Short Story

What do you know! This is from about a year ago, when my brothers and a friend suggested we do our own little contest of who could write the best love story. Some people hate this one, some people love it.
But, hey, can you really judge something that was written in an hour?



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Charlie McEvan watched the rain pound the windows, and tried to keep his mind on the road. He just couldn’t understand the weather. In all the twenty-six years of his life he had never seen so much rain, and especially not on Christmas Eve. There should have been knee-deep snow covering the fields by now, and a snowman or snow fort where that muddy puddle now stood. But, it didn’t matter. If the hen laid brown eggs, you didn’t throw them away.
He breathed in relief to sight the big red barn. Home at last.
He parked the truck slowly, careful to not smash the new fences he had just put up. He took one last look out the windshield, and then opened the car door. Covering his head with his coat, he dashed out into the pouring rain. The rain poured freely onto his coat, trying in vain to wash away the eagerness he held to get inside. When he got to the porch, he wiped his muddy shoes on the carpet—Jonny had been very insistent about that—and opened the door.
As soon as he entered the house, he expected to be hit by a sudden shock of warmth, but found it strangely cold inside. He removed his wraps hastily, and ventured deeper inside the house. Then, he saw her.
A short, slender woman sat in an old wooden chair, her hands cupping tightly a homely red mug that he felt would soon break for the tightness with which she held it. She wore a thin dark green shirt that had sleeves that stretched a mile past her hands, and a long white apron that was partially covered by the thick green shawl that was draped loosely about her arms.
Her small face was framed by two strands of dark brown hair that had escaped the bun gathered at the back of her head and fallen across her abnormally high cheekbones. Her dimpled chin was fallen low, and her tall nose seemed almost protruding compared to the smallness of her face. She possessed large light brown eyes that he had seen so joyful and full of life so many times, yet now were filled with sadness as she stared at the rain outside.
Charlie gazed at the woman tenderly, and then let his lips curl into a smile.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Jonny.”
Startled by the sudden intrusion, Jonny spun around, and then her pensive frown heated into a small smile.
“Merry Christmas Eve, my husband.” She answered, and put her mug down as he took a seat beside her.
Charlie grinned at his wife, and patted his knee. “Come, Jonny.”
Obediently, Jonny rose from her chair and settled on his lap; the smallest of smiles painted her face, but he could see the inevitable sadness evident in her eyes. He felt the coldness of her small, slender hands, and wondered why she did not dress warmer.
“Aren’t you cold?” He asked concernedly, and thought it strange when she gave a small jump.
“Oh!” She exclaimed, and gathered the shawl about her. “Oh… I didn’t notice.”
Charlie looked at her pensively, trying to figure out why she was so jumpy.
“What’s wrong?” He inquired quietly as her eyes wandered back to the window.
“Wrong?” Jonny jumped again. “Oh, there’s… there’s nothing wrong, Charlie. Just a little tired.” Still, her eyes wandered back to the window.
Charlie saw the smile fade from her lips, and felt his own smile fade away. “Really, Jonny. What’s wrong?”
Jonny finally tore her eyes away from the window, and stared into Charlie’s. Seeing he was waiting for her, she gave a little sigh.
“It’s just this rain.” She confessed, clutching the shawl tighter. “It’s going to be our first Christmas together, Charlie. I wanted it to be perfect; but it’s raining, Charlie… raining! On Christmas Eve!”
Charlie’s expression reflected her troubled one, and he shifted a little in his seat.
“Jonny…” He tried to make his voice reassuring. “It doesn’t matter if it’s raining or if it’s snowing. We’re going to make this Christmas one to remember, you and I, so don’t you forget it. Besides, it’s not Christmas yet; we have six hours yet. So, why don’t you go set the table while I go wash up, and, maybe, when we wake up tomorrow morning, we’ll have snow.”
It was such a simple suggestion, such a simple little talk, but that was the way Jonny liked it. No big speeches, no large words, just simple and to the point.
Jonny sighed, and put on a brave smile.
“Alright.” She slid off his lap, and straightened her apron. Charlie rose in turn, and was about to go wash when Jonny let out a sudden exclamation.
“I forgot to feed Della!” She exclaimed, a horrified expression painted on her face.
Charlie laughed. “The horse can wait, Jonny.”
“Oh, no, Charlie!” Jonny protested. “I can’t… what will Della think?”
Charlie nearly rolled his eyes, remembering the fondness Jonny had for horses.
“Alright.” He resigned. “But be quick.”
Jonny laughed at that, and donned her coat. Then, she went to face the rain.
Charlie shook his head at the retreating figure, and then left to wash.

