Rosemary lived alone in a crude shack at the end of a neighborless dirt road, on a tiny scrub acre of rocky soil. Each spring, she worked her meager garden, breaking up dry earth with her broken-handled hoe, leaving meandering furrows in uneven rows. Her apron pockets filled with dried seeds and kernels from last fall, she drops a few from gnarled hands, marking each row with a hand-painted sign in her shaky calligraphy.
Carol, the postmistress, rarely brought Rosemary any letters, but she still stopped by just to check on her, to make sure she was okay. A honk from her old mail truck horn told Rosemary she was on her way.
Expecting to see Rosemary sitting on the porch waiting, Carol pulled her truck up to the rickety mailbox and got out of her vehicle. She climbed the stairs to the front door, calling to her friend, hoping to hear her reply from the garden. The only sounds were the creak of her work boots on the worn planks, and squeak of the rusty screen door hinges.
Dark and cool inside the shack, Carol let her eyes adjust to the change in light. Tiptoeing through the rooms, calling softly, a lump formed in her throat, worried what she’d find.
In the small, tidy bedroom, Rosemary was lying on her goose down feather bed, a hand-quilted comforter across her stick-thin legs, a bible clutched in her hands, and a beatific smile on her face. Carol stood in the doorway, torn between heartbreak and envy.
Slowly walking back through the shack, Carol stopped on the porch to sit in Rosemary’s old chair to gather her thoughts. She called the sheriff from the radio in her truck to report Rosemary’s death, then called the pastor. Rosemary was always her last stop, so Carol sat on the porch and waited on the hearse to gather her friend, wondering who else was left to call to mourn the old woman’s passing.
Thin spiral notebook 
Beautiful story. I feel for the friend who found her, but at least the woman’s death was peaceful.
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I hope my passing is as peaceful too.
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To write a story about death, loneliness and poverty and then, have it all seem so beautiful and wonderful shows what a masterful writer you are, Tara. To die peacefully in your own bed and be found by someone who cared is a good end to a full life. 🙂
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Thank you for your wonderful compliment. I really appreciate your kind words.
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Love it. You have captured the place, time and people in so few words. Congratulations.
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Thank you so much.
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Bittersweet little Rosemary, peaceful and calm and protected by family regardless of blood. Really lovely little slice of life.
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Thank you. We should cherish our elderly. I think that is one thing that other countries do better than America. They venerate their grandparents and great-grandparents.
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I love that the post mistress was also a friend, and I love the idea of community, no matter how small that community may be. This really was gorgeous writing.
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Thank you, that was the feeling I was hoping to convey.
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Beautiful arrangement of words, and the photo is a perfect complement. Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you so much. The story sort of unfolded from the photo. A lot of my writing is like that – imaged based.
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We all need someone – always uplifted when folks go out of their way to make community – in any small way they can- even if it’s not part of their job or will get them ahead
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I think that is something that is sorely lacking in society today – that extended community, friends and family who look after our elderly.
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Beautiful. We should all be so lucky to go quietly in our bed with a beatific smile, and have a Carol to mourn our passing. Lovely writing. And on a ‘side’ note – I’m looking at your instagram photo of the dog in the water – wow – gorgeous!
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I hope that when it’s my time to die, it’s peaceful and at home surrounded my loved ones.
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Sweet and sour tale. Carol is a caring woman but how sad that Rosemary won’t be mourned by anyone else.
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Rosemary was based on an elderly friend of my aunt. Ms. Estes was very much like this woman, very independent, but had outlived most of her family.
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Oooh bonus points for “rusty” in a double meaning (actually rusty and just plain old)
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I thought about that too when I was writing, this would have worked last week as well.
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