by Linda Gerald
ENCHANTED
LINDA HEAVNER GERALD
Copyright © 2016 Linda Heavner Gerald
All rights reserved.
ISBN:153344790X
ISBN-13:978-152244790
DEDICATION
The plane lands. You collect your luggage.
You walk outside.
Everything changes at once.
Sounds become louder. Sights become clearer. Tastes become sharper than ever experienced. What is THE hold?
There is an edge that no other city can provide. WELCOME TO “OUR NEW YORK!”
TO: John and Margie Miller who love New York!
Thanks to Ahley Baumann for the
cover.
Debbie Hooper, Thank you for the author photo
CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NONE:
ENCHANTED
DOTTIE’S STORY
Some marriages survive while others fall apart. Loss, betrayal, death, even murder could not loosen something so profound which appeared impenetrable in this couple, but why? Bumps and dips in the road created pain and fear; at the end perseverance, combined with commitment allowed this couple’s incredible love to endure. Why was their love unending?
My name is Dorothy George. Never, did I subscribe to the title “maid or housekeeper.” Mr. and Mrs. Harry Grover called me, “Miss Dottie,” until the day they died. It never occurred to me, way back at the beginning that I might witness the death of my beloved Mrs. Grover. The day they buried her, I also died; at least, I wanted that because I loved her so deeply. Edwina Grover was like my daughter. Not every domestic employee can state that with honesty.
When I look back at the beginning, it makes a smile cover these old lips which have laughed and cried way too much. The second Mrs. Grover came, as a young woman, to live in the house which the first Mrs. Grover built with her husband. My reaction to number two was not exactly kind; not in the beginning, but I warmed up to her easily. How could I not love the most beautiful and thoughtful woman whom I ever encountered? The first wife was great, but God saved, “The best until last.” That’s what Mr. Grover always said. His words were not as a comparison. He loved his first wife with a steadfast love. When she died, he became angry at God. Edwina Grover, wife number one, committed suicide the day her death sentence, of an inoperable brain tumor, became known. I didn’t blame her, but Mr. Grover was furious that she stripped him of the ability to nurse her. He wanted to take care of her, just as she cared for him, all of the years after their marriage. Their union was blessed and happy from the beginning to the end. Flowers, laughter, and music filled their grand home.
Each morning, Ms. Edwina insisted that I depose the old flowers. Then I selected a new vase to contain her prizes. This task was one of my jobs. She didn’t nitpick the small things. I would rotate the flower pots because each one possessed a different beauty. Ms. Edwina visited the garden every morning to select her flowers. She loved to pick and arrange them. No one could display flowers like she. Some of her arrangements were huge but the small ones, which she chose for dinner parties, delighted all of their friends. Guests said that they looked forward to the table setting as much as the food. Such a statement was a real compliment; our cook, Ester, was the best in New York.
Ester arrived straight from Budapest. Her credentials were impressive. One, of Mrs. Grover’s family friends, employed her for a summer at their home in Hungary. Ester’s meals were legendary. Each day brought smells to our kitchen, which I still dream of encountering. Ester died three days after Ms. Edwina. Mr. Grover said she died of a broken heart when she lost her best friend. Family associates remarked how strange that Edwina developed a strong relationship with a household employee. Even Mr. Grover stated that he never understood their friendship. Maybe it was the music. The Grover home played background music from morning until bedtime. Even I grew fond of Bach, Mozart, and Verdi. Ester could sing beautiful opera. Ms. Edwina would sit in the kitchen, by the window, and listen to gilded sounds from the throat of a songbird; who should have stood on stage instead of peeling carrots in our kitchen.
Since working for this family, I never encountered a happier residence. Sometimes, I deliver various gifts to some of the friends of my employers. These neighbors open their ornate doors with a look of anxiousness. In my home, the joy is present all day, each day. My idea is that Mr. Grover is such an easy man. After living with two different wives, I can say that he seems to be the happy one. Life is comfortable, and even problems do not overwhelm in his presence. Wife Number Two said it was his faith; it kept everything so steady. I believe that to be true. When Edwina died, even in the early days, he always had time for others. Now, I may be prejudiced, but he just had a way.
Ms. Edwina didn’t confide in me much. Her belief that household help should not be confidantes did not bother me. I was told that by Mother, who also was a domestic employee. The only thing, which I ever was privy to hear from Ms. Edwina, was that she and Mr. Grover married while attending Washington and Lee University. The rest that I knew was what I witnessed each day; an incredible love shrouded their lives. It never came to mind that one of them would die before me. That horrible day, when Ms. Edwina put a handgun into her mouth and pulled the trigger, will haunt me forever. Mr. Grover just checked on her, while she was supposed to be napping. When we heard the loud boom, we both knew. We ran into her room. Never will I forget that horrible sight. His screams surely were heard in the City. The police had to pull him away so that they could remove her body. For many nights, he refused to sleep in the house. He dozed by the pool in a chaise lounge. Each evening, I covered him with a blanket. It was a terrible time. I suppose that she could not live her last days without the joy which surrounded her earlier. Mrs. Grover told me that she couldn’t bear for him to see her suffer. She seemed to possess a fear that in the end, her actions may not be heroic. I know that he would have loved her no matter, but I guess that she didn’t understand the depth of his love.