Joan rushed into the barn, shutting the doors behind her. She couldn’t believe she had forgotten about Della!
Her buckskin mare saw her enter, and neighed softly as Jonny approached. Jonny reached out a hand to stroke Della’s long nose, and whispered softly:
“Now, don’t you fret, Della. I won’t let mean old Charlie starve you; Jonny will always take care of you.” She patted the mare once more before grabbing the pitchfork lying against the ladder leading upstairs, and climbed into the hayloft.
She could still hear the rain outside, but she tried to ignore it. She had to be happy for Charlie. Christmas had always meant so much to him, and she didn’t want to ruin it for him.
She stabbed the pitchfork into a pile of hay, and then flung the yellow straws down the stairway. She wondered if Charlie would like the new hat she had gotten him for Christmas. It really was lovely, and she thought it would suit him well. His old hat was getting old, and he couldn’t go around without one.
Another stab, and then she readied to fling it downstairs. For a moment—just a moment—she thought that she had felt a slight…push against the pitchfork, but brushed it off. This would be the last load, and then she could give it to Della and be off. Charlie was waiting for her, and he had never been a patient man.
The hay flew down the stairway, but when she looked ahead of her and saw what lay upon the hay, the pitchfork went clattering down the stairway, too.
She felt a sudden catch appear in her throat, and her body gave a violent, involuntary jerk. She needed to move—God, she wanted to run!—but she couldn’t. Her boots were glued to the hayloft, and she was trapped.
Suddenly, she felt an excruciating pain shoot up her leg, and then everything started to get hazy. The last thing she saw before drifting off was the blurry picture of the copperhead’s glazed bronze eyes, and then:
Darkness…

Charlie scrubbed his head with the towel, waiting. What was taking Jonny so long? He had set the table for her, for Heaven’s sake! He knew she had a tendency to lose track of time whenever she was around horses, but she knew he was waiting, and wouldn’t normally take so long.
Grumbling, he threw back on his coat and headed outside. The rain greeted him with a rude shower of wet raindrops, and did not cease it’s pelting until he reached the barn.
He opened the doors wearily, wishing Jonny would remember him once in a while instead of paying so much attention to that horse.
When he entered, his eyes widened momentarily in shock at the piles of hay strewn across the bottom of the stairway. What was Jonny doing?
“Jonny?” He called, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. “Joan?”
She didn’t appear.
He rolled his eyes, suddenly realizing that she was probably hiding. He sometimes wished she could be a little less childish at times, but, then again, that was one of the things he liked about her. But, this was not the time/
“Jonny? Come on… not now. Let’s eat.”
No answer.
She must have been in an extreme hurry to hide, for she had not even filled Della’s manger yet. He chuckled to himself, and began to ascend the ladder that led to the hayloft. She would probably try to jump him; ever since they had been children, she had never been good at hide-and-seek. She had always preferred surprising the unfortunate seeker to winning the game.
He stepped onto the sturdy surface as the smell of hay filled his nostrils.
“Jo—”
Her name died on his lips.
There lay Jonny, sprawled on the floor of the hayloft, her face pale and her lips turning blue from the cold. Her face was frozen in an expression of stark terror, but her eyelids hid the horror that he was sure lay in her eyes.
His mind was a whirlwind of terrified thoughts.
“Jonny!”
He rushed to her, and bent near, straining to hear a word, a sound…anything! His ears barely picked up the near inaudible sound of her weak, shallow breathing, and he breathed in relief. She was alive.
Relief lasted only a moment, however, and he realized the urgency of the situation.
Wasting no time, he scooped her up in his arms, and sped as fast as he could without dropping her to the pickup.
He laid her gently down in the passenger seat, and clambered behind the wheel. He had to hurry.
God, let it not be too late! He prayed desperately, and started the car.

