THE LOFT
The Memory House Series
Book Two
BETTE LEE CROSBY
Memory House Series
MEMORY HOUSE
THE LOFT
WHAT THE HEART REMEMBERS
The Wyattsville Series
SPARE CHANGE
JUBILEE’S JOURNEY
PASSING THROUGH PERFECT
The Serendipity Series
THE TWELFTH CHILD
PREVIOUSLY LOVED TREASURES
WISHING FOR WONDERFUL
~
CRACKS IN THE SIDEWALK
WHAT MATTERS MOST
BLUEBERRY HILL
A Sister’s Story
THE LOFT
The Memory House Series, Book Two
Copyright © 2015 by Bette Lee Crosby
Cover design: damonza.com
Formatting by Author E.M.S.
Editor: Ekta Garg
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author, except by reviewers who may quote brief passages for a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on life experiences and conclusions drawn from research, all names, characters, places and specific instances are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. No actual reference to any real person, living or dead, is intended or inferred.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9960803-9-2
BENT PINE PUBLISHING
Port Saint Lucie, FL
Published in the United States of America
“There are only two ways to live your life.
One is as though nothing is a miracle.
The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
~Albert Einstein~
THE LOFT
The Memory House Series
Book Two
The First Stone
They say that somewhere far beyond what mortals see there is a scale of life, and for each moment of happiness a stone of sorrow is dropped onto the scale.
When the Keeper of the Scale saw that Annie Cross’s life had been weighted with sorrow for far too long, he selected a stone the color of an early morning sunrise. It was round, worn smooth and without jagged edges. He gave a smile of satisfaction, then dropped the stone onto the happiness side of Annie’s scale. That was the day she knocked on Judge Oliver Doyle’s door.
As she looked into the blue of his eyes, she knew he was the one.
~ ~ ~
Exactly 3.2 miles from Ophelia Browne’s Memory House Bed and Breakfast there is a small clapboard church. It is set back from the street and surrounded by oaks that have stood for centuries. If you lift your head and search the treetops, you will find the steeple. The tip of it is just a bit above the tallest oak, and when the sun is high in the sky a person must shade their eyes to catch even a glimpse. Although the steeple is sometimes difficult to see, on Sunday morning when the bells chime they can be heard throughout all of Burnsville.
Pastor Willoughby claims the Good Shepherd Church will accommodate 90 parishioners, but today 120 people have crowded in. It is the first Saturday of June yet hot as the middle of August. The side windows have been thrown open and a soft breeze drifts across the room, but it is not enough to cool the crowd squeezed shoulder to shoulder.
The first time Ophelia came to this church was the year she and Edward were married. That was almost seventy years ago, yet nothing has changed. When she steps into the vestibule her mind slides back to a sadder day, the day of Edward’s funeral. Before the melancholy of remembering can take hold, a young man steps up to her.
“May I?” he asks and offers his arm.
Ophelia smiles. “Thank you,” she says and slides her hand into the opening that is offered.
Charlie Doyle is Oliver’s brother. Together he and Ophelia walk slowly down the aisle.
The first pew is the only spot where there are still seats. The left side is reserved for the bride’s family, the right side for the groom’s. Charlie guides Ophelia to the pew on the left side and waits for her to smooth her skirt and sit. Once she is seated, he gives a pleasant nod and turns back to the vestibule. Ophelia is the only person in that pew. She is Annie’s family.
The tall white-haired man on the right side looks across at Ophelia and smiles. He stands, goes to her and extends his hand.
“Please,” he says, “come and sit with Laura and me. We should be one family now.”
Ophelia takes his hand and stands. “Thank you, Ethan.” They have met only once before, but Ophelia feels she has known him for a long time. His eyes are the same blue as Oliver’s, and although his lips are thinner now his smile is the same. Ethan Allen Doyle is Oliver’s daddy.
Moments after Ophelia is seated, Oliver and Charlie walk down the aisle and stand side by side to the left of the altar. The organ then fills the room with the sound of music, and everyone stands.
Giselle is first down the aisle; she works with Annie at the library and is the matron of honor. When she reaches the altar, she steps to the right.
The organist then stomps on the pedals and starts to play the traditional wedding march. All heads turn.
Annie appears in the doorway. Her veil is pushed back from her face, and she carries a bouquet of the bright pink peonies grown in Ophelia’s garden. She smiles and starts down the aisle. She has dreamed of this moment for more years than she has known Oliver. It is just as she imagined, yet it is different.
Michael Stavros is not the man waiting at the end of the aisle; it is Oliver. And she is no longer a girl blinded by the thought of love. Annie is now a woman, a woman who has learned to love and be loved. It is the kind of love that runs deep and is destined to last forever. The night Oliver slipped an engagement ring on her finger, she could see the future as easily as she sees the past.
