscular silhouette framed by the cherry red sunset. Selma heard the creak of the back door as he entered, and she hurried in, greeting him with a smile.

"Well, what's this, Selma?" he asked, glancing at the table, now dressed in white lace, lit candlesticks, and Selma's precious, inherited blue and white china. Then he looked at her, REALLY looked at her for the first time in ages.

"Am I foolish, Frank?" she sighed, ready to cry if he acknowledged her fears. But she could see nothing in his soft blue eyes but a glowing appreciation, and a hint of desire.

"No, Honey. This is really nice. You know, I caught sight of you today, hanging out the wash, and I thought of all you do for me, and the kids, and I wished I could do something to show, you know, that I still care … and I saw this bunch of wildflowers growing out by the cattle gap, and, well, here they are."

He handed them to her, a gift for the giving. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her so deeply that she thought she’d faint. And Selma cried, not from feeling foolish, but from the joy of knowing that even after twenty five years, they still shared a single heart.


THE END