Her eyes lifted open slowly, and it took a moment to see shapes in the pale colors that surrounded her. White. White everywhere. What had happened?
Then, she remembered the hayloft, and the copperhead. Was she alright?
She shifted uncomfortably. The bed she was lying on was hard; where was she?
Then she realized something as she gazed around. This was a hospital room. She was in a hospital bed. Somehow, she had gotten to a hospital.
Where was Charlie?
Little beeping noises were sounding quietly, but it wasn’t the beeps that made her head turn.
Charlie’s voice was almost distant, but she could hear it. He sounded worried. He was talking to someone. Who was Charlie talking to?
“…not good.” She heard the other voice say. She couldn’t see anyone. Where were the voices coming from?
“Will she be alright, doctor?”
She. They were talking about her. Charlie was asking if she was going to be alright. Would she be? She kept quiet, trying to hear.
The other voice hesitated.
“It’s too late for her, Mr. McEvan.” He finally said.
Boom! She felt something hard hit her. But it didn’t hit her body, else she would have felt it…differently. No, it came from somewhere else… from within. She could feel a wound, a wound so deep that she felt almost numb. But she had no wound… no wound anywhere, but on her heart.
Charlie sounded horrified now. “But… but copperheads don’t—”
“Not normally, Mr. McEvan.” The doctor interrupted. “There are cases, however. If you had brought her sooner….” The doctor didn’t finish the thought.
There was silence.
“How long does she have, doctor?” Charlie sounded different. Oh, so different than she had ever heard before. But she, too, felt different. She was going to die. But she couldn’t! She wanted more time… more time to be with Charlie. It was too soon… this seemed so wrong!
“She has a few hours at most.” The doctor answered. Jonny froze. A few more hours…
“Can I—” Charlie’s voice sounded strangled. “Can I take her home? She’ll want to be home.”
“You may, Mr. McEvan.” The doctor consented. “There’s nothing more we can do for her.”
How could he sound so calm? She was going to die!
Her thoughts were interrupted when Charlie broke in.
“Doctor,” He hesitated, and then went on. “Please don’t tell Jonny… my wife. I…I don’t want her to be afraid. I want her to be happy.”
“I understand, Mr. McEvan.” The doctor said. “I’m sorry.”
Charlie didn’t answer.
She suddenly heard a click as the doorknob to her room turned, and she quickly shut her eyes. She was going to…
“Jonny?”
Charlie’s voice broke the silence.
Jonny fought within. Should she tell him?
“My sweet?” He gently shook her, and her eyelids fluttered open. She inhaled deeply, and gave him a weak smile, as if she had just awoken.
“Hello, Charlie.” She smiled, faking a yawn.
Charlie’s eyes had tears. “Hello, Jonny.”
Jonny shifted in the bed, and sat up, taking deep breaths.
“Where am I, Charlie?” She asked, although she knew very well where she was.
Charlie smiled, but his eyes were so full of sadness. “You’re in a hospital, but you’re gonna be just fine. You got bit by a copperhead, but the doctor says that you’ll be alright. Ready to go home?”
Jonny heard his lie, but ignored it. He was doing it for her, and she just had to remember that.
“A copperhead?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my, Charlie! Did you catch it? Oh, never mind. We still haven't eaten!”
She quickly slid out of the bed, happy to see that she was not wearing one of the dreadful hospital robes.
Charlie gave her a grin, but it seemed empty. “No, we haven’t. Let’s go while we still have time, eh?”
Those words sounded strangely ironic in Jonny’s ears. She quickly nodded.
“Alright, let’s go.”

