The Stories of Andrea T.A.H. Rossi

By E.M. Albano

"The Stories of Andrea T.A.H. Rossi" contains two complete novels: the original story of the young widow, Andrea: "The Widow's Web," and the new sequel, "Letters to Andrea." It is the heart-wrenching, moving story of a young woman from Edison, NJ who thought she had everything in life until tragedy greets her as a young newlywed. The stories invite the reader into a rollercoaster ride of reality when the loss of a loved one becomes 'loss of loved ones' very early in a woman's life. The outcome is unpredictable and informative about a Third World country's society which uncovers true-to-life superstitions and condemnations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477267998

E.M. Albano

Eugenio Michael Albano uses the pen name of E. M. Albano for his novels of fiction because he believes that not all individuals are willing to accept the fact that male writers are capable of writing from a women's perspective. The author is one of seven children, and the first boy following five sisters. He was born and raised in Philipsburg, Pennsylvania, just a short distance from his alma mater, the Pennsylvania State University. He is a former Arthur Murray dance instructor and served in the US Army in France during the early '60s. He earned his Bachelor and Master Degrees in Humanities subsequent to his 12 year marriage and during his 42 year career in real estate. He has taught English Composition and Creative Writing courses at three different community colleges.This is his sixth publication and represents his first and fifth novels—the first being the original story of the young widow, Andrea, and the fifth being the sequel. The two novels contained within represent Parts I and III of a trilogy which includes a companion novel, “Martin’s Story.”The author travels extensively and does most of his creative writing while occupying a modest studio in Paris. He considers both Paris and Perugia, Italy his 'homes away from home." He currently resides in Harrisburg, PA.

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© 2012 E. M. Albano

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 9/20/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-6800-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-6798-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-6799-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012917349

Artist’s rendering (cover) of Eiffel Tower by Chris Albano

All photographs and images are the products and property of the author.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Introduction

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXIX

Chapter XXX

Chapter XXXI

Chapter XXXII

Chapter XXXIII

Post Script

Acknowledgment

Introduction

Foreword

Part I

India, A Place Called Home

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Part II

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXIX

Part III

Paris

Chapter XXX

Chapter XXXI

Chapter XXXII

Chapter XXXIII

Chapter XXXIV

Chapter XXXV

Chapter XXXVI

Chapter XXXVII

Chapter XXXVIII

Author’s Post Script

Acknowledgments

Introduction

When I wrote The Widow’s Web, I was also completing the manuscript for a story which I will always consider ‘the seed’ that led to my writing career: The Letters of Peter Mitchell. While the two novels are not related—with the exception of both being inspired by my many visits to Paris—I wasn’t sure where my writing would lead to afterwards. Although it’s true that at the completion of …Widow’s Web, I felt obligated to write a separate novel about the young widow’s cousin, Martin. He hadn’t been given a life of his own in The Widow’s Web because his sole purpose in that story seemed to be comforting his cousin during her many tragedies. And Martin did deserve to have a life of his own.

While I was developing Martin’s Story, I began to realize that the life of Andrea T.A.H. Rossi (Thompson Albright Harrison) warranted another look…another book that would allow the reader to know what happens to this woman once she reaches India, because her life is not free of dealing with challenges and dark clouds—there seems to be major roadblocks at each turn in the road. In making that decision to write the sequel, I realized that I was completing a Trilogy: The Widow’s Web, Martin’s Story, and Letters to Andrea.

My reason for publishing this book now: the original and sequel is because I wanted to be sure that readers had appreciated ‘the widow Andrea’ in that first story. I also felt an obligation to go back to that original story and to ‘clean up’ the occasional errors that I found after writing that first novel. I have made some slight changes in my choice of grammar and made a few corrections; otherwise, the content of the story has not been changed. I have also included an additional section in this second edition which is titled ‘Andrea’s Photo Album of Paris.’

I hope that you will enjoy the two stories that you are about to read. Since I consider Martin’s Story to be a ‘companion novel’ of the trilogy rather than a direct continuation of the story of Andrea, I have not included that story in this book. But I’m sure that whether you decide to read the story of Martin Slade between the readings of these novels, or afterwards, you will enjoy all three of the stories: The Stories of Andrea T.A.H. Rossi.

