He was bringing the wine. A small party, really. Just nine. Ruth enjoyed the feeling of expectation, even the preparation, -- shopping and baking. Glad she still had the pep for it. She placed the apple layer cake on the dining room table, ready for the buffet later on. So fragrant with its cinnamon and brandy-soaked raisins. Remembering her retirement party a while back, she smiled to herself. But it was a pensive smile. Could she really still miss those years?
“Ruth, why don’t you knock off early,” Enid, the bookkeeper had said. “We want you to look spiffy tonight.”
She had originally worked part-time at Horton’s. The town’s only factory. Her children were off to college and husband, Nate, was on the road a lot. She surprised herself by liking the job. So was her husband.
“Why would you want to work in such and old place when there are plenty of new industries in modern buildings and not that far, either?” he had chided her.
“It’s very relaxed. Low key. Large offices don’t appeal to me. Remember, I’m a small town girl at hear.”
It was true. She did grow up in a rural area, where her father had a men’s apparel shop. So, although her siblings dreamed of, talked endlessly about and eventually all left for the big city, Ruth never did. And when she and Nate married he went along with her choice of this town.
“Besides,” she continued, “the commuting would take time away from my other interests and our home.”
“Look, if you’re happy there, what can I say?” And the subject was not brought up again.
The office at Horton’s certainly was not modern and, in fact, became even less so when they moved to a separate building, formerly used by the night watchmen. She was starting to have doubts about permanently staying with the company when unexpectedly she lost her husband. Shortly after, they offered her the position of office manager. As it turned out it gave her the stability she desperately needed at that time, as well as the warm friendships she had found there.
For example, on a Monday morning, after the bright greetings, it was soon easy to tell who came in with a left over problem from the weekend. As everyone began assembling their work, there was a quiet tension in the air. They didn’t have long to wait. Eventually, a drawer would be slammed, a paper crumpled and tossed into the wastebasket, with maybe a curse. The others would exchange looks. Soon someone would say, “C’mon, get it off your chest. What happened? Tell us. You’ll feel better.”
After the sympathy, the advice, the encouragement, everyone was then able to settle down to work. They shared each other’s ups and downs. Many of the happy events for Ruth were made more so, like when her children married and then the grandchildren arriving.
She remembered the small kitchen, where they brought their lunches in brown paper bags. Except on Fridays. They cashed their checks in town, and stopped at Charlie’s – always crowded, high spirited and the best food anywhere. An elevated mood usually lingered for the rest of the afternoon.
How clearly she recalled it all. The ritual of closing down at the end of each day. Covering their typewriters and adding machines, pulling the shades down on the west side. Then smiling their cheery so long, have a great weekend, see you Monday, and then going their separate ways.
Being office manager increased Ruth’s duties, but also made it more interesting, requiring that she attend plant meetings and the occasional board meeting.
“Your input is invaluable,” one of the executives had told her.
There was even talk of further advancement, if she would call on the their other plants in Indiana and Ohio. She felt it was too late. “Have briefcase, will travel,” was not for her. She turned it down.
She remembered how often, when the work piled up, usually during the winter months, they were asked to stay overtime. Someone would go out for sandwiches and pastries. Turning up the heat, they worked relaxed and peaceful, the clock ticking, coffee perking in their small kitchen. They hardly noticed the bare walls, the early darkness and the howling wind outside.
There had been during those years, blind dates arranged by family and friends. None of the had led anywhere. That fulfillment was to happen later on.
At Ruth’s retirement party, held at the Elk’s Lodge, supervisors as well as department heads attended with their wives. There was great food, music and speeches.
“We’re going to miss you, honey,” someone shouted over the microphone.
Later, after the goodnights and hugs and some tears she found herself suddenly unprepared for what happened when she got home. Alone in her living room, she suddenly felt bereft, seeing her live stretched ahead with no map to guide her. She glanced at familiar things… pictures of her children, her husband, her collections and handcrafts. They all stood a distance away.
“I’ll make a hot drink,” she thought, about to snap on the TV when the phone rang. It was Enid.
“Ruth? How are you doing? Wasn’t it a wonderful party? You looked great. You really did!” Enid said with her usual enthusiasm.
Ruth sat down. She was close to tears.
“Enid, I want to thank all of you. It was such a lovely party. And the gifts… really.” Her voice was cracking.
“Look, Ruth, I was thinking… You know in two years it will be my time to retire…”
“I know.”
“…and my husband Ray, he’s got a great idea. He’s starting now to look around for a mobile home for traveling. You know, to see the kids in Wyoming and everywhere.”
“Oh, how exciting!”
“Well, the thing is, Ray and I want you to come along with us Ruth. He said so himself. I didn’t twist his arm or anything. I swear.”
“But…”
You could work part-time here for a while longer, like when someone’s out sick or on vacation. What do you think?
Ruth was so touched at her friend reaching out to her; she didn’t trust her voice to speak.
“You don’t have to tell me right away, but will you sleep on it?”
“I will. I’ll sleep on it.”
“You do that, honey. And call me will you?”
Ruth didn’t need a hot drink after all. Thinking about Enid’s call was enough. As it turned out, she never did go on that journey. Other challenges beckoned her, but she always kept in touch with Enid.
Chimes at the door stirred her from old memories, bringing her back again to these golden years.
Florence Liberfarb writes poetry, short stories and plays. You may freely republish this story for non-commercial use provided you follow the Publisher Guidelines and provide a hyperlink (electronic media) to the Wordly Web Site. You may not alter the copyright notice or edit the content of this story. Please notify the author of your intent to republish. Commercial use of this story requires written permission and payment of a royalty.
A Party by Florence Liberfarb
Copyright © 2005-2007 All Rights reserved
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Poems, Stories, and Plays byFlorence Liberfarb
