Connections

By Jay Holmes

Connections,a contemporary novel, is the story of a group of elderly people who create new rites of passage in their struggle against ageism, loneliness and social boundaries. Romance, love, sex affects the lives of older men and women, too. Survival and quality of life can be more challenging but each member of the household brings a greater lifetime of experience to find solutions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Holmes
• Release date: Nov 18, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452457659

Jay Holmes

I'm a single gay man, a retired investigator for a Western state now happily living in the Fort Lauderdale area. I've written fiction for many years as a re-direction of an evil collector's obsession--hey, collecting words counts, doesn't it? My fiction/creative resume and synopses are available on my web site posted here.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Anna could still hear the words as she lay in the darkness unable to let go of her worries and fall sleep.

Leave it be, Anna Britton.

But Freida, something has changed you. I ...

You will please not meddle. Freida had pressed her lips tightly together and frowned as she turned her back and washed the dinner meat platter for the third time since Anna had sought her out in the kitchen. She had shaken her head slowly and murmured again, you will please not meddle.

Now the grandfather clock struck one o'clock and at last the house was quiet. Anna felt it was safe to slide out of her bed and slip her feet into the soft house slippers. She opened her door quietly, paused to listen, then padded down the hallway to the bathroom in the other wing. As usual, she avoided the closer bathroom because she feared she would be overheard by Ria Owens, the boarder whose room shared a wall with the bathroom.

Had she known that all the boarders stirred at her soft footsteps each night, and awaited the soughing passage of her return before sinking finally into the depths of sleep, her bashful kidneys would have refused to grant her relief. But it was only a physical relief.

Back in her room, Anna sat down at her secretary, took her pen in hand and dealt with her feelings in the only way she could.

Dear Freida,

The house seems to have lost its soul since you stopped singing. In the years we have been friends, you have never seemed so distant from me. I ache to comfort you and cannot understand why you won't confide in me. What can be so wrong you will not share it with your dearest friend?

Your silence echoes inside me like Papa's empty ballroom almost fifty years ago. Now, as then, my spirit is enshrouded in a ghostly mist of fog swirling off Papa's veranda through the tall, glass doors that stood open, ranks of sentries turning blind edges to duty. I stood in the pre dawn darkness and imagined myself smiling and happy in my white silk gown, turning slowly. Now and then I paused to curtsy to the shadow people who applauded my sixteenth birthday and exclaimed breathlessly of my beauty. The candelabra and chandeliers blazed brightly and sent dancing rainbows splashing outward, bathing the room in color.

Suddenly all the candles were snuffed out and the first ray of the morning sun cut through the fog and held me pinned like a butterfly under glass until my cheek glowed hotter and hotter with the shame of my ugly red birthmark. I tried to raise my hands to cover my face, but I was paralyzed, frozen in that chilled spotlight for all to see. I don't know why I was drawn night after night to the ballroom. Was it the dream of the ball I could never have? Or the hope that the dream was the reality.

That searing memory unleashes less fear than the chill of your withdrawal, my dear Freida.

At least then I knew the scarred face of my fears. I can see it in my mind now without trembling because I have you for a friend. You are more to me than the dear pen pals who were my only consolation through all those lonely years. Always I wondered if they would love me as much if they could they see me.

I felt this house welcoming me the first day my trembling fingers pulled the cord of the front door bell. It rang out clear, singing notes, a happy herald. Even so, my cheek burned hot and bright, replicated in the facets of the beveled panes of the door, exposing my fear that you might not want me as a boarder in your house. It wouldn't be the first time I was shunned because I bore the port wine stain on my left cheek.

It's years since anyone openly reviled me because they believed my birthmark was a mark of Satan. But even that was easier to bear than the half hidden stares and pity eyes.

Freida, you didn't stare, you didn't pity. You reached out and hugged me into your ample arms and spoke words that made me feel love, even through that brusque German accent that has barely faded over the years, Come into our home, Anna Britton, you said. You are the first. My house and I have waited for you.

Why did you welcome me so easily, so freely? But the reasons don't matter. You're my dearest friend, and I miss you.