The Widow’s Web

Chapter I

Visiting the Journal

Perhaps I should start my story by referring to the entries that I am writing in my new journal; it was a gift from Martin when he realized that it may be quite some time before we would see each other again. He always knew the right gifts to give; we had been exchanging Christmas gifts ever since we were kids. Now the reason was not Christmas, but traveling to a distant land and not knowing when or if we would see each other again. Martin was the only child that my Aunt Rita had and I was the only child born to her sister, but we really grew up treating each other as siblings more so than cousins. He was always around when I needed him and I tried to be the little sister that he would have doted on.

It is going to be a long journey so I might be able to fill quite a few of these pages. And there is a lot to tell in the short period that I had just passed. Some individuals have impressionable early years; that was not the case in my youth. I was well adjusted with parents who couldn’t have been kinder and more generous in their love for me if they had been created right out of the textbook. Sure they had their disagreements like any couple, but they were never major ones…at least none that I recall. My early years were not ones that left heavy marks; they were easy to live and perhaps just as easy to let go of.

My family was pretty average and was rooted from good European backgrounds. My father came from a large family, but none of the siblings had stayed close either in communication or distance. My mother’s family was different; there was only she and her sister, Rita, but they had remained close throughout their adult years, and as a result of that closeness had given Martin and me the brother and sister that we couldn’t have enjoyed otherwise. But I’ll begin with that Saturday, the Saturday that changed my life. I’m sure I will backtrack a bit to explain my marriage to Jack Albright. I thought my life had begun with our marriage. I was mistaken.

It was Saturday morning, and that meant no alarm clock buzzing in our ears. The old alarm clock sound was gone, but the new high tech beeps and sirens were no better. This was one of those Saturday mornings when Jack and I would just lie leisurely until we chose to get up: it was a part of our honeymoon…our play time. We were still classified as newlyweds after just seven months of marriage. We both had our careers: Jack as an accountant for a prestigious Wall Street firm and me as a buyer for one of Park Avenue’s most respected department stores. This morning, however, none of that mattered; we were here together, just the two of us—no phones, no alarm clocks buzzing, and no schedule. We both agreed that on Saturday mornings the phone silencer would be engaged from the night before and that nothing short of an earthquake would disturb us.

We hadn’t been able to take a honeymoon because of the demand of our jobs, so Saturday mornings were our abbreviated honeymoon—at least for the first year. We were looking forward to that special vacation when we could fit it in, but we were content to be so lucky in finding our careers early and knew that travel could come later.

The draperies were drawn shut so that not even a sprinkle of the sun’s rays could sneak through. We had chosen an apartment on the Upper East Side and high enough from early morning car horns and sirens that whaled constantly in New York. We were both impressed and amazed when we looked at the apartment and confirmed the manager’s claim that the building had been successfully sound-proofed during the construction. Even our families were impressed when they visited…which had only been once shortly after the wedding. We were grateful for their consideration of just that one visit. Perhaps we were being selfish, but we wanted those first months to ourselves.

Jack’s dad had retired from the Army where he was a Sergeant Major. His mother had been content to keep the role of a be-at-home mom. Now they were enjoying retirement in the place they had called home years ago: a small town in Illinois. My mother was also a stay-at-home mom until I went off to college. She worked part-time at the college where my father was still teaching his final few years before retirement: Rutgers University in Jersey. Both Jack’s parents and mine had not married early, so they had established careers before the stork brought us into the picture. But now it was just Jack and me and Saturday morning without demands.

I didn’t intend to waste this glorious Saturday morning, so I moved over to my partner in the enormous king size bed. We both agreed that our next bed would not be so large; we enjoyed being close together through the night and not having to look for each other in the morning. We never really had that problem, though. We often awakened in each other’s arms. However, that wasn’t the case this particular morning. Jack had a bad back from an injury during his high school football days and required special orthopedic construction of the bedding. He deserved the best; he was a wonderful husband and I knew he would be from the beginning of our relationship. He was always ready to compromise when we disagreed on something…which was not that often. Occasionally he put in late hours or worked at the office on Saturdays, but this was not one of those times. We had both looked forward to this weekend.

We each had our little specialties: I enjoyed giving backrubs and he had a culinary art for which he had become known. Jack had learned how to make terrific salads from his dad. That was the one area of the menu in which I would not attempt to compete. When we were visiting friends and there were dishes to bring, Jack’s salads were always on demand. We appreciated each other for our strengths and seemed to ignore any weaknesses. Ours was a marriage made in heaven…so we were repeatedly told.