Today they will start to create their own memories, memories that Annie hopes will one day be found in the objects they leave behind.
Oliver reaches out and takes her hand; together they turn to Pastor Willoughby.
He starts to speak. “Today we are gathered together…”
Annie and Oliver have both written their own vows. In hers she promises to love him always and unconditionally.
“I will forever be your best friend and stand beside you,” she says, “for as long as the stars shine in the night sky and, God willing, even longer.” The words are soft and gentle as she speaks them.
A tear falls from Ophelia’s eye as she listens. She can remember making just such a promise to Edward, but long after he was gone the stars still lit the sky and she could do nothing but ache for his body to again lie beside hers.
Oliver tells Annie she has brought a newfound happiness to his life, that the ordinary things of yesterday are no longer ordinary but amazing because he can see them through her eyes.
“Although I may be an imperfect being,” he says, “I will for the rest of my days love you, honor you and cherish you with every ounce of my heart and soul.”
They exchange rings, and as they share a kiss the organist begins Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. She plays softly at first, but when Annie and Oliver turn to the congregation the music grows louder and the church bells begin to chime as they do on Sunday morning.
Oliver whispers, “I love you, Annie Doyle,” and they start back down the aisle together.
Annie
It may seem like this special day is the beginning of my story, but it’s not. My story began a year ago when I knocked on Ophelia Browne’s door. Back then I thought she was just a sw
eet little old lady with a bed and breakfast and a magical potpourri that smells like whatever you’re thinking of. It may be difficult to imagine such a potpourri, but that’s only because you don’t know Ophelia. She’s a woman who can find the magic hidden in everyday things.
When she first told me it was possible to connect to a memory someone had left behind in a forgotten object, I thought she was joking. But once I experienced it for myself, I knew it was true. I guess if you want to live life to the fullest, you’ve got to be open-minded about the things that seem unbelievable.
Ophelia taught me how to touch an object and find the memory in it. At first I thought maybe it was her dandelion tea that enabled me to do this, but she said it was more than likely something I was born with. She claims this ability is a gift given only to those with sensitive souls. I can’t say whether or not this is true, but I can say I’m very glad for having met Ophelia. Knowing her has changed my life.
It began the day she showed me the bicycle in the storage shed. The minute I touched it, I heard a boy’s laughter. The sound of his laughter so intrigued me that I wanted to know more about him.
The thing is, you can’t just pull a memory out of something the way you’d pull a splinter from your finger. It takes time and lots of love.
For months I worked on that bicycle, polishing it, shining it and always listening for another word or two from the boy. Little by little it came to me. I felt his heartbeat, and I knew of his fear, but I never knew his name. Then one day I found a book called The Wisdom of Judicial Judgment in the Practice of Law. The minute my hand touched that book, I knew the author, Ethan Allen Doyle, was my bicycle boy. Yes, he’s Oliver’s daddy, but he’s also my bicycle boy.
My search for Ethan Allen is what led me to knock on Oliver’s door.
You can tell me seven ways from Sunday there’s no such thing as magic, and you might be right. But since I’ve allowed my heart to believe in the things Ophelia taught me, my life is filled with the magic of love and happiness.
And that’s something there is no question about.
The Swans
The reception is held in the side yard of Memory House. It is what Annie asked for, and Oliver has arranged everything. The caterers arrived at the break of dawn, and by the time the guests come from the church there are several white tents dotting the lawn and a bubbling champagne fountain in the center.
Three days ago a pair of trumpeter swans came from out of nowhere and settled on the pond. They are long-necked and graceful. Annie believes it is a good omen. Like Ophelia, she has come to believe in such signs.
She whispers in Oliver’s ear, “I think this means we’ll be mated for life.”
Oliver laughs. “I know we’ll be mated for life and not because of the swans.”
Annie stretches up and kisses his cheek. His practicality is one of the many things she loves about Oliver. Even though she has told him the story of the bicycle boy and how she came to be standing on his doorstep that night, he still believes it was simply a stroke of good fortune that brought her to him.
When Annie spots Ophelia sitting in one of the wicker chairs placed about the yard, she makes her way through the crowd and squats beside her.
“Without you none of this would have happened,” she says. “How can I possibly thank you?”
Ophelia leans forward and lovingly traces her hand along Annie’s cheek. “You don’t need to thank me. Just having you with me for this past year is more than I could have asked for.”
“Well, don’t think you’re rid of me,” Annie says with a grin. “I plan on working in the apothecary two days a week and coming over weekends to help with the garden.”