We have both looked forward to that young, nice Virginia moving in today. We've been a household of old people for too long. We need the freshness of youth to energize us again, but I fear even youth is not enough to revive the joyous spirit that seems to have died within you.

Why have you excluded me when you need me? I miss you, Freida.

With Love,

Anna

Anna crumbled the letter into a tight ball, laid it on her bed stand and steeled herself for a long wait.

****

Chapter 2

Freida Shusterman cried in her dream. The German Shores behind her disappeared under dark storm Clouds that stretched outward like Claws grasping for her Ship. Giant Waves crested beneath her, raised her up until her Stomach roiled, and sour Fear filled her Mouth. Each Wave moved past and left a Wake of turbulent Undertow that caught the Ship and pulled it back, back, back to the Ruins of the only Home she had ever known.

Der Wirbelsturm! Cyclone! Lightning crackled all around and charged the Air with Ozone that stung Freida's Nose and sent a faint blue Charge skipping across her Arms, the Hairs tensing and rising in Fear. Freida felt trapped in the twisting Winds that spun her around and around until her Past, Present and Future blurred. Freida shut her Eyes tightly to still the rising Sickness. Etched in the Darkness of her Memory were Oma and Opa.

Why canst Thou not come, Oma? Freida's Tears were salty on her Lips.

Oma's wrinkled Fingers felt soft with Age as they gently brushed Freida's Cheek. Hush, Little One. Thou must not cry. Do not shame me.

Freida breathed deeply and held it until her Heart slowed, then whispered, please come with us.

I cannot, Little One. I cannot leave this House where I was born. I cannot leave my Mama, my Papa, my Oma, my Opa. The Walls would weep with Sorrow should I abandon the Spirits of our Ancestors.

Freida turned to plead with Opa, but he put his Arm around Oma and turned his Head to hide the Shine in his Eyes.

Freida set down the worn Suitcase. Then, I will stay, too.

Oma stroked the tight, shining blond Pigtail wound around the Crown of Freida's Head. No. Thou must go. The Young must live for the Dead.

Freida laid her Cheek against Oma's Neck and smelled the faint Scent of perfumed Soap that Oma only used on Sundays and special Occasions. She felt the Wetness of a single Tear on Oma's soft Skin and fought her own Tears until she was forced to open her Eyes to hide the Memory in the dizzying Whirl of the Storm.

Oma and Opa were already lost in the Nazi Storm. Now it was trying to pull them back, too. Freida began to cry again. Mama and Papa held tight to each other and pulled her against their Legs for Shelter.

Then Mama and Papa were gone! Freida was alone on the Sea, drifting between the Home she had lost and the Home she hoped to find. Drifting helplessly, tossed by the Waves. Sinking.

Freida awoke filmed with sweat, tears wetting her grey hair. She reached out into the darkness and touched the wall behind her bed, felt for the sheltering solidity of the house.

She whispered in the darkness, I did not understand why Oma would not leave. I did not know that her dear old House was the Body and she was the Heart, both filled to overflowing with the Souls of our Family.

The old, warm feeling of comfort she felt from her beloved house, her home, did not come. There was only the cold hardness of fear in its place, a fear that drove her out into the cold, predawn mist.

Freida had always loved the quiet of Sunday morning that enveloped the neighborhood. Only today did she notice that the deserted street and parking lots sat like moats around each little square castle of commerce, reminders more of automobiles than of people.

The fine commercial landscaping kept the tree shaded block green and cool. But the shrubs and bushes served more to keep people out than to invite them in, except for the occasional street people who made furtive homes in the low night shadows cast by the pooling lights from the parking lots.

Here and there, houses with peeling paint and rotting wood hinted at past days when long skirted women and high collared men strolled to the fine old Victorian church, gutted now. A sign announced that a new office building would soon usurp the site.

Only Freida's house stood there clean and cared for amid the marketplace. The veranda hung with summer pretensions baskets of lush Boston ferns alternated with fuchsias blazing bright, intertwined with gingerbread lace of the past. Wicker chairs with flowered cushions lined both sides of the massive glass and oak door, and the rockers moved gently as if someone had just left and would soon return. It was a house of people and gossip and afternoon breezes.