As I continued to sneak over to reach for him, I thought it strange that I had awakened before he had. Usually it was Jack who was sneaking over to where I had wondered off in the middle of the night. Other times he would just go into the kitchen and brew a pot of coffee; he knew that I couldn’t stay in bed when I smelled the aroma of fresh-brewed java.

Was he playing possum, or had I really started earlier than him this morning? I placed my hand under the sheet; I knew that I would get a quick response by strategically placing it in that popular erotic zone. I couldn’t believe it when I didn’t get a hastened response. His body felt cold to me, in an area that has always been warm, but perhaps he had been uncovered through the night. Jack must have really been tired from his week’s activities at the office, but he hadn’t indicated that it had been that kind of week. I made one final move, rolling over on my side to place a kiss on his cheek; it was ice-cold and his skin was stone-like. A chill rushed through my body like a sudden hot and cold shower hitting me at once. I sat up quickly and called out to him. There was no response. I shouted his name uselessly.

Later, I remembered that I had screamed his name as I dashed from the bed to the telephone, but the next time I remembered anything was when I was sitting in a chair in the apartment and a small cadre of people were coming and going. My parents weren’t in the room yet, but there were medical assistance and a doctor who made it official. Jack was pronounced dead. This had to be some bad dream. Jack was only twenty-seven and I was twenty-four. We were just starting our lives together. Our friends had predicted a rare and lasting marriage. We hadn’t even reached the holidays; it was only October.

We were affectionately called Jack and Andy by our friends. I was christened Andrea, but Jack had tagged me with Andy because he said that I was such a good sport and Andrea was too delicate…too formal. He said that he would reserve that name for when I became more matured and matronly in our later years; it would sound well as a mother. My parents didn’t always understand his humor, but I did and I knew that he had given me that name affectionately. So, at parties we were always introduced as Jack and Andy. But Jack was gone, and I felt that Andy was gone too.

Most of our friends were those who I had inherited through Jack. I attended a school in Boston, but Jack had gone to Columbia and many of his college friends had remained in New York. I still remember the first time Jack introduced me to his friends; he was the only single one left among them and they were fiercely protective of him. I could easily sense this with that first introduction. I couldn’t blame them; he was special and they were his close friends.

We met under somewhat of unusual circumstances; it was one of those occasions often termed a ‘chance meeting.’ I was in the last few months of my senior semester when my best friend from school invited me to visit her home outside of Manhattan. She was invited to a party that weekend and didn’t want to show up alone. She had just broken up with her steady and she was determined to attend the party. I hadn’t socialized that much during my years in Boston and decided that I owed myself the break. Jack was there and it was as though fate had opened his door for the two of us…and only the two of us. We dated for almost a year before tying the knot. It was a beautiful small wedding and the most important people in our lives were there: Jack’s college intimates and my parents and Aunt Rita and her husband and of course…my dear cousin Martin. But now that was the past and so was my life with Jack Albright.

Chapter II

A Wife’s Unpleasant Duty

I wasn’t surprised that the Albrights wanted Jack to be buried in Illinois. I was aware that a family plot had been acquired during the passing of his grandfather. There was no reason to not respect their wishes. After all, Jack and I had known each other for less than two years and married less than a year. We had not had an opportunity to start roots of our own on the East Coast.

The Albrights offered to come east when I notified them, but I felt that it would be a wasted trip since I would be bringing Jack to them. I had the comfort and support of my parents and my dear cousin Martin. He was at my side from the moment that he arrived at the apartment. In fact, I think he may have actually gotten there before my parents. I was glad to accept my parents’ invitation to stay at their home that evening. I wasn’t anxious to be alone in the apartment—there were already memories there that were just too fresh. I stayed with my parents until my flight out to Illinois.

It was not easy to plan a flight with a dead husband. I had seen this in the movies and of course the entire nation saw it play out when John Kennedy was assassinated in Texas, but I had no idea what a very strange feeling of loneliness and helplessness this would be.

My parents wanted to accompany me but I had insisted that they not do so. My father had recently returned from a sabbatical leave and I knew that it would be difficult for him to leave again, even under these circumstances. Martin was insistent on coming along, but I told him that I needed to do this alone and to be alone with the Albrights during this time. I hoped that he would understand. I was certain that he would.

