Samson and Margery

Samson was eighteen when he got the call to serve. The physical training went quickly and so did the first year of professional training. He went to school to be an officer, but even on his graduation day decked to the nines in medals he could not look his mother in the face. She would not look at him as long as his uniform was black and red. She refused to speak with him. He'd been away to long, he didn't understand what it meant to her. She was so heart broken and so sorry she had not found a replacement father finger when he was a child. She was beating herself up over this again and again. It killed her inside to hear of the gracious news of her son. News she could never be proud of.

He was to be shipped out, sent for the coast. Samson lied to his commanding officer, something he had never done. A two day pass with the promise to be at his post Monday morning, were all he took with him as he snuck into the old city. He had to see his mother, he had to understand why her letters stopped.

He walked the old familiar streets. Their smells were comforting and yet so very foreign to him now. In civilian clothes, he walked not understanding. This place was supposed to be the crown jewel of the river cities. It was dark now, it wasn't deserted; it was inhabited by the achy silence of fear. Men in black patrolled the main thoroughfares. Ration cards and work papers were more common than currency in the hands and pockets and minds of the city's denizens. This was not the home he had left, nor was it the home he had been told about the boot camps. He had been told the city prospered; he had been told he was fighting for a brighter tomorrow. That was not what he saw.

Margery his mother stirred a pot too large for what little portions it contained. Cabbage, cabbage was all she could afford tonight. Her son looked crestfallen; his hands were cupping his forehead, his elbows all that were keeping him from crashing down to the table. Monday came and he was in uniform.

He was wearing tan and blue of the lily men. He would be at the coast but he would fight for his city.

Margery was never the same after that week. She stood taller than she had in years. She stirred her pots and smiled with the pride of a mother even though there was no one else in her kitchen.

The brass lilies, that were brought back in place of her only son, she now wore close to her heart, regardless of who saw.

Margery doesn't eat alone now; no now she cooks in even bigger pots for the lines of men, women, and children who come to her hungry. Her kitchen is rarely empty as she houses all passers who see her her brass lily pin and know what it means. She is a widow and she is strong.