Emily

The elderly woman masked her face behind a forced smile.  Pain from years of a hidden private thought, she carried the burden of a secret storm.  I didn’t tread any further.  I could see that it brought cruel, unforgiveable sorrow.  I let it go.  We had been friends for several months now, I still knew very little about her.

            Emily was an elegant, beautiful woman in her eighties.  She had grace, feminine movements, she was a lady.  I loved talking with her and being in her home, she was a wonderful host.  Most days we sat in her living room drinking tea.  From there, Emily would watch the hummingbirds dart around in front of the large window.   “Ann dear, don’t you just love how the humming birds dance?” she would ask.  “See how they move to the music?” as she would hum a tune.” Very beautiful” I replied.  I loved watching her enthusiasm for the smallest things.  Mostly, I loved watching Emily’s hefty black and white cat try to grab at the birds as they teased him through the shielding protection of the glass window.

            I had a wonderful family.  Talking about my childhood memories was a favorite subject between me and Emily.  She asked many questions, and I loved talking.  My parents had recently moved far away and I was lonely for company.  She seemed to be lost for company too.  We were a perfect pair.

            I usually stopped by in the late afternoons after being at my job.  I worked in a cubicle, like a hermit in a hole; I couldn’t wait to get out among the living.  It was a mundane job, but it paid the bills.  I longed for some excitement in my thirty-something years.  I didn’t have much of a social life, an introvert of sorts.  My relationships were mainly family and very few close friends.  Emily was the closet thing I had to a best friend since grade school. Emily and I had similar interests from our favorite tea to our favorite color, pink.  She loved hearing about me growing up, listening to my stories about my parents.  We talked for hours, some days late into the evening when she would make us tuna fish sandwiches with sliced tomatoes for dinner.   I loved these days, like her I was a loner, but we longed for company.

            I knocked on Emily’s door, and waited patiently for her to answer.  Emily always answered; I think she anticipated my visit as much as I did.  But today, there was no answer.  I knocked again.  Still no answer.

            I opened the door.  “Emily?” I called.  “Emily, its Ann.”  I cautiously stepped in to her home.  The front room was deserted, the emptiness consumed me.  “Emily?” I called again.  I reached down and stroked the cat, but he ran away towards the bathroom. Not wanting attention.  I followed him.  Fear of what I might find there struck me hard in the gut.  I was worried, I was afraid and yet I moved forward.  Felix snuck in between the crack of the slightly a jarred door.  I pushed it slowly open.  She lay on the floor.  She was moving, moaning softly.  “Emily, I’m here, I will get help.”  I ran for the phone and dialed 911.

            It seemed like eternity before help arrived.  I lay carefully next to her stroking her hair and gently reassuring her that she was ok. A smile crept across her face and she closed her eyes.  I tried hard not to let the sound of my voice echo my feelings inside. When help arrived I quietly moved to the living room and watched as they carried her away to the waiting ambulance outside.

            I followed in my car. And tried to keep up with the flashing lights ahead of me, and pulled in to the parking lot.  I don’t remember even going inside the hospital, but the clock ticked away as I sat waiting on news of Emily’s condition. 

Her room was crisp and white.  Electronic devices hung beside her adoring her bed.  I was told she had cancer.  She had been sick for awhile, but her dignity, her elegance wouldn’t allow her to complain.  I stepped in to the room and the once beautifully composed woman now lay pale against the white sheets. 

            She didn’t open her eyes.  My feet barely touched the ground and I was beside her, stroking her hand.  I spoke kind words of our friendship and about how much I looked forward to seeing the hummingbirds with her again in the spring.  I did everything I could to give her hope.  She never opened her eyes again. 

            I had never been in Emily’s house without her there.  I intruded where I did not belong.  I felt like a prowler lurking in her home.  I needed to feed the cat; I used that excuse to ease the guilt.  Emily was gone.  She wouldn’t care now.  I wanted to know more about her, I had no idea who to even call about her death.  I would arrange the funeral, for my own benefit.  But the home, her possessions.  They belonged to family.  I had already made up my mind that Felix would live with me, I wanted the company, and I would deeply miss Emily. 

            I had only been in the most public places of Emily’s home.  That moment I felt saddened that I had not been a bigger part of her life.  Felix followed me.  Her bedroom reflected Emily, perfectly balanced of linen and lace.  A white bedspread in a mist of a rose garden.  Pink roses, must be Emily’s favorite they were everywhere.  Pictures hung on the wall, vases on the drawer chest.

            I found an old wooden trunk that sat at the end of her bed, a delicate lace dolie lay adorned on the top.  I carefully picked it up.  It felt fragile in my hands, waves of emotion collided with my breaking heart.  I wanted to cry, I wanted more time. I wanted to know Emily.  I sat down on the floor beside the bed, the dolie fell beside me.  Felix came over, rubbed up against my shoulder and lay in my lap.  I lifted the lid to the trunk, inside was her life story.  I wanted to read it.

            Mostly pictures.  Some papers, a large envelope and a blanket made for a baby.  I was about to search through the papers, when the envelope caught on the edge of the blanket, beneath a stack of letters tied with a delicate pink ribbon lay hidden there.  I chose this first; I wanted to know her first and foremost. 

            All the letters were addressed to Emily, all of them were from John.  I began reading one by one. Uncovering the secrets of her life.  Her story unfolded there for me.

It was dark when I finally realized I had been there for a very long time, my eyes filled with tears from the words on the pages before me.  Emily had only died this morning and I finally knew the woman I had been friends with.

            Emily had fallen in love with married man, John.  She was only seventeen then.  He was twenty-two.  He had married a woman, obviously for whatever reason he was no longer in love with her.  But in those days you didn’t divorce.  Emily had worked in an office where he was her boss and the two fell in love.  Over a month they began to see each other and Emily had become pregnant.  She chose to move away as not to shame her family.  And this is how she had come to live in this home.

            The letters stopped for a few months, and then one came and asked about the child.  That particular letter tore at my heart, he was broken.  It wasn’t until I read the next one that I learned Emily had a little girl and had given her to a family in town that couldn’t have children of their own.  The family had vowed to keep the secret and Emily kept her grace.

            I put together the story of her life.  She had a forbidden love, a child out of wedlock and had kept these secrets for a long time.  The last letter came a few years later.  A thank you for a picture of their daughter.  He told her that he had never loved anyone besides her and that he was sorry but he no longer could write again.

            My heart broke for Emily. 

            The letters lay next to me on the floor, the story of Emily.  I picked up the baby blanket and held it close to me, a picture fell.  It was of a baby girl, a familiar face looked back at me.  Emily?  No someone else.  I couldn’t place it; I had seen that baby before.

I sat there for a long time letting her story sink in.  A storm of history and emotions crashed on me.  I cried, I laughed and I was silent.

            I stayed that night in Emily’s bed with Felix.  The next morning I began the chore of going through her personal items to find more information about any family members.  I would take Felix, but the house and her items should go to her family.  I went to the chest again and started the search.

            I sorted through pictures and cards, many from her sisters.  I read papers and looked through albums.  I knew Emily had no living siblings, all the cards were from them, they quit coming three years ago.  I felt sorry for Emily’s solitarily life.  

            Emily didn’t have much, but I came across a piece of paper that had been notarized many years ago.  It gave the house and all her personal belongings to her only living daughter, Susan Zepner, my mother.  My heart sank, I had met my grandmother.  I had gotten to know this beautiful woman quite by accident.  And she had gotten to know her daughter, her family through me.  Emily had known all along.