Since the final preparation for burial was to be in Illinois, there was no sense in having anything more done in New York except the routine embalmment. The Albrights had been wonderful to Jack and me when we got married by contributing towards the wedding, therefore lightening the financial load that my parents would have otherwise accepted. I wasn’t expecting anything more now that Jack was gone. Our parents hadn’t gotten to know each other very well yet, but there was an instant respect for one another.

Once I arrived in Illinois, I knew that I had to be the strong one. Jack’s mother did not show her emotions openly, but I was concerned about Jack’s father. Jack and his father were very close; he had been everything to him and I just wasn’t sure how he would handle this sudden loss.

Jack’s parents were very gracious to me and asked if there was anything that I would need now that Jack was gone. I assured them that there wasn’t. Jack had only been at his job for a short time and we hadn’t had an opportunity to save up after purchasing furniture for the apartment so there were no funds to speak of. I knew that Jack had a small policy that would cover funeral expenses, but that was about it. The Albrights insisted on taking charge of those expenses, however, and asked that I use the small insurance to get settled in my new surroundings.

Mrs. Albright did everything she could for me—making sure I was comfortable in the guest room, asking if there were any special flowers that I wanted at the casket, and even consulting with me on church music…whether I wished to have it or not. Mr. Albright remained very silent, but took a strong hold of my arm through the graveside service. I saw the evidence that he had shed many tears alone. He wasn’t the military stereotype that was supposed to refrain from emotions. He had taught Jack the art of the salads and he was the one who kept Jack on the telephone when they spoke weekly, just as I had with my own parents. I wanted to be strong for Jack’s father, but I found that my strength had been spent at the New York apartment during the ordeal that followed Jack’s passing.

I did share with the Albrights the fact that it had been determined that Jack had suffered a heart attack during the night. It occurred while he was sleeping. Mrs. Albright made me aware that Jack’s uncle had suffered a sudden attack in the same way and that both men had a history of high cholesterol. Perhaps that was the reason for the salads; Jack’s father may have been trying to make it easier for his son to enjoy good food. Neither of us were big red meat eaters, so it was not apparent that Jack watched his cholesterol. He had a health club membership in Manhattan, but seldom got to make use of it.

I didn’t stay in Illinois beyond the morning of the funeral. I was anxious to return to work and try to keep my mind occupied by moving straight ahead. I had no choice.

Chapter III

Starting Over

I couldn’t keep the apartment; there were too many memories in that short time we had occupied it. And the Saturday morning playpen, as Jack had labeled our king size bed, would also have to go. It would never serve the purpose it had for us. It was a significant loss, but you cannot expect one to buy another’s bedding. I donated it to a downtown home for homeless mothers. Harvey Bernstein had given me the name of the organization and I was glad that someone else could make use of it. I had no intention of leaving my job, however; I had to hold on to something. My doctor agreed that I needed to continue with the career that I had so enthusiastically pursued. He understood about not wanting to keep the apartment, but he advised me not to make too many changes too quickly. He was right and I knew it.

Both Harvey and Ruth Bernstein were wonderful to me during the next several months. Actually, Harvey had always been very kind and very considerate as my boss. He had entered the store because his wife’s uncle was one of the principals of the family of stores that extended throughout the East Coast. No one resented Harvey’s position, however, because he really did earn his keep…so to speak.

Ruth Bernstein was one of the first persons to call me when I returned from Illinois. She wanted to make sure that I knew I could turn to both she and Harvey for anything that I may need. I appreciated her attention and concern, but I really hadn’t gotten to know her as well as I knew Harvey and would not have felt comfortable leaning on her for anything. I later learned to appreciate her sincere friendship.

Jack’s friends called constantly. I had to find a way to discourage some of their calls, but I knew I had to be careful not to offend them; they were genuinely concerned and had taken me in just as they had taken Jack into their close, intimate circle.

I took a small, but comfortable apartment near the Village where I would be away from the Manhattan that Jack and I had started to know. Jack’s friends continued to call and invite me to all the family functions that we would have attended as Jack and Andy. I politely refused most of the invitations, but I did attend one of their children’s first birthdays. I felt that Jack would not have wanted me to ignore his friends entirely. It wasn’t long after that, however, that the invitations came less often and finally ceased to come at all. I was sure that I was responsible for that and did not resent the termination of those friendships. After all, it was families and we had fitted in as a couple. They had looked forward to Jack and me starting a family some day. I was just not a piece of the puzzle any longer. I knew, however, that if I did call any of the couples in need of any type of assistance, they would be there for me. They were just those kinds of solid friends.