After her death, he became somewhat angry and uninterested in life. Retirement from his law practice occurred at about the same time as Ms. Edwina’s death. Too much happened so quickly. Several of his dearest friends encouraged involvement with the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This step resulted in a great love for the Met. He soon became a major patron. A little of that shine returned to those tired chocolatey brown eyes. Once again, he joked each day with me and his appetite returned, but he was never quite the same. Not until She came.
The day I arrived, and found him cooking for a strange, younger woman, I knew our world would never be the same. I fought this change, out of reverence for Ms. Edwina, until I realized that my actions were unfair. Ms. Edwina loved him deeply. His happiness drove her each day. Soon, I stopped fighting his new love and embraced her. What a story of l
ove I’m about to tell you. Wife Number two said all of this. This story is her story.
FIRST SIGHT: THE MEETING
Surrounded by charming people, she felt slightly intimidated. It wasn’t that her dress fell short compared to others, but something appeared very wrong with her mind. Looking down, at her brown dress covered with a sheer gold shine and matching shoes, it was her mental state which frightened her. Something appeared wrong with her thoughts. The perfect gold evening purse was held in damp hands, a little too tightly. When she opened this bag of perfection, it contained only a ticket for admittance to the Metropolitan and a tube of Lancome L’Rouge Lipstick. The beautiful color was Coquette. Her choice of color pleased her. This single thing may sound preposterous that the color of lipstick mattered, but it was a connection with her past. The only link which provided a sense of sanity in a desperate situation. Calmly, she realized those were the only two pieces of information, which she possessed concerning herself. Her plan to attend a gala at the Met and the color of lipstick.
Every word, uttered by people around her, shattered the semblance of peace, which she fought to maintain. Each individual, who passed her, was studied. Surely someone would soon return to her side with an explanation as to this strange predicament. Who was she?
Much too slowly, the line crept forward into the opulence that is the Metropolitan. The night air felt cool and comforting when the door opened. Fall of the year greeted everyone. Conversations around her took on great importance. Perhaps, one of the surrounding attendees may know this stranger. Soon, it was apparent that she waited alone. Upon entrance, there was only a feeling that she knew this place; she loved it. Patiently, she stroked a marble column. Smiles greeted her from faces thrilled to attend, whatever it was that waited. This woman entered, as fear grew deep from within. There was no joy at enjoying a night of splendor.
All evening, she remained with her new friend, a hard marble column. Fearfully, she studied the polished floors and opulence of the beautiful Metropolitan Museum of Art. The grandness and largeness, of this huge building, only reinforced her feeling of smallness and unworthiness. Refusal, to accept this uncertain status as mentally impaired, cost her hours. Denial, of her circumstance, only postponed the inevitable. This woman was alone. She appeared different from the others. Alone, she waited in the same spot. Her tired eyes surveyed the polished floors with a hope that soon someone might approach with answers. Together, they would leave arm-in-arm laughing at the predicament, which she suffered. This hoped-for event never occurred. Soon, the same people, as before, strolled happily back into the grand marble entrance. What popping sounds or enlightening speech inspired them? Why had she chosen this night to attend? Only a few cursory nods greeted the beautiful, sad woman. It was at that moment: the fear became panic.
An attendant stood in the center of the hall. Hesitantly, she calmly approached.
“Excuse me. Do you know me?”
The great smile evaporated from his face. “Madame, you are well? What was your question? I don’t understand.”
“I’m unable to understand either. I don’t have memory. You must know me?”
“Madame, you need to move on. I will phone the police, but that is the only service available to you.”
Quickly, she walked away. Thoughts of spending her night dressed elegantly, on a cot in prison, did not appeal to her. As she walked, to the side of the vast hall, she assumed a stride of assurance and confidence, so that the watching attendant would not intervene. Quickly, she turned her head, to see if the attendant was watching. He was not. She hurried out of his sight.Tucked into the side of the gigantic building, she noticed a set of stairs. Hastily, she climbed them without interruption.
A long hall sadly greeted her. Dimly lighted, the doors were mostly closed. Thick carpet, the color of sea foam, gave a sense of peace. She felt no peace. The long carpeted halls contained a loneliness. In fact, they were eerie. The sconces provided a soft, yellow light. This glumness only added to the moroseness, which she felt at her predicament. Glumly, she slumped into a chair with no idea how to proceed. Many moments passed, until the sound of laughter met her ears. She stood. Five men walked from an office in great mirth. Three left, but two remained tightly huddled in conversation. It appeared that they made plans for a golf game the next day.
