Waiting: A Random Short Story Inspired by a Painting.

Waiting; that's what she'd always been good at. Sometimes waiting was okay, such as when she'd wait for the bread to finish baking; yet sometimes waiting was hard. The longest and hardest season of waiting was Edward's prolonged absence. She'd first met Edward when she'd been thirteen, content to run about in grassy meadows barefoot and follow her father around the docks, looking at the majestic ships at rest in the sheltered harbor. Edward was a simple sailor working for her merchant father at the time; he was barely nineteen the day his ship sailed into port. She'd dallied behind her father staring at a particularly massive ship and, upon noticing his absence, shot off running like a young deer, weaving in and out of the crowd looking for him. The next thing she'd known, she'd collided into a sailor and her momentum had sent both of them tumbling in the dust.


When her tumbling had ceased, she'd sat bolt upright and stared, wide-eyed and rather frightened, at the sailor. Edward had also sat up yet his tanned features held no trace of anger in them. Rather, he was laughing as he smiled reassuringly at her. Seeing his smile, she'd relaxed and a shy smile of her own stole across her dirty face. Years later, Edward would tell her that the smile had stolen his heart.


"Here, I say, what is all this?" Her father had demanded, not harshly, as he suddenly strode up to the curious pair, still sitting in the dust where they'd landed.


Up she jumped as a jumble of words flowed out in explanation. "And now, Papa, Mama will be so displeased that I've ripped my frock again." She concluded, gazing mournfully at the gash in the faded fabric of her dress.


"Now, now, never ye mind the frock dear one," her father reassured her as he took her in his strong arms and then glanced at the amused sailor. "Are ye well lad?"


"Oh aye, sir, well I be. This wee lassie couldn't hurt a fly even if she tried."


"Has yer ship just gotten in lad?"


"Aye sir; we had an awful time o' it with the storm a' all but we got in all right, sure 'nough."


"What be ye name lad?"


"Edward, sir, Edward Mackenzie."


"A right pleasure to make yer acquaintance Mr. Mackenzie. The name's Avery MacBrady and this here is my daughter Gleda."


That had been their first meeting. Two years later, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday, she'd met him a second time as she walked the docks with her four young sisters. It was sunset and Edward was returning to his ship when he caught sight of her. The last rays of the sun had changed her eyes to sparkling diamonds. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Squaring his shoulders, he'd escorted the girls back home. The next day he'd visited her father and asked his permission to court Gleda.


Now Avery MacBrady was not an ambitious man; he was content to remain a relatively well-off merchant and desired only that his future sons-in-law would be good honest hard working men. He liked Edward, having heard many good reports of the young man's honesty, courage and cheerfulness under the often taxing conditions of being a sailor. Yet he didn't want his daughter to be won so easily and made a show of having to think it over; two days later he visited Edward and gave his permission.


Gleda, when told of Edward's intentions, was at first surprised and then her childish shyness returned. His first two visits were rather silent ones for both were shy. Gradually, however, they overcame this initial feeling and soon could be found strolling in the garden discussing books and future plans or wandering about the meadows, fields and forest enjoying each other's company with Gleda's siblings never far away. A year passed then two then three. Their courtship was frequently interrupted by Edward's duties and the long separations saddened Gleda but they were never very long.


One day, in early summer, when she was eighteen, Edward joined her in the garden. "I've bad news lass. I'm being called 'way on a long voyage and shan't return for many a month love."


She'd picked another rose, nonplussed. "Edward, ye've been away for many months on other voyages afore. Why should this be different?"


"Lass, I'll be gone longer than a month I fear."


The rose dropped from her hands. "Truly Edward?"


"Aye; truly lass."


He'd left that very afternoon. She'd tried to keep up her spirits but after several long months had passed; with no word from him, her cheerfulness began to dim slightly. A year then two passed with no news of her betrothed. When the date for his expected return came and went and time raced on, sorrow entered her heart and she ceased to smile altogether. She put aside her colorful gowns and went about with a shawl over her head. When she was twenty-four, eleven years after she'd first met Edward and on the sixth anniversary since his departure from her, she found herself restless and went outside to the grey meadows where once she'd wandered so gaily with him. A strong wind was blowing that day, threatening to take away the flower MacBrady had placed in her hair that morning. Her back to the wind, her shawl over her head and her skirts billowing round her legs, she looked out to the sea, waiting, wondering. A soft step behind her caused her to turn round: Edward, ragged, scarred and with stubble on his chin, stood there as real as life. Gleda's heart soared upward from its black depths of despair as she flew into his strong arms, content and overjoyed to be his now that the wait was over and he had returned to her.