Freida sat on the splintered bench across the street, shivering in the chill morning fog, feeling much older than her fifty five years, an antique in a modern world. The mini park by the bus stop was deserted, and it was aloneness that had drawn her out of the warm house she loved so much.

Freida pulled her sweater around her shoulders to block the cold of the thinning fog and the sorrow she had kept to herself since Friday afternoon. Anna had noticed the absence of Freida's singing from the kitchen. Freida had turned away because the hurt in Anna's eyes was more than she could bear. Her other boarders had not questioned her yet, but the quizzical looks were increasing.

Freida knew she could not shield them much longer; she would have to tell them soon. How could she tell them the house has been lost? This past day and night were filled with the pain of holding the news inside herself, trying to spare the house from the despair she felt.

It was futile to try; the house knew. It stared in sorrow across the street at her, its arched window caps pleading for relief. The brilliant fuchsias mocked the gloom and hurt Freida knew was there.

Freida had felt the spirit of the house when she first entered it over thirty years ago as a young bride. Though frightened by the prospect of leaving her close knit German family and community in Chicago, she had sensed from the beginning there was no evil in the fine old house. It had belonged to her husband's family since it was built in 1879. She had worked alone in the big kitchen, a bib apron tied around her body, a kerchief covering her blond hair and her sleeves rolled high up her arms. She talked to the house as she scrubbed away the grime of indifference.

Who are the Souls who whisper in your Walls? A gentle breeze soughed through the freshly washed curtains.

Freida scrubbed over the buckle that swept like a gentle wave under the linoleum, a remnant of the 1906 earthquake that Freida liked to believe jolted and jerked the house in a rebirth, an awareness of the life and spirit within itself.

Out of Pain comes Joy. Freida could almost hear Oma's voice as she dug out the built up wax and dirt along the baseboards.

We are Home, Oma, said Freida. She smiled at her sparkling clean kitchen and smelled the freshness of soap. Heart and Body are one again.

Freida had felt the house loving her and protecting her through the long unhappiness of her marriage. That love had sustained her through the silent brooding years while her husband gradually lost the family money and then retreated into drinking to forget his failures.

Mr. Shusterman she still could not think of him by any less formal name was a man to share neither affection nor financial details with a woman. Nor would her old country upbringing allow her to question him anymore than she could question the authority of a bank official.

She still winced at the painful memory. She had been sitting vigil with her husband's body late in the night after all the visitors had gone, trying to sort out her feelings, wondering at her lack of grief, feeling guilty at her rising sense of elation over her new freedom. Absently, she sifted through the mail that had accumulated unread for three days. As she read the bank's letter, her heart numbed with shock as the realization of her greatest loss seared through her brain her home was gone!

Her husband, never an intelligent man, a plodding and gullible one, had taken a balloon loan on the house and failed to keep up the payments. He had ignored the notices until, finally, the bank sold the house to an investor.

The investor, a vice president of the bank and the bank president's son, wanted to hold onto the property, and readily agreed to lease the house to Freida.

At first the rent payments had been hard to meet. Ten years ago five hundred and fifty dollars was a large sum for a widow with no skills struggling to earn her way amidst Santa Rosa's burgeoning growth. Quickly her husband's life insurance money was depleted. Freida had not worried even then. The strength she drew from the house gave her courage and hope.

Then Anna Britton had come. She was not only Freida's first boarder, but her first real friend. Many boarders came for a short time and left. But Anna was still with her.

They were quite the pair. Freida was stout and brusque, filled with the fright and wonder of learning to be mistress of her own home. Anna was small and shy, and in sixty six years of living had not discovered a confidence in herself. She kept to the shadows to hide the large port wine birthmark that covered the left side of her face, but her gentle and loving nature reached beyond those shadows. In the first years together, only Freida, and Anna's many pen pals, saw her real beauty. It would be hardest of all to tell Anna they were losing the home they both loved so much.

That was why Freida had not told Anna about the latest notice. Why worry Anna over something that would most likely turn out to be nothing?

