At The Rainbow's End

Jefferson Bright loved his home. It had been the home of the family for more than a hundred years. Neglected, it fell into disrepair during the Civil war, or the War between the States as he preferred to call it, yet, it remained the center of his life, his last grasp on a lost fortune. So, he sat as he often did that winter, huddled around the fireplace, remembering and dreaming about the Old South, remembering when life was simpler, dreaming of a time when a man knew his place and could count on others to know theirs. He sat with his wife Mary on that cold afternoon, using the time to remember, putting aside his troubles. His hope resided in his faith. He believed that God would protect the righteous. So, times would have to get better, he thought, for him and people like him. He turned a hopeful thought to a wish and expressed it boldly.

"We just have to be patient, dear."

He had been married to Mary for nearly thirty years. She didn't always listen when he spoke. She spent most of her time sewing or mending clothes. It was her way of letting him see what had happened to their lives.

"Desperate times require desperate measures," she said flatly, her eyes buried in her sewing.

Settling in the billows of her dress, she was quiet again, seemingly deep in thought. He had heard her make the point at other times. She was, in her view, nothing less than a peasant. He had tried hard to help her understand. The slaves were free. He could do nothing about it.

He sensed her disappointment had lessened since the war. But he was sure she continued to blame him alone for all their problems. She had told him several times she expected more of him. She wanted the life of old no matter what the circumstance. It was less than ultimatum but it had equal impact. He felt her scorn and his life with her had become difficult. She had become the master of his well-being. He had become the agent of her hopes and dreams.