Before Michael leaves the apartment, he takes the spare key Annie keeps in the kitchen drawer and tucks it into his wallet. He needs assurance that he will be able to get into the apartment again. Once he is face to face with her she’ll have to listen. He’s certain that when she hears what he’s got to say, any issues standing between them will be resolved. But first he needs to find her.
He pulls a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet then stops at the lobby desk. Sliding the bill into Joe’s hand he says, “Annie and I had a bit of an argument, and you know how women are. I think she’s staying away to spite me. I can’t sit here and wait, but if you could give me a call as soon as she gets back…”
Joe glances down at the bill in his hand and sees Ulysses S. Grant smiling back.
“Sure, Mister Stavros,” he says, “I’ll be happy to call.”
Joe Felder suspects there is more to the story than Michael has suggested, but his wife’s birthday is next week and with fifty bucks he can take her out to dinner at a nice restaurant.
The Ball
When Annie wakes the next morning it is drizzling rain, and for a few minutes she remains in bed. This is when she remembers the pocket watch beneath her pillow. She raises herself to a sitting position, reaches beneath the pillow and fishes the watch from its resting place. Covering the face of the watch is a thin layer of black soot, the residue of a fire. It wasn’t there last night, of that Annie is certain. For several minutes she remains there holding the watch in the palm of her hand. She vividly remembers the smell of smoke and the heat of fire. She can even recall the fear that gripped her heart.
Slowly Annie peels open these recollections and comes to the realization that she has moved past finding good memories in the things left behind. She is able to feel the bad memories as well.
When they sit down to breakfast, she shows Ophelia the watch and shares the story.
“I could feel the fire,” she says, “but I never saw the Wilbur you spoke of. It felt as though the thoughts were mine and someone I loved was in danger.” Annie stirs a spoonful of honey into her tea and then continues. “I’m sure that wasn’t Wilbur’s memory. I think it was the girl Caroline’s memory of him.”
Although she believes this is true, Annie can’t explain how she knows it. She knows only that there is more to the story, other events that came before and after. A feeling of apprehension settles in her heart. As much as she wants to find the missing pieces, she is frightened of what she might discover.
“Is it possible that a memory can come to life and happen again?”
When Annie asks this question, there is a quiver in her voice.
“I don’t believe so,” Ophelia answers. She sees the look of concern wrinkling Annie’s forehead and adds, “But perhaps it would be best to set the watch aside for now.”
This is a new experience for Ophelia; she has sensed only good memories and the occasional black hole that hid any unpleasantry. She is uncertain how to handle it or if in fact it is opening the door to a yet unknown danger. She has never known a memory to leave its resting place and come to life, but perhaps the girl’s power is far greater than her own. She takes the watch from Annie’s hand and slides it into her pocket. If there is an evil memory in the watch, she does not want Annie to touch upon it.
“Some memories are better off left to the past,” she says.
Outside the day is grey and gloomy. The weeping willow casts a dark shadow across the lawn and an occasional gust of wind whips leaves from the tree, making them fall as if they are cascading teardrops. Searching her mind for an object that will move Annie’s thoughts away from the watch, she remembers the ball.
When breakfast is finished Annie clears the table, and Ophelia makes her way up the staircase to the loft. She returns with the boy’s ball in her pocket. It is too damp to sit on the porch today, so they settle in the front parlor.
Ophelia sits on the sofa and pulls the woolen throw over her legs. Although the heat of summer is fast approaching, she is chilled and welcomes the warmth. Annie comes and tucks the blanket close around her knees.
“Is that comfy?” she asks.
Ophelia replies that it is; then she pulls the ball from her pocket and hands it to Annie.
“I thought since we’re stuck inside today you might want take another look at this,” she says.
Annie gives a broad smile, then sits in the rocker closest to the sofa. She is not anxious to know more about the fiery watch, but the thought of knowing more about the bicycle boy thrills her. She takes the ball in her hand and runs her fingers across the bite marks. The spacing tells her the dog was neither large nor small.
With the ball cradled in both hands, she closes her eyes and sees the brown dog running beside the boy on a bicycle. Her view is still from the back, so she knows nothing more than she did before.
Annie opens her eyes and absently throws the ball against the opposite wall. She is lost in thought as she does this. The ball thunks against the wall then bounces off the floor and back to her. Three times she does it…thunk, bounce, thunk, bounce.
The third bounce is just inches away from the milk glass lamp that once belonged to Edward’s mother.
“I don’t think you should be doing that,” Ophelia says. “You’re liable to break something.”
Suddenly Annie shouts, “Ethan Allen!”
She catches the ball and holds it in her hands. “I heard his name. It sounded like you talking, but it wasn’t you.” She hesitates a moment then adds, “It was the woman who takes care of him.”
“His mother?” Ophelia asks.
Annie shakes her head. “Not his mother. His grandma maybe.”
“So the lad’s name is Ethan Allen?” Ophelia gives a nod of satisfaction and says, “I didn’t give you that memory; you found it on your own.”
Annie smiles and pockets the ball.
