Dorn walked through the village the next morning with renewed vigor. Of course, he knew better than to appear gleeful, and so he kept it to himself. He must play the grieving fiancé.
Meeting Miguel had lightened his mood. The strangers last remark still sat in his ears. This new member of the community could either be as simple as increased acting practice or an entire cognitive exercise. A new chapter to the story.
A new victim? Dorn didn’t think so. He liked Miguel.
“Something tells me he will devote himself to the mystery. A nemesis of sorts, perhaps!” Dorn thought.
Dorn had to stop himself from smiling; from skipping as he walked. As he approached the baker’s, he quickly changed his thoughts to something more somber. He hadn’t stood there for a full minute when Wilma came and opened the door for him.
“Dorn, good morning.” She stood there awkwardly not knowing what to do. Then she jumped into action. “I’m sorry…um…let me go get your order.”
Dorn came by the shop every morning to pick up the bread he needed for the sandwiches he sold at the tavern. As Wilma went to retrieve his loaves, Dorn slowly walked around the shop looking at the various pastries set on the counter. A few other patrons were waiting for their orders, and the room fell quiet as Dorn entered. No one wanted to make eye contact. No one really knew what to say.
Ellen loved the bakery. She had even helped old Wilma many times in the operation. That was one thing Dorn missed. He missed Ellen’s cooking. The whole village did, really.
As he made his way to the end of the counter, Wilma stood holding his order.
“It’s not the same, is it? I even tried to recreate her scones yesterday, but…well she had a talent we simply can’t reproduce.”
Dorn looked just past the old baker towards the back room. On the wall just inside hung Ellen’s apron. It hadn’t moved for nearly two months now.
Wilma turned to see what grabbed his attention. Instantly her thought’s went to the young woman. So full of life and passion. She had the dream of taking over the bakery once Wilma was too old to run it. Her and Dorn would’ve combined the two baking everything in the tavern.
She had been eagerly awaiting their wedding. She had spoken to Wilma often of the life they would spend together. Of the children they would have.
Wilma’s began to cry again. Her heart ached for the young woman. She wished now as she did everyday that she could have been taken instead. That the curse had fallen on her. That she could give Ellen the life that she had already enjoyed with her husband.
Wilma turned and looked up at Dorn. She saw there the same pain and grief that she felt.
Tears filled Dorn’s eyes and ran freely down his face. Dorn reached out and gripped the counter, steadying himself.
“Dorn!” Wilma exclaimed. “Are you alright?”
Dorn sobbed openly now. All efforts to restrain his tears forgotten.
“I can’t do this, Wilma. Not without her.”
Wilma placed Dorn’s order on the counter and stepped forward to hug him.
The tall man seemed to crumple in her arms.
They stood there for several long moments, crying.
Dorn eventually straightened and cleared his throat. Wilma stepped back, avoiding eye contact. She wiped her eyes on her apron.
“Thank you, Wilma.”
Dorn left the shop and walked the short distance back to the tavern.
Dorn didn’t wipe his eyes clean. He wanted what few townsfolk there were awake and about at this hour to see him. Mourning his great and unbearable loss.
Meeting Miguel had lightened his mood. The strangers last remark still sat in his ears. This new member of the community could either be as simple as increased acting practice or an entire cognitive exercise. A new chapter to the story.
A new victim? Dorn didn’t think so. He liked Miguel.
“Something tells me he will devote himself to the mystery. A nemesis of sorts, perhaps!” Dorn thought.
Dorn had to stop himself from smiling; from skipping as he walked. As he approached the baker’s, he quickly changed his thoughts to something more somber. He hadn’t stood there for a full minute when Wilma came and opened the door for him.
“Dorn, good morning.” She stood there awkwardly not knowing what to do. Then she jumped into action. “I’m sorry…um…let me go get your order.”
Dorn came by the shop every morning to pick up the bread he needed for the sandwiches he sold at the tavern. As Wilma went to retrieve his loaves, Dorn slowly walked around the shop looking at the various pastries set on the counter. A few other patrons were waiting for their orders, and the room fell quiet as Dorn entered. No one wanted to make eye contact. No one really knew what to say.
Ellen loved the bakery. She had even helped old Wilma many times in the operation. That was one thing Dorn missed. He missed Ellen’s cooking. The whole village did, really.
As he made his way to the end of the counter, Wilma stood holding his order.
“It’s not the same, is it? I even tried to recreate her scones yesterday, but…well she had a talent we simply can’t reproduce.”
Dorn looked just past the old baker towards the back room. On the wall just inside hung Ellen’s apron. It hadn’t moved for nearly two months now.
Wilma turned to see what grabbed his attention. Instantly her thought’s went to the young woman. So full of life and passion. She had the dream of taking over the bakery once Wilma was too old to run it. Her and Dorn would’ve combined the two baking everything in the tavern.
She had been eagerly awaiting their wedding. She had spoken to Wilma often of the life they would spend together. Of the children they would have.
Wilma’s began to cry again. Her heart ached for the young woman. She wished now as she did everyday that she could have been taken instead. That the curse had fallen on her. That she could give Ellen the life that she had already enjoyed with her husband.
Wilma turned and looked up at Dorn. She saw there the same pain and grief that she felt.
Tears filled Dorn’s eyes and ran freely down his face. Dorn reached out and gripped the counter, steadying himself.
“Dorn!” Wilma exclaimed. “Are you alright?”
Dorn sobbed openly now. All efforts to restrain his tears forgotten.
“I can’t do this, Wilma. Not without her.”
Wilma placed Dorn’s order on the counter and stepped forward to hug him.
The tall man seemed to crumple in her arms.
They stood there for several long moments, crying.
Dorn eventually straightened and cleared his throat. Wilma stepped back, avoiding eye contact. She wiped her eyes on her apron.
“Thank you, Wilma.”
Dorn left the shop and walked the short distance back to the tavern.
Dorn didn’t wipe his eyes clean. He wanted what few townsfolk there were awake and about at this hour to see him. Mourning his great and unbearable loss.
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