Veronica was beautiful in body, but not in spirit.
Her long blonde hair cascaded in ringlets over her shoulders and danced across her back. Her hands were small and delicate. Her voice was soft but commanding. She had the picturesque form of a muse.
The glance of her intense blue eyes tortured men. Her silent stare quieted even the most boisterous woman.
Veronica’s beauty was polluted by sin. Her beauty enabled sin.
In her youth she was crippled by those in her world. As an adult she came to be guided to the pool of healing by those outside her world.
She spent years searching for a way to cure her loneliness. It mattered not that people were nearby. There was no champion, no friend, no one to truly listen to the caring of years gone by. Veronica bore the weight of desire to be accepted and loved. In addition, she walked a path of disappointment.
She searched for a special person who would have an open heart. She knew that when and if she ever found that person, the doors of her heart would fling open wide to him. Then life would be so different.
In the meantime, Veronica protected her heart with an occasional gruff nature and a stance that made her appear impervious to the attacks of circumstance and people.
As a result, she became a divorcee and a widow.
Her first husband, Henry, was slight in stature, but his voice bellowed throughout the house like that of a giant. Often she wished it were possible that she could stuff a pillow down his throat. His brown hair formed a ponytail of only four inches.
When they married, Veronica thought he was a cool beatnik type. In a few months his novelty wore off. His appeal diminished and there was no remedy.
She carried this burden every day. Even during routine chores, she found herself ruminating over how repulsive she found him.
So it was on one particular evening. When she finished the dishes, she walked down the wallpapered hallway to the front room of their 1884 style house. Henry had collapsed in his red recliner with the day’s newspaper over his face to block out the sun from the seven-foot-tall windows. The dark green drapery was thick and woven with gold thread throughout.
It was her plan to have a sharing time. Veronica wanted to guide him into a friendly problem solving discussion. Her idea was to get Henry to volunteer his support for the goal she purposed. Veronica came to the conclusion that she was a slave to the house. Every day, even on Sunday, she had to clean this eleven room house for hours until she was so tired there was no more energy left in her mind or body. Henry never offered to help her with the smallest chore.
It was unclear to Veronica how to convince Henry that they should sell this “monstrosity” of a building, as she called it. Besides the cleaning. laundry, and dusting, she was a police officer for the city. Veronica asked herself how it was possible for a cop to be in this predicament. Somehow Henry had to see it her way. He had to understand her point of view.
First she had to waken him enough to join her in this important conversation. Her concern was that, as soon as she said the word sell, Henry would jump to his own conclusions without further input from her side of the discussion.
Veronica tiptoed to his recliner hoping not to startle him and immediately put him in a bad mood. When she announced to her husband that they needed to sell the house, he had a stern expression. When she told him that she was joining the FBI, he complained more. He didn’t like the idea of her changing careers without asking his opinion. “Why isn’t it enough to be a cop here in town? This is too much change at one time,” he declared.
More objectionable to him above all her other stipulations was that she decided to never have children. She explained that it would be impractical to deal with the criminal element and have a protruding stomach. “I wouldn’t look professional. It would be more logical not to ever get pregnant. It would be better if I don’t take any chances.”
Henry’s face turned deep red as he shouted. “I can’t believe you. Why didn’t you tell me this when we talked about getting married? I want kids and I want you. (He paused) I think you are making me choose between our marriage and having a family! You shouldn’t have dropped this bomb on me out of the blue. How should I to deal with selling this house after all the remodeling I did, you joining the FBI, and refusing to have children? It’s not fair. It’s unkind. Its mean!”archive