The rain continues, sometimes heavy, sometimes little more than a drizzle, but it is enough to keep them inside. They spend the entire afternoon sitting in the parlor. Given the gloom of the day, Ophelia focuses on telling the happy stories of her life with Edward. She describes a vacation they took to Virginia Beach and tells how they splashed in the ocean and ran barefoot in the sand.
“There were flocks of tiny sandpipers,” she says with a laugh, “and when the waves washed out they would dart into the wet sand, peck around for bits of food and then scurry off before another wave rolled in.”
When Ophelia speaks of Edward, her eyes appear lit from within. The sallow color of her skin grows flushed with pink, and the sound of her laughter becomes that of a young girl.
“As lovely as the days were,” she says, “the evenings were my favorite time. After dinner we would go dancing in the hotel ballroom.” She stops in the middle of her story and explains that back in those days most hotels had ballrooms with a live band playing dance music. With a tinge of sadness in her voice she says, “There have been so many changes in the world; I doubt people have time for dancing now.”
“True.” Annie nods. “Michael and I hardly ever went dancing, and when we did we stepped all over each other’s feet.”
“Edward and I never had that problem,” Ophelia replies. “The very first time he took me in his arms, we moved as if we were one person.” The memory of this is obvious on her face when she adds, “His arms were so strong, when he held me my feet barely touched the floor.”
All afternoon they sit and talk. Annie continues to cradle the ball in her hands; she wishes another memory would come. When she goes to the kitchen to prepare a light lunch of tea and buttered biscuits, she brings the ball with her.
When Annie carries the lunch tray into the parlor she pours two mugs of tea. In the time she was gone Ophelia’s color has grown sallow again.
“Are you feeling okay?” Annie asks as she hands Ophelia the mug,
Ophelia nods. “Yes,” she answers, but Annie can see there is something more. Something Ophelia does not care to talk about.
&n
bsp; That night supper is later than usual, and instead of a pleasant meal on the side porch they eat in the kitchen with the sound of rain hammering against the window. The melancholic sound deepens the lines in Ophelia’s face.
When they have finished eating, the table cleared and the supper dishes put away, Ophelia says she is ready for bed. “Rainy days are trying on the soul,” she claims.
Still clinging to the ball and eager for more, Annie asks if she can sleep with it under her pillow. She hopes to dream of the boy. Despite the vivid memory of last night’s fire, she still feels certain it is the boy who will change her life.
Although Ophelia nods her approval, she has a growing fear that Annie will discover things she has no knowledge of. Memories intended to remain secret.
Before she climbs into bed Annie carefully tucks the ball beneath her pillow. As she closes her eyes she thinks of the boy. She pictures him riding the bicycle. It is the last thought she has before sleep overcomes her.
That night there are no dreams, good or bad. There is only the constant splash of rain against the window and an occasional squawk from the ducks on the pond. Several times during the night she wakes and glances at the clock on the nightstand. She wants it to be morning, but the hands of time are stuck in the wee hours that cross from night into day. When the first ray of dawn finally lights the horizon she pulls herself from the bed and stumbles into the kitchen.
Ophelia is not yet downstairs, so Annie brews a pot of tea and mixes the batter for banana pancakes. In the weeks she has been here she has grown familiar with where everything is. She could make her way around the kitchen and, for that matter, the entire house blindfolded—with perhaps the single exception of the loft. Annie has visited Ophelia in the loft, but she has not yet grasped the feel of it.
The loft belongs to Ophelia. It is, in itself, her greatest treasure. It holds the memories that are hers alone. The secrets of the loft are not Annie’s to take; she cannot picture Edward laughing or dancing. She sees him only as he appears in the photograph on Ophelia’s nightstand.
Ophelia
When heartache settles into your soul you want to believe that in time it will pass. You tell yourself, This is the misery I must live with now, but one day it will be less painful. The sorry truth is some heartaches never lessen. The sound of rain still brings back the memory of Edward’s death.
It was raining the day I returned from visiting Mama. Not just a drizzle; a real downpour. I remember hoping Edward had thought to bring an umbrella. When I climbed down from the train and saw he wasn’t waiting, let me tell you, I was pretty piqued. But after an hour had ticked by I knew something terrible was wrong. It wasn’t like Edward to be late and even less likely he’d forget I was coming on the afternoon train.
There was no overhang at the old rail station, but that didn’t stop me. I stood out there in the pouring rain until the next taxi cab came by, then I jumped in and told him the address of where to go. That’s out of my district, he said. I leaned forward so far my face was up next to his. I don’t care a fig about what’s in or out of your district, I told him, you get me home right this minute. He charged me double because he had to drive out there and then back again, but I didn’t argue about that. I was too worried about Edward to be thinking of money.
When I got out of the cab and ran to the front door, it was locked. I had to poke around in my bag to find the key. By the time I got inside I was soaked through. I still remember the smell of those wet clothes and the way the rainwater dripped down my leg and puddled on the floor.
Lord God, that was an awful time. A little thunderstorm doesn’t bother me, but when we have downpours like we did yesterday it brings the misery back.