Ophelia sets her tea aside and takes Annie’s hand in hers. “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” she says. “I’ll be just fine. What I want you to do is to go off on your honeymoon and have the most wonderful time of your life.”
Annie laughs. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”
The party lasts until the sky settles into dusk. When the crowd thins, Ethan Allen spies Ophelia sitting alone and walks over. He is carrying two glasses of champagne.
“I thought you could use this,” he says.
He hands the glass to Ophelia and sits beside her.
It has been a long day; happy, yes, but also emotionally draining for Ophelia. She accepts the glass and is glad to have it. “Thank you,” she says and smiles.
They sit in silence for a minute; then Ethan says, “I’m glad Oliver has Annie.” He turns to Ophelia and adds, “It’s not good for anyone to be alone.”
Ophelia looks down at the hand not holding the champagne. She still wears the narrow gold band Edward once placed on her finger.
“That surely is true,” she says sadly.
“So what are you going to do?” he asks.
Ethan grins, and the years fall away. Ophelia sees the face of Annie’s bicycle boy. For a moment she is held spellbound; then she shakes the image loose.
“Do about what?” she asks.
“About staying here alone,” he says.
“I’m not alone,” she replies indignantly.
He leans forward and rests his hand on the arm of her chair. “With Annie moving into Wyattsville, you will be,” he says.
“I will not!” she snaps back. “I have friends. Customers too. There’s not a day that passes when I don’t have a dozen or more people stop by the apothecary.”
Ethan smiles at Ophelia’s feistiness. She is a reminder of the eleven-year-old boy who made his way to Wyattsville. He can almost hear himself saying I don’t need nothing from nobody! It’s what you say when your back is to the wall and you’ve got no place else to go.
“Why, with taking care of customers and tending my garden,” Ophelia continues, “I’m busy morning ’til night.”
“Well, then, maybe you need a housekeeper.”
Ophelia’s eyes grow wide and she gasps. “Housekeeper?” Before he has a chance to say anything more, she charges ahead. “Why? Do you think my house is dirty? Are the beds unmade? Is the floor not swept?”
“I only meant—”
“I don’t care a fig for what you meant,” she snaps. “I’ve run this bed and breakfast all by myself for over fifty years, and I can run it for fifty more if I’ve a mind to!”
“I don’t doubt that,” Ethan says, “but Laura and I live in a lovely retirement village in Florida, and we thought maybe—”
“I’m not retired!”
Ignoring her comment, Ethan continues. “In our complex we’ve got a gardening club that would be delighted to have an expert like you teach them—”
“I told you, I’m not retired!”
Ethan chuckles. “So you said. But if you ever should decide to retire, I want you to know we’d welcome the opportunity to have you.”
The muscles in Ophelia’s face relax. “That’s very nice of you,” she says politely. She swallows the last of her champagne then adds, “I’ll keep it in mind if I ever do decide to retire.”
Ethan stands, but before he turns away he bends down and kisses Ophelia’s cheek. “You remind me of Grandma Olivia,” he whispers, “and she was one damn fine woman.”
After everyone is gone, the waiters start to clean up. Glasses and dishes are put into plastic bins and loaded into the truck parked in the driveway. Tablecloths disappear into a laundry bag, and the tables themselves are folded flat and carted off. Tomorrow another crew will come and take the tents. Then it will be as it was before, and the party will exist only in Ophelia’s memory.
How sad, she thinks, that the most wonderful things disappear so quickly and yet sorrow hangs on forever.
Ethan Allen Doyle
You might think it strange that I suggested Ophelia come to Florida, especially since we haven’t known each other for that long. But I’ve been in her shoes, so I know how it feels to be alone and without a soul to turn to. The last thing in the world you’ll do is ask for help. You build a defensive barrier around yours
elf, and you’re afraid that one moment of weakness will bring that wall crashing down.
I see a lot of myself in Ophelia. I was eleven when Grandma Olivia took me in, and I shudder to think what would have happened if she hadn’t. My mama and daddy were both dead, and I didn’t have anybody else to turn to. Olivia Doyle wasn’t even my real grandma. She’d simply married a granddaddy I’d never even laid eyes on, and he was already dead when I got there.
I was sassy-mouthed, cussed like a sailor and had the man who killed my daddy looking for me, but Grandma Olivia overlooked all of that. She said we were family and family had to stick together. If she could find room in her heart to love a kid like that, Laura and I can certainly make room in our lives for one sweet little old lady.
Ophelia is ninety, but she doesn’t seem it. She’s sharp as a tack and plenty spry. Unfortunately she’s as sassy and independent as I was, so I’m sure that when she makes up her mind to do something there’s nobody who’s going to change it.
I know Annie will keep a close eye on Ophelia. Oliver will too.
The Loft Page 1
