A short story… by Me!

The clock ticked a steady rhythm on the mantel, echoing throughout the room. The hands of the clock seemed to move ever so slowly, heralding in every minute as if to remind all present of the inevitable passage of time. Trinkets, snow globes, and family pictures neighbored the old, small, white ticking clock; its round shape nestled in ornately carved, worn wood.

Above the clock hung a portrait of a smiling couple in a field of green grass and lavender flowers – one looking into the camera, the other facing away. The woman wore a wedding dress and the man, a black tuxedo.

The fire below danced its steady rhythm in the large fireplace – its orange glow reflected off the polished wooden floor and its warmth provided comfort throughout the entire room. Granite surrounded its small doorframe, but the entirety of the fireplace dominated the room.

A loveseat, two matching chairs, and a small table took up the middle of the room and faced the fireplace. The deep brown leather of the loveseat was faded from the many people who used to sit there, and its legs were nestled on a grey shag rug. The neighboring chairs sat across from each other, on each side of the loveseat.

On the wall behind the loveseat, many books lined the ivory shelves, well-read books of all shapes, sizes, and topics. Magazines on one shelf created towers among the many hard and softbound books.

The wall to the right of the loveseat was adorned with various family pictures; each wooden frame holding moments frozen in time against a backdrop that needed a new coat of fresh paint. A doorway amid the pictures led to a hallway and into other parts of the house, beyond the view of the room.

Another wall was almost made up completely of large black framed windows, except for the four-foot space beneath them and the floor. The natural light of the moon beamed across the mahogany desk directly beneath them. Through the windows, one could make out the shapes of the dark hills and snow-capped mountains in the distance. The shadows of trees swayed in the night, casting shadows across the grey curtains of the window. Soft candlelight competed with the moonbeams, creating dancing shadows in the room.

The smell of books and firewood wafted in the air, its smell intertwined with the faint scent of lavender from the fresh flowers on the small table and the soft breeze of air that came through the open windows.

Next to the desk stood a dark wooden easel with a blank white canvas resting on its horizontal ledge. On a stool placed purposely in front of the easel sat a woman, bearing an older resemblance to the woman above the mantel. This was her room. This was her escape from the world.

Placing the paintbrush with no paint down on the easel ledge, she stood up. Her green flowery dress flowed with her as she made her way to the small console table by the door. Her greying hair was up in a chignon and curly tendrils of grey hair framed her face. She wore light makeup, as she did every day. Her daily regimen a careful routine of self-care. She looked young for her age but there were signs around her eyes that betrayed her tiredness.

She was always very mindful of how she looked, as if she were going out to tea with friends. The truth was, she never went anywhere. She was fearful of going outside, fearful of being around too many people.

She thought back to the last six years. Six years of solitude, except for the maid who worked during the day and the occasional visit from her son, Jack.

Evelyn delicately grabbed a small handle of her rose patterned porcelain teacup that waited for her on the console table and softly blew on the amber liquid before taking a small sip.

She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the chamomile tea. The light scent brought her mind back to another time. Soft music began playing on the record player. As she turned around to face the fireplace, a scene unfolded before her. A scene she remembered from long ago in this very room.

George had been tending to the fire, poking at a log to get it to roll over. Jack sat on one of the brown leather chairs, adjacent to the matching loveseat. Evelyn was where she was standing, with another cup of tea in her hands.

“Did Mr. Hower find what he was looking for?” Jack amusingly asked his father.

George made a humph sound. “That man will never find what he is looking for.”

Evelyn had walked over from the back wall and sat on the loveseat, between George and Jack’s favorite chairs. “More shop talk during family time?”

George sighed, “Hun, it was just Mr. Hower, always looking for something that is never at the store. I think this time it was women’s hats, the ones with the feathers in it.”

“Fascinators,” Jack chimed in.

“Yeah, whatever they’re called,” George said as he took his seat.

“Women’s hats are all the rage,” Jack teased.

“Yes, Frannie picked up one of those hats when she went to the city! Definitely fascinating things. I would never wear one,” Evelyn had said, between sips of tea.

This was always the best time of day. When her two favorite people in the world were home. George in his chair, Jack in his, conversing about the day. But this day was different.

“Well, all these issues will be your issues, son. Quite frankly, I’m looking forward to it,” George chuckled and stood up to poke at the fire again. 

Jack nervously picked at his khaki pants and started slowly. “I wanted to talk to both of you tonight about my taking on the store.” Jack paused and then continued, “I took another job. I won’t be working at the store anymore.”

George and Evelyn stared at him in surprise. Evelyn was the first to speak, “But Jack, you are supposed to help your father this time of year, and he hasn’t been feeling well. You can’t be fiddling around now. You’re older now and we need your help.”

