The family had just moved to Rhode Island, and the young woman was feeling a little melancholy on that Sunday in May. After all, it was Mother’s Day -- and 800 miles separated her from her parents in Ohio.
She had called her mother that morning to wish her a happy Mother’s Day, and her mother had mentioned how colorful the yard was now that spring had arrived. As they talked, the younger woman could almost smell the tantalizing aroma of purple lilacs hanging on the big bush outside her parents’ back door.
Later, when she mentioned to her husband how she missed those lilacs, he popped up from his chair. "I know where we can find you all you want," he said. "Get the kids and c’mon."
So off they went, driving the country roads of northern Rhode Island on the kind of day only mid-May can produce: sparkling sunshine, unclouded azure skies and vibrant newness of the green growing all around. They went past small villages and burgeoning housing developments, past abandoned apple orchards, back to where trees and brush have devoured old homesteads.
Where they stopped，dense thickets of cedars and ju nipers and birch crowded the roadway on both sides. There wasn’t a lilac bush in sight.
"Come with me," the man said. "Over that hill is an old cellar hole，from somebody’s farm of years ago, and there are lilacs all round it. The man who owns this land said I could poke around here anytime. I’m sure he won’t mind if we pick a few lilacs."
Before they got halfway up the hill, the fragrance of the lilacs drifted down to them, and the kids started running. Soon, the mother began running, too, until she reached the top.
There，far from view of passing motorists and hidden from encroaching civilization, were the towering lilacs bushes, so laden with the huge, cone-shaped flower clusters that they almost bent double. With a smile, the young woman rushed up to the nearest bush and buried her face in the flowers, drinking in the fragrance and the memories it recalled.
While the man examined the cellar hole and tried to explain to the children what the house must have looked like, the woman drifted among the lilacs. Carefully, she chose a sprig here, another one there, and clipped them with her husband’s pocket knife. She was in no hurry, relishing each blossom as a rare and delicate treasure.
Finally, though, they returned to their car for the trip home. While the kids chattered and the man drove, the woman sat smiling, surrounded by her flowers, a faraway look in her eyes.
When they were within three miles of home, she suddenly shouted to her husband, "Stop the car. Stop right here!"
The man slammed on the brakes. Before he could ask her why she wanted to stop, the woman was out of the car and hurrying up a nearby grassy slope with the lilacs still in her arms. At the top of the hill was a nursing home and, because it was such a beautiful spring day, the patients were outdoors strolling with relatives or sitting on the porch.
The young woman went to the end of the porch, where an elderly patient was sitting in her wheelchair, alone, head bowed, her back to most of the others. Across the porch railing went the flowers, in to the lap of the old woman. She lifted her head, and smiled. For a few moments, the two women chatted, both aglow with happiness, and then the young woman turned and ran back to her family. As the car pulled away, the woman in the wheelchair waved, and clutched the lilacs.
"Mom," the kids asked, "who was that? Why did you give her our flowers? Is she somebody’s mother?" The mother said she didn’t know the old woman. But it was Mother’s Day，and she seemed so alone，and who wouldn’t be cheered by flowers? "Besides," she added，"I have all of you, and I still have my mother, even if she is far away. That woman needed those flowers more than I did."
This satisfied the kids, but not the husband. The next day he purchased half a dozen young lilacs bushes and planted them around their yard, and several times since then he has added more.
I was that man. The young mother was, and is, my wife. Now, every May, our own yard is redolent with lilacs. Every Mother’s Day our kids gather purple bouquets. And every year I remember that smile on a lonely old woman’s face, and the kindness that put the smile there.