The Friday afternoon sun had warmed her mood as she walked the few blocks to the offices of the Sequoia Savings and Loan where her landlord was now president. Inside the lobby, she wondered why anyone would prefer the dryness of air conditioning on such a fine Indian Summer day. When Freida was called for her appointment, she straightened her hat and tucked her grey hair.

Mrs. Shusterman, come in, come in. I'm Jonathan Burns, the Third, The heaviness of middle age was barely noticeable beneath his carefully tailored blue, pin striped suit. I am very pleased you came to see me today. Please, have a seat.

Freida felt insignificant in the richly appointed office filled with fine woods, leather and deep carpet. Her knees were crowded against the desk in the low chair Mr. Burns offered her. She was forced to look up at him, and her eyes were unused to the strong light that framed him from the window behind him. She waited while he shuffled through the manila folder that spoiled the deep mahogany expanse of desk top.

Um, yes. One moment, please. Let me finish reviewing your file. Um. Um. Well, yes. Fine, now Mrs. Shusterman, what can we do for you today? He closed the file carefully and adjusted the bottom edge until it was exactly parallel with the edge of the desk.

Freida cleared her throat and tried to bring some moisture back into her dry mouth. Excuse me, please, Sir. I am sorry to bother You. It is only that I am confused by this Paper. Freida opened her large purse and slipped out the notice. She opened it carefully, because it was worn where she had opened and refolded it so many times. I did not understand. I have never missed a rent Payment, even when the Boarders were late with their Rent. But then this ...? Freida held the paper for him to see.

Jonathan Burns stood up, moved from behind his desk to frown down at the bright sun on the rich maroon carpet and to close the sheer drapes. He turned and faced Freida, his hands held behind his back. Mrs. Shusterman, I thought you understood that I would eventually want to sell the house.

Yes, but ....

Mrs. Shusterman, perhaps these financial details are a little difficult for a woman your age to understand. Please be assured my hands are tied in this. My portfolio is top heavy with real estate just now. Of course, if you wish to buy the property ...?

How... What is the Cost?

It is really quite a deal. A prime commercial location such as that usually goes for quite a bit more. But I need to liquidate some assets rather quickly. I would be willing to let it go for only two hundred and thirty thousand dollars.

But I do not have ... Freida's eyes were wide, dry with effort.

Well, perhaps you might find some financial backing. You have plenty of time. I gave you much more than the thirty day notice required by the lease. You won't have to vacate the premises until the first of February. Let's see, that gives you a full forty eight days, I believe. Yes, forty eight days.

Freida was unable to speak, unable to move. She squeezed her hands into a tight fist against her chest and her breath came in short gasps until Mr. Burns became alarmed.

Mrs. Shusterman! Please, Mrs. Shusterman. Are you all right? Can I get you some water?

Freida nodded. She took a deep, slow breath and held it while she forced herself to stop shivering. She took the water and drank it slowly. It cannot be. I cannot pay it.

Now, now, Mrs. Shusterman, don't you worry about that just now. The furrows in his forehead deepened as he squinted into Freida's face.

How can I not worry? Will You give me more Time? I do not know what I could do, but if I just had more Time.

Hah uumm. His forehead smoothed out and he straightened. Hah uumm. That's it, I'm glad you are able to calm yourself. Ahh, no, I'm afraid I won't be able to extend the time frame. Some of my other investments have .... I'm sure you understand, what with all of the troubles savings and loans are having. Surely you've read about it. It's been in all the papers. No, much as I would personally like to help you, I must sell this property. Surely you understand.

But You are the President of this Savings and Loan, Sir. Perhaps a Loan...? Freida faltered as she saw his eyes glaze like a bland veil had fallen over him.

No, I'm afraid not, Mrs. Shusterman. I must protect the interests of the shareholders, you see. And the instability of your income doesn't meet the institution's requirements. Perhaps you'd like to rest a bit before you leave? I have another appointment now, but I'm sure we could make you comfortable until you regain your composure.

Freida firmed her shoulders and heaved herself out of the low chair and clutched her purse tightly. "No, thank You, Sir. I will not trouble you further. I had best be getting back. I cannot think what I will say