Tessie D

I found a card on my desk at work this morning when I’d come in. Propped against my office phone was a white envelope with “Tess” written in messy cursive on the front. Inside, there was a card with yellow and purple flowers on the front. Opening up the card, Angel had written at the top: “I found this at the grocery store this weekend, and it made me think of you and our little secret spot at the lake.”

Beneath his note was a poem.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree
By William Butler Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin built there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

Instead of sitting at the picnic table under the big tree with everyone else, Angel and I went for a walk down the road during lunch. 

“I don’t want to share your attention today,” Angel said, grabbing my hand and pulling me out the door toward the end of the lane. 

The sky was overcast and grey, and the wind was colder than the stuffy air I’d been breathing inside the office. So, coming out of the house and into the outside, I felt immediately revived and alert. I loved the feeling of stretching my legs and moving them with purpose, taking in the air and feeling the fullness in my lungs. A calming sensation flooded over me, and my mood brightened.

When we got to the end of the lane where the dairy met the road, we turned left and started walking more slowly along the side of the road. While the stubby mesquite trees hadn’t budded out in leaves for spring, their dense, thorny branches created a curtain along the fence row—nature’s version of a barbed wire fence. 

Angel was still holding my hand. I squeezed and moved closer toward him, our arms brushing against each other with every step. 

We walked like that for a little while. Eventually, Angel broke the silence, “I keep thinking how wonderful it would be to have you beside me all the time. We’re not complicated people, you and me. We’re simple, hard-working. We’d be great parents—taking care of the farm, our home, our children. You’d be a better wife to me than any of the girls back home who come from old, important families who are so concerned with money, possessions, and themselves.”

I looked ahead down the road and squinted. The sun had moved from behind a cloud, and the sky was suddenly a little brighter. My vision tunneled for a moment. 

“Did you know that my family came from one of those old, important families? The ones that had money and status? One of my ancestors was at the Alamo,” I said. 

“Really?” Angel smiled. “Well, you’ll have to tell my mother about that when you meet her. She’ll love it. You’re connected to the Alamo. Your family has been in Texas since the time before it was even a state. She’ll want to tell all the ladies at church.”

“I read somewhere that he had money and connections but lost it all somewhere along the way. Grandpa Bruce used to say that our family has been punished for his misfortunes ever since.”

“Or, your family’s luck is changing with you. With us. We’ll break the curse and make our own money and forge our own connections.”