“Watch out for that…..”, came the cry as the reporter backed up farther and farther towards the green grass. “No one’s allowed to step on madam’s lawns and the grass”, said the stiff maid in the starched black dress to the reporter. Hordes of people stood along the long, winding road that led to Gordon House. All those who’d come to bow their heads for a last time to the great lady.
“Elizabeth Burke died in her sleep this morning. She was a woman of millions and for millions. She was unmarried and has died heirless and intestate. Speculation is rife about where the millions will be invested or whether they will be used to fund some of her favoured charities…..”, the reporter was saying.
People milled around, gawked at what was around them, most of them being first time visitors to the place. Everyone who was anyone was giving interviews to the press. In the midst of all this, no one noticed the gaunt old man standing on the grass in gardener’s clothes, holding a weathered brown hat in his hand. His oldness and dried, weather-beaten skin stuck out like a sore thumb on the vast expanse of green richness.
He stood there thinking, going back in time. In his mind’s eye, he only saw the young pretty girl whom he’d loved, whose hand he’d held as she became a woman, whom he’d stood by while she buried her family one by one, who grew into a magnificent, grand old woman who changed people’s lives, a woman who’d walked with him all the way on the grass they’d lovingly sown and made sure no one else tread on it, a woman who loved him and he her without doubt and question.
In all the confusion, no one noticed him as he walked up to her open casket, laid a single yellow flower on it and whispered softly in a voice only she and her angels could hear, “I won’t be long, Elizabeth, I won’t be long.”
“Elizabeth Burke died in her sleep this morning. She was a woman of millions and for millions. She was unmarried and has died heirless and intestate. Speculation is rife about where the millions will be invested or whether they will be used to fund some of her favoured charities…..”, the reporter was saying.
People milled around, gawked at what was around them, most of them being first time visitors to the place. Everyone who was anyone was giving interviews to the press. In the midst of all this, no one noticed the gaunt old man standing on the grass in gardener’s clothes, holding a weathered brown hat in his hand. His oldness and dried, weather-beaten skin stuck out like a sore thumb on the vast expanse of green richness.
He stood there thinking, going back in time. In his mind’s eye, he only saw the young pretty girl whom he’d loved, whose hand he’d held as she became a woman, whom he’d stood by while she buried her family one by one, who grew into a magnificent, grand old woman who changed people’s lives, a woman who’d walked with him all the way on the grass they’d lovingly sown and made sure no one else tread on it, a woman who loved him and he her without doubt and question.
In all the confusion, no one noticed him as he walked up to her open casket, laid a single yellow flower on it and whispered softly in a voice only she and her angels could hear, “I won’t be long, Elizabeth, I won’t be long.”
No comments:
Post a Comment