Hedda

Hedda looked out her living room window, trying to see into the winding road through the gathering mists of a cold January evening. Her husband, Luke, should have been home by now. Each day was a test in endurance and patience. Fresh out of high school and with work hard to come by, Luke had hired on as a Pittstown coal miner a few of years ago, married his high school sweetheart in the bargain, and settled into an unforgiving way of life. It was the same for thousands of other Wilkes-Barre families who managed to survive and keep their hopes up for better lives for their children. Hedda’s eyes tried in vain to pierce the unyielding grey curtain while shadows slowly enshrouded an already limited view. Her greatest fear was to see the Black Maria slowly wending its way to her front porch. The mining ambulance with such a dark and foreboding appellation certainly lived up to its name, quietly carrying terminally injured and dead miners to their households. With little to see she let her hands fall from the sill, and slowly walked back to the kitchen to tend to an over-cooked stew. The house was deathly quiet with only the occasional loose floorboard squeal for company. 
 
Sometime later, after the cold stew had been placed into the refrigerator, she found herself slumped into a living room sofa chair, covered with a tattered quilt and drifting off into a troubled sleep. A knock on the front door jarred her awake. With heart pounding
in her throat, she leaped up and ran to the door.

“Who is it?” she asked.