“Superb, see you then, old man.” They laughed. The stranger, who passed her, nodded with a puzzled look. He did not question her. Turning once, to glance her way again, he seemed uninterested in her presence. He was middle-aged, trim, and very handsome. Timidly, she walked toward the remaining gent. He watched her approach. He seemed puzzled by her slow walk toward him. That was the first moment of meeting.
Standing before her stood a man of elegance. Although he looked about twenty years older, he radiated health and a love of life. He was not particularly tall. His features were dark. His elegant suit echoed the fact that he must be very wealthy. His teeth glowed in the semi-darkness. Outwardly, this man oozed sophistication. He waited for her approach with a glowing smile. Her reaction was trembling from her very soul.
“May I help you? Do you have questions?” His kindness assured her.
“Yes, I have a question. Do you know who I am?”
The smile left his lips. “Is this a joke? I’ve never seen you.”
“Please, you must help me. This situation is not a joke. I have no recollection of my life. The only thing that I remember is my favorite Lancome lipstick because it is in my new bag. I know the handbag is new since the clasp is tight.” She sounded ridiculous, as she rambled her words incoherently.
If this statement created humor, she failed to see it. He laughed softly. Her tears started; they followed with increased tremors. Her hands covered her face. She staggered toward this stranger. He seemed to believe her, as he gently touched her shoulder.
“You don’t need to be emotional; I will do my best to assist you. An explanation must exist for your predicament. Together, we will discover your secrets.” He smiled so kindly that her tears stopped briefly.
“Please, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in a homeless shelter, prison, or a mental institution. Look; I’m at the Met. How bad can I possibly be? How could this happen?” The tears started stronger than before. He hugged her gently. With a touch of effervescence, he gently shrouded her. She felt like a small child being comforted by a beloved parent. The peace, he offered, seemed like a life preserver to this little woman sinking in fear and despair.
“What will we do?” Did he realize that her problem just became his? He smiled. He looked at her intently. He appeared to be trying to formulate a plan.
“Let me introduce myself. My name is Harry Grover. Outside, my driver should be waiting. I live many miles away. At my home, there is a small guest cottage. You are more than welcome to stay for a few days. My wife passed away years ago. Her room remains the same as the day that she died. We will find you a few clothes to wear during this time until your memory returns. Dottie has told me for years that I needed to send these items to Goodwill. I couldn’t. Do you feel comfortable with this plan? I could get a hotel room for a day or two. That will not be a problem.”
This suggestion was more than she could ever hope.
“Yes, please let me stay at your cottage. Fear overwhelms me. I’m not sure why. Now is not the time for me to be alone. Not now, please don’t leave me.” She realized the bizarre request from a stranger, but it seemed imperative that she not be left alone. The handsome stranger smiled, as he guided her to a door in the back. The fragrance, of his freshly laundered shirt, caused her to wonder, Who took care of this kind and gentle person? Could it be Dottie, whom he mentioned earlier?
The girl’s eyes inadvertently remained glued to his face. Although he was very masculine, there was a gentleness. Was she making a mistake leaving with someone, whom she did not know? What waited for her and where were they going? Her nervous system quivered, as though she could not process more confusion. They entered
his black Lincoln. She trusted him completely, since there did not appear to be another option. His driver whisked them away, quickly into the darkness.
TWO: BEGINNING
As they sped into the darkness, silence pervaded the space around them. The woman later said that she immediately realized her folly. She suddenly suffered panic unlike the other episodes of fear. She considered jumping from the speeding car but was too terrified to move.
The man insisted that the temperature increase since the lady did not have a sufficient wrap. Soon, the interior was stifling. This sad creature said she realized, at that point, that she had a deep fear of someone yelling at her. Even though perspiration collected on her face and body; fear of reprisal, if she made a suggestion, kept her from commenting. Eventually, the driver complained that he might, “Pass out,” if the temperature was any hotter. Everyone laughed which cleared the air.
The young stranger began to relax for a few moments. When her eyes adapted to the darkness, she was able to study the face of her companion. His eyes remained fixed straight ahead. He gave no awareness of her presence. He was extremely handsome with dark features. Graying hair was brushed straight back off of his face. There was a small mole on his left cheek which provided keen interest to his face. His gentle smile made her feel that he must be a kind and thoughtful person.
The silence became heavy, and fear began to invade her heart again. She felt tiny and alone. Tears filled her eyes, covering her cheeks, but no one noticed. She stared out of the window, to her left, in case the man by her side might look her way. She refused to appear weak.
After some time passed, her host softly said, “Well, young lady, do you know anything about this area?”
No words escaped due to the lump in her throat. Feelings of nausea permeated her body. What would she do if she became sick? This stranger surely would not appreciate that. Already, she knew of the imposition, which she created for him. At that moment, she wanted to die. Death seemed like a more attractive alternative than being at the mercy of a stranger. As hard as she tried, she was unable to prevent the muffled sounds of her sobs.
