THE LAST RAY
Everyone took notice of the head of the medical ward: men watched her with fascinated curiosity, while women couldnt hide their envy. Tall and dark-eyed, Margaret Brooks wore her white coat with effortless grace. She swept her hair into a neat chignon at the back, and her starched nurses cap gave her extra stature. Perhaps her shoes were expertly heeled or her step simply light; no matter, the soft sound of her approach never grated on ones nerves. Though she looked around forty-five, no one at St. Marys Hospital actually knew her age. Stern and unyielding, Margaret inspired a quiet apprehension among staff and patients alike.
The menpatients and colleaguesoften tried to flatter Margaret, inviting her to dinners or surprising her with chocolates and bouquets. But met with her steady, unsmiling gaze, they were instantly rooted to the spot and fell silent. Rumours chased after her like shadows. Some said she had suffered a shattered romance, her husband lost during military service or drowned at sea. Some whispered she had lost a child too No one knew what was fact and what was the invention of busybodies.
The only certainty was that she lived alone and kept everyone at a distance. She had no close friends among staff, but no one would call her cruel or spiteful. Margarets heart, however, had not always been locked away. In her youth, she had fallen helplessly in love with a handsome fellow student named Andrew Brooks. She could hardly breathe without him, but Andrew, popular with women, found her unwavering devotion overwhelming. In the end, he left her for someone else.
Since then, Margaret had let no one into her inner life. Perhaps she still treasured feelings for Andrew, or perhaps she simply feared another betrayal.
She paused by the nurses station.
Claire, could you give me Tolstoys chart from bed five? I want to get his discharge papers in order for tomorrow. Tucking the chart against her chest, Margaret returned to her office.
Well, hes recovered. Now its all down to his determination and his bodys strength how fast hell meet us again, she thought while typing out a routine discharge summary: tests done, treatment prescribed, the usual lab reports
There were just thirty minutes left of her shift. She left her office, locked the door, and hesitated. At the far end of the hallway, a woman stood by the window, her voice low as she spoke into her mobile, back turned.
No, hes not dead. Far from it. Dont be cross. I told him well, it is what it is Honestly, do you think he hadnt guessed? Well talk tonight, the woman finished, slipped her phone into her pocket, and hurried toward the stairs, never glancing round.
Margaret entered room five. Normally, finding so many empty beds would warrant a comment about the dangers of sneaking outside to smoke, but she noticed the tense frame of a man staring out the window and kept quiet.
Mr. Thomas, tomorrow she began, but when he turned, his face drawn and pained, she faltered.
Whats wrong? Margaret sat on the edge of his bed, careful not to loom over him. Are you unwell? Is something hurting?
Could you not discharge me yet? He struggled, speaking in broken sentences. I Ive got nowhere to go
His place is gone. His wife brought someone else to the house, offered an elderly man from the corner bed. Her words, not mine: Thats it, I belong to another now, and Ill be true to him all my days. And she kicked poor Tom right out.
Is that true? Margaret asked quietly.
So that was whom the woman by the window spoke of, she suddenly understood. She hoped for her husbands death, but as he survived, announced his spot was filled.
John Thomas, a large man in his early fifties, hair cropped short and greying, lay with his back to the window, sadness written in the set of his jaw.
Margaret glanced outside. Late April was drawing to a close. Down in the hospital park, the bare trees bristled with bulging buds, about to burst into green. Yet under the cold, ashen sky, snow threatened to fall even now. The sun hadnt made an appearance all day.
Nowhere at all? Margarets voice softened. Any friends? Children?
Theyve got their own families. A day, maybe two, but after that? At my age, I cant bear to go borrowing sofas. I knew she was seeing someone elsehoped shed come to her senses
A few extra days wont save you, Mr. Thomas, and we need those beds freed up. Margaret paused. You know what? I have a cottage in the countryside, about fifty miles from town. The roads in good nick, house is solidthough itll take some work to fix it up. Its been empty a while. Tomorrow morning Ill bring the keys and explain how to get there. Before he could refuse, she stood up and left the room with brisk certainty.
Well, would you believe it! the corner-room neighbour chimed. She might act strict, but Margaret Brooks is the soul of kindness. Dont you dare say no, John. That wife of yours doesnt deserve you.
By mid-May, the wild cherry was already past bloom, and the chill and wind had given way to warm, golden days. On Sunday morning, Margaret took her Honda and drove out to check on her former patient.
She was surprised and pleased by the transformation of her cottage. The window frames glittered bright blue in the sunshine, the roof had been patched, and a new step gleamed white at the porch. She pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. Barefoot, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, John Thomas appeared on the porch. There was almost no trace left of the pale, defeated man shed met in hospitalhis shoulders straight, face bronzed, forearms newly muscular. He looked well-rested and content.
Hello, I thought Id pop by and see how youre getting on. The neighbours treating you well? She leaned against her cars door.