I did let Martin back into my life on a limited basis. I knew he meant well and we had always been there for each other. We went to dinner a few times and when I did visit my parents, he was usually there. If he hadn’t been my cousin, outsiders may have thought that he was trying to court me, but our families understood our friendship and knew better. I probably turned down more invitations than I accepted from him, though. He was always the gentleman and refused to let me pick up the bill at restaurants. I could much more afford to do that than he could, but I had to allow him his pride.

The Bernsteins had invited me to share their Thanksgiving holiday with them, even offering to have me stay over but I had been successful in refusing. I hadn’t shared my Christmas after Jack’s death with anyone. The holidays came only two months after his passing and I knew that my parents would understand my desire to be alone. They had called quite often during that time, however, and continued the calls faithfully every weekend. I did allow myself visits to Central Park occasionally to remind myself that there was still a happiness within the city and that families enjoyed their special times together. The brilliant leaves of late fall were gone and holidays had managed to pass without invading my time of solitude. Winter had come quietly and was not interfering with the enjoyment of the city, nor the sales of our store.

The gestures of kindness continued to come in from various people who I worked with. If it wasn’t an invitation to go to lunch it was an offer to join them at one of the many concerts—sometimes the New York Philharmonic and other times at Carnegie. With each invitation I assured them that I was fine, but still did not wish to socialize or to attend any public affairs. In most cases, my refusal was understood and respected. There was one or two that may have found my refusals to appear to be ungrateful, but I could not be concerned.

I tried to avoid being in the apartment as much as possible. I found my escape at work, but by working late when few others were still at the store. Harvey Bernstein noticed this and finally asked me if I would join him for a ‘business lunch.’ I wasn’t sure what couldn’t have been said in his office, but I accepted. He was very sweet; he told me if I insisted in taking this course of healing, then he would have to insist that I accompany him to lunch at least once each week so that we could combine business and a bit of relaxation. He told me that the many hours that I had been putting in certainly warranted the extra long luncheon once each week. I knew what he was trying to accomplish with me, and found that I really couldn’t deny him this one gesture of kindness.

Harvey was considerate enough not to constantly ask me how I was feeling, but would chat about things outside of the store. His only daughter, Tara, would be going off to college soon and he wasn’t sure how he was going to deal with having her leave. She had already expressed a desire to study in Paris and while he and Ruth were not entirely against the idea, they weren’t happy about the distance.

I found the conversation to be enjoyable and felt honored to be brought into this part of his life. He asked me about my years at Boston College and if I had a particular opinion on going to college there. I began to look forward to the weekly luncheons. They usually came on Fridays, although we had agreed on flexibility since anything could develop through the week.

The luncheons were becoming therapeutic for both of us, because Harvey did not discuss his personal life with that many other employees that I was aware of. He did warn me that his wife was not going to give up on having me over for dinner, so I should be prepared to at some point in time yield! He repeated that he did not control his wife’s social affairs. I found his explanation of this to also be very kind and considerate. Both he and his wife really had extended themselves on my behalf.

January was about to be history on the calendar. We were preparing to look at our winter cruise trip apparel again. The decisions for the summer collection had been decided upon during the time when most shoppers were preparing for Christmas. February was arriving and with that another year for me; I would turn twenty-five during that month. It had always been the custom to have my mother bake my birthday cake.

Last year at this time, Jack and I were preparing for our walk down the aisle. It seemed impossible to think that within less than a year I had been married and almost as quickly had become a widow. Those seven months of marriage just seemed like a dream now. And once again, I was feeling cheated…cheated out of a life with Jack, and cheated out of feeling like a complete person. I had spent the last three months being angry at Jack for leaving me so abruptly, but had not taken time to realize that I was feeling this anger until I allowed myself the luncheons with Harvey. Somehow, those luncheons brought this to light.

I decided to discuss this concern with Harvey. He assured me that it was only natural that I would feel this. He told me that I wasn’t really being angry with Jack, but I was feeling my anger against fate. Fate had dealt me a ‘rotten hand,’ as he put it. He told me that he was glad that I shared that with him because I had been very successful in concealing these feelings in the store. He was worried sometimes that I could be so level-minded and even tempered at times when he wasn’t sure that he could have been if he had to deal with such a loss. He told me that if anything happened to either Ruth or Tara he wasn’t sure how he could handle it, but he was sure that it wouldn’t be with the strength that I had displayed.