“Yes, I understand but this is a great opportunity and,” another pause, “it’s a permanent position in New York. I am not going to be ‘fiddling’ around. This is the real thing.”

“New York! What are you talking about boy? You’re leaving? What do you mean by this?” George is upset and Evelyn was surprisingly quiet for the next several moments.

“I’m sorry, dad. This is important to me.”

 “Why didn’t you speak of this before? You have an important role here, with our store. You know it’s been in the family for generations. It supports the small community here!”

“I want to see the world, do all the things that I have always wanted to do,” Jack responded.

Evelyn finally speaks, as calmly as she could manage, “Jack, I understand but could you just wait a while? Take care of things here and maybe visit these places you speak of later. You’re our only child and your dad hasn’t been feeling well.”

Just then, as if on cue, George’s face began turning beet red and it appeared he was having trouble breathing.

“George?” Evelyn had begun.

            Everything became a blur, one minute George was upset and then the next, he’s on the floor clutching his chest. She could hear Jack faintly in the background, calling an ambulance, while she tried desperately to help her husband, but it was too late. George looked into her eyes one last time and then he was gone.

Every time she thought back to this moment, she wondered what she could have done differently. But it was no use. What was done was done.

As the memory faded, the music no longer played and the fire burning in the fireplace no longer seemed as warm as it did that day. Evelyn found herself sitting in the same exact spot she had been all those years ago, sitting next to a dying George. A silent tear slipped past her eyelashes and onto the floor.

Alone in the house, she slowly stood up, and closed the glass door to the fireplace. Sighing, she headed her way to the dark windows. This was the only part of the house she felt comfortable looking out the windows, so the curtains were wide open. There was no one in sight, no prying eyes, no houses, no people, just hills and far off mountains, trees, and sky.

She stood at the window, her eyes tracing the outlines of the trees and hills. Her reflection stared back from the glass – a broken figure wilting in her sorrow. The night breeze that came in through the one of the windows was cold and unwelcome, but she welcomed its chill into her veins as it provided some comfort in comparison to the grief that weighed heavy on her heart. She gazed up at the stars, willing them to whisper strength or courage into her being so she could find the strength to carry on with life, yet they remained silent and far away. Tired of carrying this pain alone, she finally allowed herself to give into despair and feel all that was left inside – emptiness and loneliness.

This night, the moon was full and, in this moment, was high in the sky. ‘One day, one day I will be free of all my fear and of this pain,’ she thought to herself. The house had effectively become a cage for her since the moment George died. She couldn’t leave no matter how much she wanted to.

Sighing loudly, she made her way through the dark hallway joining the library and the foyer and went up the steps to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs hung a picture of Evelyn and George, fifteen years after they had been married. Jack, at ten years old, was sitting on a stool in front of them. They had one hand on each opposite shoulder. They looked happy. George was healthy back then. She had been helping with the bookkeeping and was able to work from home while taking care of the house and Jack. They always made sure they made time for family. It was the most important thing to them.

“Oh, how things have changed,” Evelyn said aloud into the empty darkness of the stairwell. 

Turning to the left at the top of the stairs, she entered two large doors that led into a light blue and ivory colored master’s suite. A large glass door to a balcony, further surrounded by glass, made up the wall to the right of the entrance. The curtains were completely closed. These windows faced the front of the house where prying eyes wanted to take a glimpse of the woman who never left her house.

A large poster bed made of oak took up the middle of the wall to the left. Evelyn made her way there and cried. Somehow, among the grief, she fell asleep.

In these rare moments of sleep, darkness would overcome her and she find herself in a familiar room covered with dark windows and no doors. Big eyes peered in, protruding from faces with no other features. Nothing but black eyes. The dark eyes closed in, widening, and widening as they came closer, until she screamed herself awake.

Evelyn sat up in bed, perspiration beaded on her forehead. “Another nightmare,” Evelyn heavily breathed. These nightmares had to stop.

Without giving herself a moment longer to dwell on the terrifying dream, she hopped out of bed and made her way to the door opposite the two large doors where the master bath was and made it into the shower. She realized in that moment that she didn’t wash her face or undo her hair before bed. She let the hot water rain down on her, and her hair, and washed away her makeup and the evidence of her bad dream and the terrible thoughts that went with it.

The next day, Evelyn sat in front of the blank canvas, thoughts in disarray. It had been so difficult to get her thoughts onto the canvas; more difficult than it had ever been. As thoughts churned, she grabbed her blue and white paints, smeared them together on her palette, and created a dark to light blue blend. Dipping brush in the newly blended paint, she took brush to canvas and began to paint a sky she hadn’t been under for several years. 

