Lavanda

She waited for him, every day. She would wake up in the morning to the whistle of the train arriving at the station. Shading her eyes from the sun with her hand she would face herself at the window watching the steam go up high. She would question herself whether her husband got off the platform or hadn’t came back yet.

She would take care of the house and rest on a chair in the kitchen. She would freshen herself during the summer heat with a fan her husband gave her before leaving.

“When I come back, we will marry”, he told her when he first departed.

Cannons where thundering up north, as voices said, the nation needed obedience. Nobody knew how long the men would have been far away and she wasn’t receiving any news. Utter silence.

That morning, sighing, she went by the purple field. She grew lavender which she used to make herbs, teas and flowers she’d sell in town. He told her that flower perfumed of love and she gave him one to keep.

A shadow reached her, she looked up: it was him.

No words were spoken, scared as it was just a dream, they both approached each other and hugged, they kissed.

He was still holding that very first flower: dry, but still scented. He kneeled on the lavender field: the flowers where waving at the wind, bees were buzzing freely.

He gave her an amethyst ring, with a core of jade.

And she said yes.