一家人剛移居羅德島。5月的那個星期天，年輕女人感到有點兒憂傷。畢竟，這一天是母親節——而她卻與俄亥俄州的父母親遙距800英里。
她那天早上給母親打去電話，祝母親節日愉快。隨后，她的母親向她提起，因為春天已經來臨，所以院子里的色彩是多么絢麗。在她們通話的當兒，年輕女人幾乎可以聞到懸垂在父母親后門外大灌木叢上的紫丁香醉人的芬芳。
后來，她向丈夫說起她是如何懷念那些紫丁香時，他突然從椅子上躍起。“我知道在哪兒能找到你想要的東西，”他說，“帶上孩子，走吧。”
于是，他們就出發了，驅車行駛在羅德島北部的鄉村小路上，那種天氣只有5月中旬才會有：閃亮的陽光、蔚藍色的晴空以及生機勃勃、隨處可見的綠意。他們穿過一座座小村莊和一座座拔地而起的房屋，穿過廢棄的蘋果園，來到了樹林和灌木叢掩映的老農場。
他們停下車。車道兩邊長滿了茂盛的雪松、杜松和白樺樹。眼前沒有一棵紫丁香。
“隨我來，”那個男人說，“翻過那座小山，有個老地窖，幾年前是一個人的農場，四周長滿了紫丁香。這塊地的主人說我可以隨時到這兒來閑逛。我相信，要是我們采幾束紫丁香，他不會介意。”
還沒等他們到達半山腰，紫丁香的芬芳已經向他們飄了過來。于是，孩子們開始奔跑。不久，那位母親也開始跑起來，直至到達山頂。
那里，遠離了過往司機的視野，避開了紛擾的文明世界，高聳的丁香花叢開滿了碩大的圓錐形的串串花束，幾乎把花莖壓成了兩折。那個年輕女人微笑著沖到最近的一處花叢，把臉埋在鮮花中，啜飲著芳香，陶醉在重新喚起的記憶中。
在那個男人察看地窖試圖向孩子們解釋這座房子必定是什么樣子的當兒，那個女人不由自主地走進了紫丁香花叢。她小心翼翼地從這兒摘一枝，那兒挑一束，然后用丈夫的袖珍小刀將它們剪下來。她不慌不忙，像欣賞稀有珍寶似地欣賞著每一朵花。
然而，他們終于還是返回了汽車，走上了回家的路。孩子們嘰嘰喳喳說個不停，那個男人駕著車，那個女人坐在那兒面帶微笑，她周圍放滿了鮮花，眼睛里充滿著向往。
當他們離家不足3英里時，她突然向丈夫大聲喊道：“停車，就在這里停車!”
那個男人嘎地剎住車。還沒等他問為什么，女人就已經下了車，匆匆走向附近的草坡，懷里仍抱著紫丁香。山頂上是一家療養院，因為這是一個美麗的春日，所以病人正在室外和親友溜達或坐在門廊上。
那個年輕女人走到門廊的盡頭，只見那里有一個上了年紀的病人正坐在輪椅里，獨自一人，低著頭，背對著其他人。年輕女人越過門廊欄桿，將鮮花放在了老太太的膝間。老太太抬起頭，露出了笑臉。兩個女人聊了一會兒，都興高采烈。隨后,那個年輕女人轉身跑回到家人的身邊。當汽車開動時，坐在輪椅里的那個女人揮動著手，手里緊緊地握著那束紫丁香花。
“媽媽，”孩子們問，“那人是誰呀?你為什么把我們的花送給她?她是誰的母親呀?”他們的母親說，她不認識那個老太太，但今天是母親節，她看起來是那么孤獨，而鮮花會給任何人帶來好心情。“再說，”她補充道，“我擁有你們，而且我還有自己的母親，即使她離我很遠。那個女人比我更需要那些鮮花。”
孩子們得到了滿意的答案，但她的丈夫卻沒有。第二天，他買了半打紫丁香幼苗，栽到了院子四周;而且從那以后，每隔一段時間，他就會增加一些。
我就是那個男人，那個年輕母親是我妻子。如今，每年5月，我們自家的院子都會散發出濃烈的紫丁香的芬芳。每逢母親節，我們的孩子都要采擷紫丁香花束。而且每年我都會記起一位孤獨的老太太臉上露出的笑容，以及笑容里呈現出的那種慈祥。
