by Luvnheath
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program
"Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and
have been used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.
Such old hands.
Weathered hands, wrinkled with time, rested in her lap. They could be the hands
of a charwoman, hardened and scarred by a life's hard toil. Paper-thin skin
barely hid the deep blue cross-stitch of veins and lines. Arthritis had left
behind the days of platting little girls' hair and replaced them with nights of
pain and gnarled knuckles. The smattering of freckles that proudly spoke of her
heritage had faded into sepia spots of age. Another woman's gloves might have
hidden the telltale evidence of a youth long gone, but these hands wore scars
proudly, each mark a memory cherished, each layered wrinkle a testament to a
life well-lived. The bent crook of her little finger - a gift from Ol' Bessie
on a morning too cold to be milked. The lattice scar on her right palm - a
reminder of the ornery pig that zigged when it should have zagged. The
flattened nail -- the hammer knew to hit one or the other.
Gifted hands, they cradled five babes to her breast and buried one far too soon
-- worn fingers remembered the dusty dead feel of dry loam falling helplessly
from her palms. Strong hands, they built a home, a safe haven filled with joy.
Gentle hands, they possessed the skill to lightly guide a young horse, a young
child. The softness of these hands belied their appearance -- silken, so
smooth, her grandmother's recipe of lanolin and lavender stalwart in defiance
of the march of calluses.
A quiet tremor, barely visible, stilled as she reverently caressed her ring,
the symbol of a beloved union. Clumsy hands brought them together, colliding
over lemonade at that long ago spring social -- sweet lemon splattering, sparks
flying. Committed hands held them together in years of strife and years of joy.
With the delicacy of a hummingbird, these hands are raised to the soft loving
lips of her husband, partner and companion in life. A gentle squeeze, a
powerful union. A delicate balance, palm to palm, and as she smiles into
Heath's eyes, the years vanish from these hands, the hands of his bride of
fifty years.
Such loved hands.