Day of The Dutchman
A.N.: I like this song a lot, so I decided to write this based off of it. Enjoy!
The old man laughed, and the shaking of his body woke him up. The smile remained on his old, wrinkled face as he looked to the window. Golden rays shone into the room, and there came a knock on the door.
"Who's there?" he called. There was no malice in his voice, merely curiosity.
"It's Margaret," a woman's voice replied from behind the door.
The old man's brows furrowed. "And who's that?"
"Your wife."
"Oh! Come in then, why don't you?" The smile returned to his craggy lips.
A lovely woman backed in through the door, her silver hair turning blonde in the sunlight. "I've brought breakfast," she explained. And indeed, the plate on the wooden tray was laden with bread, ham, and eggs.
"You should have heard the jokes Ernest was telling me!" The man enthused. He proceeded to go on and on about the fantastical tales his old friend – May he rest in peace – had woven. Margaret laughed at the jokes and quips.
The man frowned when his eyes wandered to look out of window, but a smile soon found its way onto his lips again.
"There're flowers under there, y'know," he pointed out, gesturing to the snow. "Tulips and roses blooming."
For just a second, she saw him like an outsider. She saw him as a madman, who couldn't tell the difference between apples and oranges. But it was only for a moment. In the moment, she could see the children she might've had, playing in the reflections of his eyes.
Breakfast was soon polished off, and the old man insisted that they go the canals to enjoy the fresh air. She agreed, and helped him dress and walk the way there.
"We should go to the ocean, some day," he remarked. "That little place where the walls rise above the Zuiderzee? You remember it?" Margaret nodded, recalling a day long gone, when his face had been young and glowing, and their eyes were crinkled with laughter.
They watched the tugboats at the canals, until Margaret explained that she had a few errands to run, and he was left alone with strict instructions not to wander off with anyone.
"Hey!" he called, waving to a boat on the water. "Hey! Ernest! When did you start working here, you salty sea dog, you?" The captain waved at the strange, wailing man in the grass.
Satisfied that he'd been seen, the man sat back on the bench, tapping his wooden shoe on the gravel and fingering the tiny heart that ended the stitch holding a patch in place.
It went on like this for a few hours, until Margaret reappeared, and said it was time they went home again.
On the way back, between moments of trepidation where the old man almost fell the ground, despite the grip Margaret had on his arm, he continued to reminisce about the ocean banks he wished to visit once more.
Once home, they enjoyed conversation as they watched the windmills swirl in the winter winds while they sipped their tea. The old man laughed cheerily at a funny thing Margaret had told him about, and she knew the added smiles was a result of the whiskey she'd put in his drink.
Finally, she walked him to his bedroom, and as he settled in, he saw her form pass into the hall.
"Margaret!" he called. He didn't know why, he just did.
She came back, smiled in the way that only a wife can, and tucked him into bed, fluffing is pillows and smoothing out the covers to the tune of something sad and sweet, but the lyrics and the name had long been forgotten.
He smiled too, and hummed along with her, harmonizing together in light of the lantern by his bed.
She placed a kiss on his forehead, then his lips, and blew out the candle so the old man could sleep peacefully, where he dreamt of the ocean's crashing waves and ivory sand.
A.N.: What do you think? Please review, and show this to someone you love, and make sure that they know you love them. Thank you for your time, and GOD BLESS!