It has almost been an entire year since Mrs. Lexington had fallen ill. Since that began, life seemed to be a ticking clock.
The warm sun had seeped through the windows, making every inanimate object in the whole manor hot as fire. I couldn't even sit down on one of the plush chairs without burning myself.
Francis, the head servant, constantly complained that we should shield the gruesome heat by closing the curtains, but Mr. Lexington instructed us not to lay a single finger on them. His reason for the windows being left untouched was that his wife asked him if she could watch the sunshine pour into the rooms, and see how beautiful it was outside.
I told Francis to leave the simple situation alone, but he was adamant: "I'm sweating bullets here! The central air is no help! I feel like I'm in a desert!"
Oh, Francis. Always exaggerating on the little things.
Rolling my eyes, I left him be, and feeling quite comfortable with the central air.
Around lunchtime, I brought up Mrs. Lexington her meal. I entered her bedroom, sighing.
She was only twenty-seven, and was bedridden. Her peachy skin had become a depressing pale, her emerald eyes had turned into two candles going dim, and her auburn hair was stringy (her once luscious locks started to fall out).
Her husband sat at her bedside most of the day. The only time he wasn't there was when he had to use the bathroom.
"Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Lexington." I introduced myself, doing a small curtsy while trying to balance my tray.
"Good day, Mildred." Mrs. Lexington whispered. Her quiet tone was sweet like honey, and I could barely hear it.
Mr. L just nodded, biting his thumb.
I put the meal on a bedside table. I was about to walk out of the room when Mrs. L stopped me: "Mildred, stay and talk. On such a pleasant day like this, why waste it with Francis's whining in your ear?"
I let out a chuckle. Even though all her pain and suffering, she still had her sense of humor.
I dared not to sit on the chair that was practically steaming underneath the bedroom window. Instead, I stood in a shady space.
"Look how lovely it is outside." Mrs. L observed. "And the birds! How they chirp with such pride!"
"Yes, it is quite the sight." I said.
"I wish more days were like this. Just joyful all around."
Mr. L suddenly stood up, and rushed out of the room.
His wife heaved a sigh. "He's been so silent and uptight lately. I can barely get a word out of him."
I think the reason why her husband was acting like this was because he couldn't accept the fact that he would have to let her go at some time. I believed Mrs. L knew this as well.
Not even five minutes passed, and Mr. Lexington came back, pushing a wheelchair in front of him.
The wheelchair was rarely used; its main job was to help Catalina get to the car for her doctor appointments.
"Conner? What are you doing?" Mrs. Lexington asked, her face slightly surprised.
"I'm taking you outside to enjoy the day. Mildred, can you help me put Catalina in the wheelchair?"
I noticed Mrs. L's face light up, which rarely happened, and smiled. "Gladly, Mr. Lexington."
After five minutes, Mrs. L was situated in her seat, and a light blanket was placed on her lap.
YOU ARE READING
Last Days, Last MemoriesGeneral Fiction
A house maid by the name of Mildred tells about her last few months working at Lexington Manor, tending to a husband by the name of Conner, and his sickly wife, Catalina. Before her eyes, she watches a bright, happy, and loving home turn into a hous...