The Last Breakfast (short story)

    Françoise cried, she did not know where Philippe was. She took her large red handkerchief from the pocket of her apron and blew her nose, the sound scared her. One of those other things she did not like; being afraid of sounds, even silly noises as blowing her own nose or closing a door.

She put the handkerchief which had known better days, back in her pocket and folded her hands, waiting for Philippe.

   The farm was their life; they gave everything to it and received so much in return. They never wanted to leave it. No holidays, apart from not interested in travelling to places where you needed to spend money to have fun, who was taking care of the cows, geese, goat and chickens? And their loyal horse that did not listen to orders from strangers?

    No, the world outside their farm and fields was not interesting enough. Since they bought a tv, the world entered their house and she was not too happy with it. Too confusing but Philippe loved it. He bought it to watch Farmer's News on the Sunday's but she knew that he also loved watching other programs with a preference for discussions. She thought of all the voices being very confusing and went to bed on her own, knowing Philippe would follow soon; tomorrow was another early day.

   Françoise unfolded her hands and ate her breakfast. How silly she thought, to lay the table for 4 people. She could not remember any more when she did this. The time that they had two boys working at their farm, had long gone.

It was not easy to keep the farm going on her own and she wondered how long it would take for her body to give up. Since Philippe died there was not much left to live for. He passed away not long after their 56^th wedding anniversary; a day as usual. Though life was very unusual afterwards. No one to cook for, no one to talk to and no one to keep her warm during the cold Winter nights when the wind blew through the cracks round the windows and in the roof. Philippe never managed to repair them and she was too tired. And did they have money to spend on repairs?

   While she finished her breakfast, she pondered over the savings. It confused her not to know any more where they left the money. She remembered their agreement about saving as much as they could for the bad times. It was something they were brought up with being children of farmers. The house needed a few repairs and Philippe was too old to do it himself. Oh yes, she knew he did not want to listen, he was as stubborn as the bull they had. As soon as she finished the dishes, she was going to ask Philippe about the money they had hidden somewhere. She smiled; it must be hidden in a very safe place... if she could not remember any more where it was, how could a burglar find it??

   She stood behind her chair with her forefinger against the top of her nose and frowned her eyebrows. What on earth was she going to do right now? Ah, yes, milking the cows and churning butter. Or did she churn butter yesterday? It was so confusing not to know which day it was today... or yesterday. And was it Wednesday tomorrow? Or Saturday when the few left customers were going to collect the butter? The best there was in the village.

    The best thing to do was walking to the barn to milk the cows and then check on the butter. Suddenly she got angry, why did Philippe die? He was not ill, he was as healthy as could be for a man of his age. In her memory he always remained the tall and broad shouldered Frenchman that carried her over the threshold; a smile that curled his moustache and a twinkle in his dark brown eyes that fascinated her from the moment he laid eyes on her. And now he was gone.

   She shook her head to clear the mist that blurred her memories. She could not remember any more why Philippe died. Was it his heart? No, no... he fell off the ladder when he tried to repair the roof of the barn. That is why she was so angry. He did not listen to her! He never listened, he said he was like a cat with 9 lives but it turned out he had just one!! “Philippe....!!!” she cried in her handkerchief, “Philippe.....”

   Coffee, she needed a cup of very strong coffee. There was definitely something wrong with her emotions; here she stood without knowing why she cried. It was a relief that Philippe was in the stables, it would have worried him to see her crying. She sniffed her nose and straightened her back: “Silly old woman! Smile and go on with your work!” she told herself. There was so much to do: the dishes, the cows, the butter. Philippe could not do it all by himself. They promised each other to run the farm together. She too walked behind the plough and drove their first second hand tractor. She was never ill and together with Philippe she could handle the whole world.

    There was one thing she cold not give Philippe; they never had children but both did not complain. They were happy together. The downside was that there was nobody to inherit the farm. Did she and Philippe discuss this before? She could not remember. Was it a good idea to start this subject during coffee?

Coffee..... she forgot all about it and she did not want that wonderful husband of hers to come and look for his coffee. That never happened in their marriage, she always called him when it was ready.

   Françoise walked to the stable which was so empty with only two cows to look after instead of the twenty they had before. So much changed since Philippe died. She cried when she sold 8 cows although she knew she could not milk them all. She simply could not take care of the farm as it used to be all on her own. Yes, the neighbours offered help but you can not always rely on them, can you? No, she had to minimize the work, she was not as young and fit as she was 30 year ago. The death of Philippe broke her energy and the will to continue. Life without him was empty, very empty.

   She passed the ladder that still lay in the hay. The ladder that killed Philippe. No one removed it after he was taken into hospital by doctors telling her they would do everything to save his life. Nonsense she thought. Her heart told her he was dead, gone, not coming back alive. And her heart was always right. While the ambulance disappeared in the far distance, she knew that part of her heart disappeared as well. Gone, forever. But not her love for Philippe!

    She loved him so much so how could she walk here in the empty stable without calling him for his coffee? And where had the cows gone?

And why was there a bright light in the otherwise dark stable? Where did it come from? The light spread it's beams on the floor until the hay shone like pure gold.

Gold she wanted to touch and she reached out to the light.

In astonishment she watched the light crawling up her arm, covering her head, her whole body. She looked up to it's source and there was Philippe how she remembered him: the twinkle in his beautiful dark eyes, his deep voice asking where his coffee was.........

   

Photo: @forgottenheritage (Instagram)

   The coat of Françoise still hangs at the door, she forgot to put it on when she walked to the barn. The table is still laid for 4, she never had time to do the dishes. Not even if she had remembered it. Philippe's death disturbed her life, her brains. The dust in her head that covered the day to day thoughts and duties is now visible in her abandoned house. It covers everting she was so proud of. But she is not aware of it any more. Maybe she looks upon it from above and does not care. Maybe she smiles when people are taking photo's of the farm. Photo's that will survive the house, catching the memories in an everlasting frame.

Word of thanks: the photo of @forgottenheritage (Instagram) inspired me to write this story and I was given permission to use the photo as an illustration for which I am very grateful. Thank you Matt!

Link: the beautiful book Forgotten Heritage by Matthew Emmett and his Facebook Page

Note: the story is pure fiction!A figment of my imagination!

Helen