Emily sat at her kitchen window wistfully looking out at her flower garden. She thought about the days when she was younger and would spend hours planting and weeding her little patch of ground. She took delight in drying the flowers for special table arrangements. Her husband would sit in his easy chair with a mug of coffee in one hand and either his Bible or the newspaper in the other – depending on which side of the cup of coffee he was.
“How’s my beautiful bride?” Edward would ask, looking tenderly at his wife, Elizabeth.
She would smile. “Fine, and how’s my handsome man?” She would give him a gentle kiss before heading back into the kitchen to start breakfast,. Life was good for Emily and Edward.
One snowy night deep in December, Emily and Edward started on their usual trip to Wednesday night church to help serve the weekly meal for whomever dropped by for a hot meal and a place to be warm for a bit. Emily watched with pride as Edward carried pitchers of water and a carafe of coffee to the several round tables scattered throughout the fellowship room. She checked over the flower arrangements on each table.
“These are your best dried flowers yet!” one helper said. “Your flowers bring such beauty to the tables!” another one would add. Emily smiled to herself.
They arrived home without incident, but then it happened. A huge explosion rocked their modest home. An enormous ball of fire rolled through the living room devouring everything in its path. Their Christmas tree instantly turned to a black heap of burned pine branches and melted ornaments.
The fire hit Emily first and then Edward. It was her screams that caused Edward to try to shield her from the inferno that engulfed their home. The fire raged with a deafening roar. Edward managed to get Emily out to the garage before collapsing beside her.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Neighbors ran out of their homes and stood in horror as the flames leaped through what was left of the roof. ”
There’s two people inside!” one neighbor shouted.
The firefighters fought their way through the front door, but even with their powerful hoses, the heat was too intense, and they had to retreat. They ran into the garage to gain entrance, and that’s when they discovered the couple, unconscious and sprawled on the garage floor. They scooped up Emily and Edward and carried them out into the cold, snowy night to the waiting ambulance.
Emily was severely burned and horribly disfigured. Edward was blind.
That was fifteen years ago.
Now, Emily goes into the kitchen to get Edward his mug of steaming hot coffee with one quick pour of his favorite French vanilla creamer. She sets the mug on the end table next Edward’s easy chair, and pulls up a footstool next to him. Taking his hands in hers, she places them around the coffee mug. He turns towards her. “How’s my beautiful bride?”
She touches her face softly feeling stiff ridges of scars and tight skin in between. “Fine, and how’s my handsome man?”
“Do you still love me – a seventy-five year old blind man?” He reached his hand out to touch her cheek.
She took his hand in hers. “I do,” she said giving him a gentle kiss.
I wish I could gaze at your beautiful face one more time before I die,” he said, wistfully. “I love you, Em. Love never fails, does it?”
“No, love never fails.” She smiled as much as her stiff cheeks allowed.