Beautiful Sunset

By D. L. Smith

About the Book:

Beautiful Sunset is the memory of an 89-year old woman. It shows all the trials and joys of her life. Some bad, some good, but all made her who she is today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Sep 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781648955815

Book preview

Beautiful Sunset

D.L. Smith

BEAUTIFUL SUNSET

Copyright © 2021 D.L. Smith

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Stratton Press Publishing

831 N Tatnall Street Suite M #188,

Wilmington, DE 19801

www.stratton-press.com

1-888-323-7009

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in the work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Shutterstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-64895-580-8

ISBN (Ebook): 978-1-64895-581-5

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Beautiful Sunset is dedicated to all who have fallen in love with someone about whom people say, She’s too young for him or He’s too young for her.

Love knows no age limit. I hope when you finish this story, you will know why I say love knows no bounds.

I have known a couple who were twenty-five years apart, the wife being the older. Then there was me.

As my story unfolds, you will understand why age is no deterrent to falling in love. It’s sometimes the reason for an enduring relationship that lasts a lifetime.

I

As I enter the hospital room, I’m struck with the hygienic pure white look—a white bed, white pillow, and on the pillow, the small figure with white hair lying so still. The walls were white, the curtains white, and even the chairs were white.

As I walked over to the bed, I noticed there were machines, tubes, and charts on the head of the bed. I leaned over to give a kiss to him and brush the hair off his forehead. He looked so pale and still. I saw they had placed an easy chair against the wall with a footstool for me, so I sat down and tried to get comfortable.

As I sat there listening to him breathing and the machine making odd sounds, I let my mind wander: How did I get here in this room with this still, quiet man? I leaned back and got comfortable. Somehow, I knew this might be a long wait. I let my mind wander back to that little three-year-old who was standing up in a wagon, with a cow pulled behind. I thought I was so big because they let me stand up as long as I held on to the sides of the wagon.

My big sister was four years older than me, so she had to sit down. We were moving from one county to another one, and Daddy was going to build us a house. There was a chinaberry tree growing beside the place where he was building our house. It was already tall enough for us to play in the shade some during the day.

As I grew up in that house, I worked on the farm. I learned to milk cows, feed the pigs, and gather the eggs from the henhouse. I started working in the field when I was five years old. I didn’t think it was cruel. I just knew it was what I was expected to do. I was awakened every morning except Sunday about 5:00 a.m. We took care of the cows and milked each morning before breakfast. Mother usually fried eggs, pork chops, and bacon and made biscuits for breakfast, about 9:00 a.m.

Then we went to the fields to chop cotton, pick cucumbers, or sometimes we picked the vegetables for sale at the farmers’ market.

In the summer, we had to pick vegetables on Sunday afternoon, pile them under a makeshift shelter so we could sprinkle water over them so they wouldn’t wilt, so Daddy could take them to market next morning about 6:00.

I never thought I was being mistreated because we all worked all the time. That’s how we made a living. Not that I knew much about making a living at that age, but I just knew we all worked like that. It gave me a good work ethic, which I still have today at age 88.

We went to school in a two-room wooden schoolhouse. One room was for grades 1–4, and the other was grade 5–7. During those days, high school started at eighth grade. Since Mother had taught me so many things that they learn in kindergarten, I was put in first grade and immediately went to third grade. I could read and write ahead of them, too, but after all, I was only six, and she was afraid to put me up anymore. I was the only one in my grade all the way through the eighth grade. Since I had already done the work, she would let me help all the kids at the blackboard, and I know they must have hated that, but it helped her, so we did it.

I was a tomboy growing up. I played with the boys, wrestling, climbing trees, and playing softball. One time we were playing ball, I was pitching (I always pitched because I could throw it better and straighter than anyone else) to my boyfriend. We were seven at the time. I had a boyfriend, and everybody knew it. He was strong and tough. He hit the ball on a line drive straight to my stomach. It was so hard that it