Chapter IV

The Unexpected Letter

It was the end of the first week in February when the letter came from Jack’s parents. It caught me by surprise…it was totally unexpected. When it arrived, I thought perhaps they had remembered that my birthday was approaching—just two days before Valentine’s Day—and were trying to be considerate. They were being considerate, but not in the way I had anticipated. It was not about my birthday; it was a check in the amount of $100,000.

The letter was signed by Jack’s father, although there were kind thoughts from both he and his wife in the letter. He explained that they had taken out a policy for Jack several years earlier; it was not really intended as a death claim, but was taken out so that by the time we would have been married eighteen years there would have been an annuity that was designed to send our first born to college.

Jim Albright explained that in the event there would be no children, this was going to be their gift to us for a home or remodeling an existing home or…whatever we needed. But he admitted that the intent was to provide a very generous start at college for our first born. He had once stated that if you can get the first one through college, you can encourage that sibling to generate funds to help the second.

The letter went on to assure me that they didn’t need these funds and that I had made Jack happier during those seven short months of our marriage than they had ever recalled him being in the past. They wanted me to have this money to help me find happiness by allowing my goals to be uninterrupted by the need for financial assistance. I was completely taken aback by this generous gift.

I knew how much the Albrights loved their son, but had no idea how much they appreciated me being in his life. I wanted to call them immediately, but I was feeling less comfortable with handling that phone call without a burst of emotion. It would have not served the purpose and perhaps would have only brought about a resurge of emotional upset for them. So I decided on a well composed letter, which would allow me to take emotional breaks if needed. I did find the strength to call my parents and make them aware of this generous gift.

I really had no immediate need for the money and decided to place it in a fund that would allow me to access it in the distant future. I didn’t anticipate buying a home, but decided that I was not able to look into a crystal ball anymore than I had been able to see the dismal present that I found myself facing. I did also make Harvey aware of this unexpected gift. He assured me that what Jack’s parents had done would have pleased Jack, and they probably knew that to be the case. He assured me that somewhere Jack was probably looking down smiling now.

I admired the unquestionable faith that Harvey often displayed. I had not been to church since my wedding day and had stopped visiting the confessional during my senior year at high school. Perhaps it was not questioning my faith as much as it was being content to live my own version of it. I don’t know that I could have thought of Jack looking down as Harvey had spoken of. The suggestion of that may have given me cause to examine where my own faith was at this juncture of my life.

The Albrights had had a church funeral, but I’m not sure that I was there in mind; it was only a body that was feeling present to satisfy the needs of Jack’s parents. And they had spared me a large reception after that service. Sarah Albright had only invited a very small group of their closest friends to their home. It was in these matters that I appreciated the more practical of Jack’s parents. But I never failed to realize the deep emotion that had been held inside by Jim Albright. It was the father’s love that is so often unspoken or unheard of.

Since I had been given the space I so badly needed at Christmas, I did agree to accord my mother the pleasure of baking the traditional birthday cake. I knew that I could expect the gathering to be restricted to my parents and Aunt Rita and Uncle Toby and Martin. I was always comfortable with that five. I had grown up thinking of that group as my immediate family…almost as though I had two mothers and a brother.

There was no fanfare or singing of a ‘happy birthday,’ only the exceptionally well-prepared dinner with my favorites and then the cake with coffee. I could always count on my family to be as kind and considerate as possible. Martin gave me a beautiful small leather book filled with thoughts of meditation. He was a romantic and it showed. I always hoped for the perfect woman in his life. He was still in his twenties, so he wasn’t being pressured. However, I did know that Aunt Rita and Uncle Toby were longing to have a grandchild, but they kept their anxiety pretty much undercover.

My parents gave me a lovely 18k gold bracelet with a charm that was a shopping cart. My mother said that when she saw the charm in the jewelry store she had to get it since I was a shopper for my store. It drew a few chuckles and made the evening less somber. My father insisted on placing it on my wrist. Just that gesture told me more than any words could have, or any greeting card. I guess both Jack and I were blessed with special fathers; neither hesitated in showing their affection for their children. My mother, however, was not as practical as Sarah Albright. She could become emotional at the drop of a hat. She had come from a German-Italian background, while my father was of Irish-Scottish decent. It wasn’t possible to stereotype either of them, though.