Charlie stared solemnly at the figure sleeping soundly beside him, and tried not to think about the future. It was hard…too hard.
He didn’t dare shut his eyes. He couldn’t. He could not stand the darkness of blindness, could not stand not being able to see Jonny. Whenever his eyes shut and she disappeared from his sight, he suddenly felt so overwhelmed by grief, so utterly alone. Whenever he could not see Jonny, his eyes filled with tears, knowing that soon the time would come when she would be gone from his sight forever, and he wished that he would then be blind. He didn’t want to see anything else but Jonny, nothing else but his wife.
He remembered a day twelve years ago, the day he had fallen off his horse Pie while riding with his father. He had broken his arm, but he had refused to shed tears. Not one tear. He had howled, he had felt the pain, but he had not wept. Yet now, here he was, letting out enough tears to fill the Grand Canyon.
Jonny slept soundly, quietly. Her face held peace, so unaware of the calamity to befall her… and him.
She had rolled over the far side of the bed as she usually did, but, this time, he wished that she hadn’t. Even the small space between him and Jonny killed him, and was killing him quickly.
He reached out a tentative yet yearning hand to stroke her tangled brown hair, and he felt more tears coming. The number of raindrops falling down upon the earth now or in the future could never number the many tears he had shed that night, while Jonny slept. He wanted more time.
“God, I need more time.” He whispered desperately.
Jonny gave a sudden stir, and his hand jerked back hastily. He hadn’t meant to wake her up.
Jonny’s groggy eyes opened slowly, and her disarrayed hair lifted from the pillow as her small head rose.
“Charlie?” She whispered, her voice hoarse. “Why are you still awake?”
Charlie willed back tears. “Just worrying about you, my wife.”
His wife. Those words echoed through his head with a desolate ring. How many times had he uttered or listened to those words, without realizing the true depth and love he felt for those two words? He wanted to tell her all, to tell her the truth, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. She couldn’t know.
Jonny gave him a weary but contented smile. “You worry about me too much, my love.”
Her head dropped back on the pillow, but her eyes did not close. For a brief moment he thought he saw something flicker through her eyes; an indescribable sadness, a look of wanting and of regret. Yet, the next moment, her eyes were filled with that same contented look.
He stared at her quietly. How long did she have? An hour? Did she have till morning? Would she be able to see the new set of jeweled pins he had bought her for Christmas? He hoped she did not see the tears he knew would never leave his eyes.
“Hold me, Charlie.”
Her voice beckoned him, and it was the sweetest harmony that would ever fall upon his ears. He drew closer, and gathered his arms about her.
She lay against him softly, silently. She did not utter a word.
He fought his inner turmoil, and vowed to himself that he would not weep. Grown men did not weep. He could not weep. He had to be strong. If not for Jonny, than for himself.

Charlie’s eyelids slammed open as the crow of a lone rooster reached his ears. He prayed that it had all been a dream, but Jonny peacefully sleeping in his arms dashed that hope.
She wore a smile on her lips, a secret smile that emanated joy that he tried so hard to feel. Her hands rested comfortably on his shoulders as her head lay against his chest. She looked so beautiful, and no one else could convince him otherwise.
Not wanting to awake her, he gently slid his arm from beneath her and rose gently from the bed. She did not even twitch.
He sighed, and turned with a heavy heart. He walked to the window and threw open the curtains, waiting to see the muddy landscape that he had been seeing for the past week. Instead, his eyes nearly dropped out of his head.
There was white everywhere, in every corner, and every crack and cranny. The trees branches were covered, the barn roof was piled over. The back of his pick-up truck was filled, and so were his fields. He could hardly believe it.
“Jonny!”
No matter that she was sleeping. She would want to see this. It was worth it.
“Jonny!”
He rushed over to the bed, and touched her face warmly. His hand drew back jerkily. She was cold. She was so cold.
He panicked, and lifted her up. She fell into his arms, her skin cold, her body drooping lifeless and limp against his chest. Charlie stared at her in horror.
“No, Jonny… no! Jonny, get up! Oh, please, Jonny!”
It was no use. No matter how many times he shook her, no matter how hard he pleaded or how many times he kissed her cold lips, she would not awake. She was dead. Jonny was gone.
“No!” He shouted tearfully. “No, God!”
Jonny just smiled at him, her smile froze on her lips for eternity.