You might wonder why I didn’t say what was bothering me when Annie asked; it’s because heartache isn’t a thing to be passed around. Everyone gets their share of heartaches in life, and piling your share on somebody else’s plate isn’t what the Lord intended.
I’ve lived with the sorrow of that day all these years, so I suppose I can keep it to myself for a short while longer.
In the Months that Follow
Throughout the summer Annie remains at Memory House. She no longer dwells on thoughts of Michael; her days are filled with gardening and her evenings spent listening to the magical tales Ophelia shares.
There is a quilt with a scattering of stars on a field of blue. This, Ophelia explains, was made by a woman celebrating life, but exactly why she cannot say. She knows only that the stars represent friends. The oversized yellow patch is a moon showing the fullness of life, and the tree with its roots winding along the edges of the quilt is the anchor that holds everything in place.
“This woman is happy,” Ophelia says. “Very happy. See.” She points to the tiny stiches running along the tendrils of the roots. “Every stitch is small and even. Only a contented heart has the patience to do that.”
Annie would like to know more, but there is nothing more to be told. Ophelia catches only small glimpses of other lives, memories that are there one moment and gone the next.
It is the same with the Christmas ornament, a ball that pops open and exposes a red satin lining.
“This once held a ring and a promise,” Ophelia says, but like the quilt she knows only of that moment. She can feel the happiness in the memory but knows nothing of the person it belongs to.
Annie touches her fingers to each new item, trying to see more than Ophelia has spoken of, but the quilt is simply a cloth in her hand. And the ornament, charming though it may be, tells nothing.
As she listens Annie thinks back on Ophelia’s words. “One of my treasures will change your life.” With each new unveiling she tries to will a memory to surface.
They are sitting on the side porch when Ophelia pulls a silver locket from the pocket of her apron. It is late in the afternoon, and the sun is low in the sky. As the locket dangles from her fingers, a flicker of the setting sun dances across it and for one split second there is a glint that seems bright as the flash from a camera.
Before Ophelia has spoken, Annie reaches for the locket. She has seen the flash as a sign.
Handing over the locket, Ophelia says, “Look inside.”
Annie pops open the heart-shaped locket. Inside there is a faded photograph of a black man. Although she can see little more than his face, she knows he is a farmer.
“Who is he?” she asks.
Ophelia shrugs. “I don’t know. I only know he gave this to a woman named Delia. The night he first clasped it around her neck, they were in a place where you could smell the earth and fresh-cut grass.”
Annie folds her fingers around the locket and holds it to her heart. She is expecting to feel what Ophelia has felt. At first there is nothing; then the locket grows warm in her hand.
“The day I found that locket, I knew it was a treasure,” Ophelia says. “I can’t say how I knew, I just knew. For weeks I slept with it under my pillow and then on a night when the moon was so full and bright it lit the loft, the dream came to me.”
She explains how she saw the two of them together, Delia just a mere slip of a girl but with the light of love shining in her face.
“When I woke I remembered the words he’d spoken.”
Still clutching the locket to her heart, Annie leans in and asks, “What were they?”
Repeating the words just as she remembers, Ophelia replies, “Delia, I love you with all my heart, and if you’re willing to have me I’d like to marry you.”
“What did Delia say?” Annie asks.
“I never heard her words,” Ophelia answers. “But I have to believe she said yes, because I could see them making love.”
Annie laughs. “You actually saw them making love?”
Ophelia chuckles. “Not the way you’re thinking. It was a blurry picture, like they have in the movies.”
When Ophelia gives her approval, Annie clasps the locket around her own neck. She is convinced that, like the bicycle and the ball, it will even
tually let go of a memory.
All summer she wears the locket. It has the look and feel of something with a secret to share, and she is determined to find it. When she sits idle, Annie fingers the locket and thinks back on the words of Ophelia’s story. Eventually she can picture the couple, not close up but from a distance. She sees them sitting in the grass and feels the sweetness of their kiss. As time passes this picture settles in her head, but she no longer knows whether she has actually gathered this memory or it’s merely a version of the story she has heard.
~ ~ ~
In the months she has been here, Annie has learned to mix potions as Ophelia does and, like her mentor, she spins tales of encouragement and hope.
“A pretty girl like you doesn’t need a potion to cause a man to fall in love,” she tells Sara Jean Lewes as she hands her a mix of lemon verbena and jasmine.
Sara Jean smiles. Like many of the other customers, she finds it easy to talk to Annie. So the word passes from one customer to the next, and it is said that Annie is a younger version of Ophelia.
“I remember when Ophelia was that age,” Eldridge Mercer says, “and she was the spitting image of Annie.”
It is nearing the end of August when Annie tells Ophelia that she must return to Philadelphia.
“I’ve got to get the rest of my things and find someone to sublet the apartment,” she says.
A cloud crosses Ophelia’s face. “You will come back, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Annie answers. Her words are sincere for there is no doubt in her mind that she will return. With fall coming there will be less work to do in the garden, but she is ready to go in search of a job. She will need the suits and dresses left hanging in the closet.
Memory House: Memory House Collection (Memory House Series Book 1) Page 12
