From "The Finnish Boy" a story in "The Dreams of Youth" by Agnes Irene

Maggie is haunted by life's regrets as she watches the sunset from her porch bench...


Maggie remembered the many times she had thought of him throughout her life. At odd moments, the memory of him would suddenly surface, as clear as if it had just happened, though long years had passed. She might have been doing dishes as she looked out the kitchen window, or holding the hand of one of her sick children, or burning the trash on a snowy day—and there he would be. His blue eyes searching hers, his face a mixture of sadness and homesickness and fear and gratitude, his hand using up its last bit of strength to cling to hers. She often wondered if a part of her didn’t die that night, along with the Finnish boy. The part that is made up of youthful dreams, of hope and longing. She often wondered if his death had anything to do with the fact that within a year, she was back in the Midwest, married to a Midwestern boy, near her family, and starting one of her own. What she didn’t know then was how strong those dreams of youth were, how relentlessly they continued to tug at her all her life.