The Warmth at the Heart of Winter
Oonah V Joslin © 2008
Madeline tidied a wisp of hair into her woolen hat and locked the door. It was windy outside and cold. The Perspex shelter didn't afford much. The draft blew in through the gap at the bottom and around her ankles and anyway the north-easterly was blowing more or less straight in. It was all you could do to perch on the edge of these little plastic swivel seats. She supposed they were designed like that to discourage tramps.
An elderly man shuffled into the shelter with his little terrier dog shaking and shivering either from old age or cold. Neither spoke. People didn't speak these days and there was nowhere for tramps to sleep. The world could be a cold unfriendly place. The dog came up to her and wagged its tail, so she bent to pat it. Madeline checked she had the exact change again. The bus company insisted now.
The houses opposite looked post-Christmas drab and the recent snowfall had turned to brown slush the gutters. Every passing car sliced through it with a swish of tires, throwing muck up over the curb and the little dog jumped back and yelped. The bus was late.
Getting off the bus, Madeline consulted her list. There wasn't much to do and she wouldn't be long. She headed straight for the flower stall on Market Square. It wasn't really a square and there wasn't really a market there but there was a flower stall and it was cheaper than the florist's. She picked up a bunch of sea thistle with spiky purple-grey heads and paid the man. “Are they for a friend?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Not for a Valentine, then?” He winked at her.
As she left the stall she saw the gentleman again – the one from the bus and the dog strained on his leash trying to get to her.
Madeline hurried down the main street past Woolworth and Superdrugs and the new Internet Café, ‘Clicks'. She noticed Brown's paper shop was closed and a notice in the window said, ‘Cancer Research Coming Soon'. The bread smell from the bakery reminded her that she needed to buy a small loaf on the way back and she found her pen and scribbled it onto the list. But first things first.
The Churchyard was tangled looking and dank. Snowy hummocks showed where the graves were and occasional gaping holes bore testimony to the transient truth of all things. Madeline stopped by the new gravestone and brushed the snow off with her hand and felt its coldness. Why was she doing this? He wasn't here. Last year he'd been here. He'd given her sea thistles – her favourites – for Valentines. He'd always said it was what lay at the heart of winter. Now it was winter in her heart. She fell on her knees and wept.
Suddenly she became aware of footsteps slushing through the snow behind her. She looked around. It was him - the gentleman with the dog. He was standing by a grave just behind. The dog, carrying a single red rose ran over and dropped it onto the snow at Madeline's feet. She picked it up and handed it to the man. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she sniffed, “Very kind.”
“Your husband?”
She nodded.
“My wife,” he said. “I gave her roses every Valentine's Day.”
“And you still do.” She was still holding the rose.
“Well, a red rose is like a warm spot at the heart of winter, isn't it?” he said. “Why don't you keep that one? I doubt it'll fit in the vase anyway and it was his to give.” He patted the dog. “Good boy.”
“Would you like to get a cup of tea or something?” she asked tidying that grey wisp back into her hat. “If you're going back on the bus, we'll have a while to wait and it's cold.”
“That would be very nice,” he said. “Come along, Cupid.”