Nothing to worry about, John replied, still a little taken aback. Just a few old girls from the village are delighted someone news arrived. The weekenders keep to themselves.
The country air seems to suit you. Any luck with work? Margaret didnt move from the car, and he hesitated to invite her in.
My old job He waved his hand. After I left the Army, I discovered I was only really skilled at giving orders on parade. I worked as a night guard for a while. Nothing to regret. My pension keeps the wolf from the door.
Well, show me how youve settled in, she said at last, closing her car door and making her way to the porch.
John swatted his forehead in embarrassment. Sorry, caught me by surprise, he said, then held the door for her inside.
Margaret paused at the sitting room threshold. Handwoven rugs lay on the spotless floor, their patterns shimmering in the shifting sunlight coming through delicate curtains. Two clay pots with geraniums sat on the window sills. The old wall clock ticked comfortingly in the background.
Valerieshe lives at the end of the lanegave me those, John said, gesturing at the geraniums. Makes it feel more homely, doesnt it?
Whats that lovely smell? Margaret turned toward him.
Ive made cabbage stew and boiled potatoes. Would you like some? He bustled about, for the first time catching the ghost of a smile on Margarets face. Didnt take to cooking straight away. Never lived in a village till now. The old dears next door helped me learn, though I either undercooked everything or burnt it for a start
Margaret was wrapped in the homes gentle atmosphere, pulling her back to childhood memories of her grandmother. She hadnt set foot here since her mother diedand couldnt bear the thought of selling the place, along with all its memories. The house had belonged to her grandparents, and after their time, her mother spent the summers here, returning to the city each winter. Now there was no one left.
She remembered piling the car high with jars of pickled cucumbers, jams, and mushrooms, heading back to town at summers end, and eating them all winter longthinking of her mother all the while. How long ago it all felt.
How long can I John interrupted Margarets reverie. How long can I stay? Please, just say if its too much trouble.
Stay as long as you like. I havent been out here in nearly ten years. I didnt have the heart. Ill visit now and then, if you dont mind. It feels just as warm and cosy as when my mum was here. I never had the knack for country life myself, nor the will to try. Margaret dropped her gaze; John kindly said nothing.
I brought you some groceriesnearly forgot! Margaret dashed back to the car.
John exhaled deeply. For the first time, he saw her without the white coat and stiff cap. Dressed in a light summer dress, she seemed much younger; her hair had begun falling loose from its usual chignon, and she felt closer, more approachable. He glanced down at his scarred hands, marked with the learning curve of rural work, and for the first time was acutely aware of his age.
Margaret left as dusk approached, her perfume lingering in the air of the old cottage. Everything John touched seemed to carry a hint of her scentunsettling, and yet awakening something in his heart hed thought long gone. Oddly, he was almost grateful to his former wife for forcing change on him. He passed a restive, sleepless night, driving her memory away and away, but it always returned.
Margaret returned two months later, bringing food and a new fishing rod. John, proud of his work, told her how hed repaired the old fence. Even women from the neighbouring hamlet came to ask for his help around their houses, rewarding him with eggs, butter, and milk.
The once-forgotten house was flourishing, boasting its painted windows and solid walls: Look at me nowI have an owner. I am second to none.
In winter Ill treat you to pickles of my own making, John joked, and Margaret couldnt help noticing how much fitter and trimmer he had become. She blushed at his warm gaze and struggled to meet his eyes.
The sun was sinking behind the forest, bathing everything in a final orange glow.
Hold on a minute John said, dashing outside.
Margaret wandered through the cottages rooms. Now she found little traces of someone elses life there. Wondering why John was lagging, she stepped out and found him, sitting on the ground, leaning against the fence.
John! she rushed over and knelt at his side.
She checked his fluttering pulse, dashed to the car for her first-aid kit, then doubled back for a glass of water. Her light dress flared around her legs as she hurriedshe wished she could administer an injection, but settled for helping him swallow a pill. Within fifteen minutes, John staggered to his feet with her help and made it to the bed.
Too much sun, thats all, he apologised, sheepishly. I wanted to get some pickles ready for your journey homecould youstay? he asked at last in a softer voice.
Margaret stood, caught by uncertainty. John pressed his face to her stomach and groaned.
Happiness is a strange thing. You wait, call to it, search and wonder if it has lost its way, or taken a wrong turning. You get used to living alone, cautious of betrayal and wary of further loss. Then, one day, your path unexpectedly crosses anothers, and together, you walk on.
And love? It too changes with time. Youthful passion is powerful, almost feverish, longing for exclusivity. Maturity brings a love that is gentler, steady and warmlike the days very last ray of sun.
Because, in the end, no stormnor any winterlasts forever. Even after the darkest night, the light can return, seeping quietly through our lives, if only we open a door wide, or a heart, and let it in.