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, shocking her out of her reverie. She slowly walked up to the door and peered through the peep hole. It was Jack.

She sighed and opened the door. “Hi,” she said quietly and stepped aside to let him in.

“Hi mom. I just wanted to check in on you, make sure everything was okay. You haven’t been answering my calls.”

“Oh, I’ve been busy and everything. Time slipped away.”

Jack sighed. He knew that wasn’t the reason. She was never the same after his dad died. He also knew that, although she would never admit it, she blamed him for some of it.

“Well, I brought you some lunch. Some sandwiches from the store’s deli. They’re freshly made,” he tried to sound cheerful.

Evelyn returned a small smile. “Thanks, Jack.”

As they enjoyed their meal, Jack thought back to the last six years. He ended up taking on the business and never left the small town. He felt he needed to take care of mom. She would never eat on her own, so he hired a maid, which Evelyn had initially refused until he convinced her it was for his benefit; that he wouldn’t have to take on the entire household and the business.

Eventually when he felt she could be okay, he moved out to his own apartment on Main Street, two blocks from the family business.

Jack walked around the house to ensure everything was in order as Evelyn looked on. He noticed the painting of the sky on the easel. “That’s beautiful, mom,” he said. Evelyn nodded in thanks.

“Alright mom,” Jack sighed. “I need to get back to the shop. I will see you soon?”

“Sure,” Evelyn responded.

They said their goodbyes and Evelyn was alone again.

Evelyn generally liked being alone. Her anxiety levels were lower, and she could think about her art. It was the only thing that kept her going.

After George died, she had to check herself in to a hospital in the city, to calm her anxiety levels and address the depression that had suddenly taken over her life. After six months, with medication and weekly therapy, she was able to get through her daily tasks and eventually, back to her art. Painting helped her cope through the bad times. She painted of faraway lands, places that she had always wanted to visit. 

She sat in front of her easel. It was a healing process for her, and it made her feel closer to George. He would always sit with her, in this room, while she painted. He would read and they would occasionally pause to talk about the funny things that happened at the store.

As night neared once more, she made her way up the stairs to the bedroom. Quietly, she brushed her teeth and went about her nightly tasks. She switched the bathroom light off, took off her robe, got into bed, and turned off the light. She lay quietly, staring at the ceiling, fearful of another nightmare. This night, it was quiet, and she rested well.

In the morning, she went straight down to the library. She felt well rested and wanted to seize the moment. She opened the curtains to the windows, letting the sunlight beam across the contents of the room, lighting her canvas so that she could work. She looked at her painting of the sky and sighed. She had only the blue sky and the clouds, some birds, and nothing more.

As she sat down in front of her painting, she made a decision. Today she would finish it. It deserved to be finished.

Brush to paint and paint to canvas, she painted strokes of different shades of green and dots of purple. Yellows and whites followed. She felt it was an extension of herself; a way for her to express all the feelings that were swirling inside her in unique hues and shades. Her mind was clear and focused, yet she moved with precision and freedom – nothing seemed impossible for her today. With every passing moment, the painting before her came to life in ways that only she could comprehend.

Finally, as the light beaming from the window began dipping below the ledge of the window, she placed the last strokes of her piece. The greens of the leaves and the purples of the flowers popped out of the canvas. Her lavender fields. The place where George proposed and where they had gotten married.

“George,” she whispered, feeling a sense of peace and joy as she looked around at the vibrant colors of the painting before her. As if it had been touched by a magical force, the canvas now glowed with an energy that filled her heart with happiness. This was her escape from reality; this was her refuge from the world and its worries. “George,” she repeated, “I am finally free.”

~ ~ ~

“Mom, mom, open the door,” Jack had been knocking for a few minutes. She could be taking a nap, he thought. Worried, he decided to use his key to ensure everything was okay. He slowly turned the key in the doorknob to give her little bit of notice in case she heard him trying to come in, but no one protested on the other side.

“Mom,” Jack called out again. He made his way to the kitchen and then to the library, but she was not there. The curtains had been open, so she had to be up. “Mom!” He called a bit louder. The painting by her desk had caught his eye.

Jack stepped closer to the painting, examining it with intense interest. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing; his mother and father, standing in the middle of a vibrant lavender field, arm-in-arm and looking towards the sunset as if they were heading somewhere new. They looked so happy – like they had been liberated from something. Jack felt tears in his eyes as he realized what this painting meant: that after all their struggles and hardships, his parents had found their freedom at last. He stared into the canvas, feeling a mix of emotions – sadness for all that his parents had gone through and joy for them being together once more. Finally, Jack whispered to himself: “They are finally free.”