Both of my parents had been raised among warm, expressive families…both from lower-middle class financial backgrounds, but both from very strong-willed immigrant roots with deep work ethics. My mother would often tell me that she could show the impoverished how to manage without taking food stamps. Her grandfather had made his own sausage and her grandmother canned from her garden. My father remembered that potatoes were a staple of their home. Meat was a luxury only found on the table during the holiday season…with the exception of venison that was shared when his brother went hunting.

The months began to roll by quickly and smoothly. I had found the strength to write a long letter of appreciation to the Albrights shortly after my birthday dinner with my family. I assured them that I would use the money wisely and sparingly. I wasn’t sure when I would ever hear from them again, and didn’t know if there would be an occasion to visit them given the geographical distance from my job and my life. I was able to reduce the weekly luncheons with Harvey to twice each month. I think he was satisfied that I was adjusting and realized that I was quite involved with the changes we were making in the store.

There was talk of acquiring a less prominent store in the Chicago area. If this occurred, it was possible that I would be sent there to help organize some of the apparel departments. Harvey only made a slight mention of it and said that it would depend on a number of details surrounding the feasibility of acquisition and the amount of debt that the present cartel would have to absorb. I hadn’t heard him refer to the families’ holdings in this manner. It made me think that there was a lot more behind the assets than I had been aware of. Apparently the stores were only a part of the overall assets. He indicated that he was happy not to be involved in more than the New York store.

As the end of summer approached, I knew that I would be facing fall and the anniversary of Jack’s death. I wasn’t looking forward to that time. I felt like I was slowly healing from the loss, but that the anniversary of that terrible Saturday morning was going to open that wound for me once again. I also realized that I had to deal with it and continue to gain my strength. The weakness that I had experienced during those months following Jack’s passing had been cleverly concealed. I was quite sure that I had been successful in hiding it, but it was there and I knew it. But now, just when I was beginning to feel myself again, the dark day of October would be reminding me that it did happen and it would always be there for me to contend with.

The Bernsteins invited me to their home for Thanksgiving, but once again I turned them down with some excuse that probably did not even sound credible; I had to hope that they would understand. I did accept a luncheon date with Ruth as a concession for refusing the Thanksgiving invitation. She was persistent and I did appreciate her tenacity. Harvey just smiled and said that he had no control over his wife’s social appointments. He knew what she was doing, but it was done in such a manner that I really couldn’t be angry for their kind efforts.

I met Ruth at the Brooklyn Diner on 57th Street. I was just a little surprised that she hadn’t insisted on something more upscale, but I got to know Ruth Bernstein better that day than I could have otherwise. She explained that she liked their variety of dishes here—from Jewish kosher to Mexican and hoped that I would find the food as interesting as she had. I liked the fact that she was not trying to impress me. She was certainly aware that I knew of her family background and wealth. But Ruth Bernstein was not one to flaunt her family’s success or to put on airs. I decided that I really liked Ruth and was a bit sorry that I had given her such a hard time by my constant refusal of her invitations. After that luncheon I knew that I was not going to be able to refuse her hospitality indefinitely.

I knew that I could not avoid the holidays for a second year and had decided that I would spend Christmas with my parents and Aunt Rita and Uncle Toby and Martin. I spared my mother the anxiety by letting her know she should set another place at the Christmas table for me. She responded by telling me that it would make five people very happy. Of course she was referring to the five who I always considered the immediate family.

The Christmas season was always a busy one for me because we were buying for the following late spring and summer. The Christmas selections had been decided upon in the late spring of the year. We were always making purchases for almost an entire year ahead. Most of the public didn’t realize that, but we knew what we would be showing for Christmas before most people had given much thought to their summer vacations. And a large percentage of our clothing was directed towards the needs of those customers who were planning cruises. Therefore, it was necessary to know what would be fashionable in the Mediterranean during the following season.

I was glad that I had decided on relocating to the Village. There was always some activity going on that kept one from even considering boredom. Preparations for the Gay Pride parade were one of those events. But it seemed that not long after that parade they were gearing up for Halloween. It was amusing to see the costumes and the detail in those costumes. I was able to appreciate the work that must have gone into some of them, although I didn’t understand their necessity for such ‘camp,’ as