Dinner Is At Five

Martha grew up in a very small town. Most people would think they knew but would never really understand how small it really was. Mason, Alabama, was so small that its name wasn’t even known to the other towns around. It had been lost in the growth of the state, from a mostly rural area to a more urban one. The town still had a sign announcing where it started and where it ended, but for the most part, no one knew it even existed. It was just presumed to be a small backroad area of Montgomery.

Her parents had passed away a few years back. Martha inherited a two-story farmhouse off the banks of the Alabama River. Having never really been of much desire to the men around town. Her favorite story was “Sarah, Plain and Tall” because it felt relatable. That changed a few years ago when John came along. A decent fella from the city, not the most handsome, but she loved him. They met while Martha was taking care of her parent’s affairs and completing paperwork for the house.

They were married in a simple ceremony in Montgomery. Martha didn’t expect anything special and wasn’t disappointed. Their marriage was held in the local Magistrates Office, far from a dream marriage. John moved into her parent’s home and things were good at first. It was all that Martha imagined it to be not that she had experienced anything outside the books and her parents.

Not too long into the marriage, things seemed a bit off. It seemed like valuables were going missing; jewelry, a vase, a lamp. Surely it had just been misplaced, Martha thought. It became more and more apparent that it wasn’t just a coincidence. That morning, her mother’s music box was missing; it was sentimental. The music box was made of wood from the Black Forest of Germany and was engraved with a flower design on the top. Martha’s mother had received it from her father when he returned from the war.

Martha finally confronted John, “What happened to my mother’s music box?” “You misplaced it,” he replied. This was the typical response every time something was missing. “That’s what you always say, but you know that stays by my side of the bed, and always has. I don’t understand why my stuff keeps vanishing?” He went back to eating and didn’t speak. “Where is my mother’s music box!”, Martha yelled, slamming her hand on the table. John looked up and she knew he wasn’t such a good man after all. He grabbed her violently by the wrist, jerking her out of the chair. “Listen here, don’t question me! I pay the bills and I keep you from losing your precious house! Sometimes I have to sell things to make up for my hard work. You got it?!” He yelled, letting her go.

Martha rubbed her wrist and excused herself from the table. Running straight to her mother’s room, she started to cry. The room was always her safe place whenever something happened growing up, and it was still her spot when upset. Martha sobbed into the pillow, thinking about all the lost treasures that had been stolen. Drifting off to sleep with a memory of her mother brushing her hair.

Early the next morning, Martha woke up to find herself clutching something leathery. At first not quite sure what it was, but realizing it had to be a book of some sort. Did my mother have a diary? Martha wondered excitedly about the prospect of learning more about her mother. The book was rough around the edges, with some illegible print on the front. Holding her breath, Martha opened the book to find it was completely empty. Her heart sank, realizing there was nothing new to learn.

Tossing the book aside, Martha went about her chores of cleaning the house, having no desire to make John mad again. In fact, she had no wish to see him at all. When she finished picking up around the house, she noticed that her father’s collection of old coins and currency was missing. “That’s it!” Martha yelled. “I want him out of my house. I want him gone.” Storming back to her mother’s room to cry, her eyes fell on the book again. Picking it up, prepared to throw it away, it was as if the world was mocking her.

Martha went to throw the book, but something was different — it felt hot. Recoiling a bit, she quickly opened the book to find words. “There wasn’t writing before,” Martha said to the empty room. The words printed on the page read, “write your biggest problem and it will be resolved within the day.” Martha read the sentence over and over again before breathing. “Well, why not?” She muttered. “I really need to stop talking to myself,” her voice echoed in the empty room.

Writing the first thing that came to mind. “I WANT JOHN GONE FOR GOOD,” Martha paused to think about what she wrote before putting the book back where it was found.

Realizing the time, Martha went to start dinner. Monday was always meatloaf and potatoes. John never met a vegetable he liked, so why even bother. Martha began to set the table at five o’clock, knowing he would be home soon.

He’s out drinking up the money from those coins, Martha thought to herself, as she realized it was half-past five and John had yet to come home. The meatloaf, now cold and the potatoes stiff. Martha sat there like a child waiting to be punished as the minutes flew by. It was now close to nine o’clock and still no John. A casual thought went through her mind. Maybe he decided to not come back, that was just fine.

While putting the food away, Martha was startled by a knock on the door, causing her to drop a plate. It shattered into small white shards, skittering across the floor. The meatloaf landed with a heavy plop and didn’t move. “Darn it!” she exclaimed and headed to the door. Pausing to compose herself before opening the door and thinking who in the world would come knocking this late, and why would John knock at all?

The two police officers at the door almost looked ghostly from the foyer, light washing over their faces. “Yes?” Martha asked hesitantly. “Mrs. Jones?” the youngest of the two, spoke softly, “I'm afraid we have some bad news for you.” “Yes?” She replied, again. Feeling a bit like a broken record. “I’m afraid there has been an accident. I’m sorry to tell you, ma’am, but your husband was killed,” the officer said, still with a calm, even voice. “Oh no, are you sure?” “Yes ma’am. You can identify him at the County Coroner's office. But we have his wallet and belongings; I thought you might want them back. It seemed important. Again, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, ma’am. Is there anything we can do?” The officer asked as he handed her a box.

Martha remembered what she had written in the book and was flooded with emotions. Slamming the door in the face of the officers and running to her mother’s bedroom. Martha half expected the cops to burst through the door like in the movies, and arrest her on the spot. Quickly opening the book to get rid of the evidence, she realized the pages were blank once again. Rushing to the window to look outside, she saw the tail lights of the police car, and realized they had no idea what had happened.

Martha felt nervous and excited at the same time. Her hands shook as she opened the envelope to find a check from Joe’s Pawn and Diamond for twenty thousand dollars. It suddenly occurred to Martha she could leave this town and start a new life, sell the house and finally end this chapter of “Sarah, Plain and Tall.”

”Sarah, Plain and Tall” by Patricia MacLachlan -1986