Charlie knelt in front of the Christmas tree, not even bothering to hide his pained, dismal expression. Who would see it but him, now that Jonny was gone?
The funeral had been a simple one… just how he knew Jonny would have wanted it. Her parents had come, and so had his. Still, no one had shed as many tears as Charlie. Not even her softhearted mother. It was he who was pained the most; it was he who had lost the most.
He stared at the few Christmas presents under the tree, trying to make himself touch them. Jonny had left a box, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it. He was afraid that, if he saw what she had given him, he would start crying again. He couldn’t cry again. He had to forget Jonny, forget what they had shared. But, how could he?
Painfully, he reached for the present. It was wrapped in a bright red box, and her favorite green ribbon held it all together. Slowly, he untied the bow, and lifted the lid of the box. He could hardly bring himself to look into the box, but he did, and he inhaled sharply as he saw it.
It wasn’t large, it wasn’t fancy, but he couldn’t have wished for more.
Resting easily at the bottom of the box lay a small beige envelope, it’s corners embroidered with hard-drawn flowers and it’s face covered in Jonny’s elegant writing. His heart gave a violent wrench.
His hands trembled as they reached for the envelope, too afraid to see what lay inside. When had she written this? Was this the present that she had been so eager that she nearly broke out the secret every time he even brought it up? Somehow he doubted it.
He tore the envelope open, not sparing a moment to strain his anticipation. The letter unfolded easily, and he tried to force down the lump that suddenly arose in his throat as he began to read.

My dear, dear Charlie,
Merry Christmas. I couldn’t tell you how much it means to me to write those words to you. I would tell them to you in person, but I’m too afraid that I won’t wake up tomorrow to be able to say it to you.
Yes, Charlie, I know. I heard you and the doctor talking while I was in the hospital. Forgive me for pretending to be asleep; I did not want to pain you. You were so kind, trying to let my last moments be happy and carefree. I love you just for that, Charlie. But, I was happy even knowing.
I was-—am—-so blessed to have had even a moment to share with you, Charlie. I had always imagined growing old with you, but maybe this way is better. Maybe, this way, our love will never die; it will never have a chance. It will burn on forever.
I don’t want you to grieve for me, Charlie. I know you’ll cry; all people do. It’s not wrong to cry, Charlie, but don’t let those tears drown your life. Find another to share your love with; I know it will be hard for you, but Heaven will never be Heaven for me if you’re not happy.
Remember that time you fell off Pie, Charlie? You were so brave; you didn’t even cry. I wanted to be brave like you… I’ve never been brave. I suppose God had other plans for me. Perhaps the Lord needs the weak people so the brave can be courageous for them.
I don’t know what to write. There is so much I want to say, but that I cannot express. All I can say is that I love you, Charlie, and never will stop loving you. Even when I die.
Heaven could never stop my missing you, Charlie. I’ll never stop missing you, and I’ll never stop loving you.
Goodbye, Charlie. Merry Christmas.
Jonny

Charlie held the paper so tightly that the middle of the letter started to crinkle.
You don’t know how brave you were, Jonny. He thought inwardly.
Charlie McEvan could not help it.
He cried.


―The End