Mary, Mary

By Penelope S. Hession

Who is this mysterious Mary? No one seems to know. When Carole claims her inheritance and her grandmother's house, she spends much of her time looking for this elusive friend of her grandmother.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329697805

Book preview

Mary, Mary

Mary,     Mary

Penelope S. Hession

NOISSEH BOOKS

Copyright 2015

Penelope S. Hession

This story is a work of fiction.  All characters and events are a product of the author’s imagination.  All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Cover & Photo: PSH

Noisseh Publishing       [e-mail]

eBook ISBN: 978-1-329-69780-5

Cover design: PSH

CONTENTS

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­__________________________________________

Copyright

Arrival

A New Day

The Surprise

The Puzzle Grows

More Journals

Something Different

Sister, Sister, Cousin

New Plans

Crisis

Confusion

Dispirit

Reality

Midnight Mass

Christmas Morning

Later Christmas Day

Thank You

Briefly, the Author

__________________________________________

Arrival

Caroll pulled her hybrid car to the curb in front of the small house.  She was surprised to see the lawn well kept and flowers in the flowerbeds.  Looking to her right, she saw the front curtain move in the house next door before the door opened.  Mrs. Bradley, she thought.  Grams neighbor had written her the letter inviting her to come see her Grandmother's house.

Hi, she responded to the wave from the neighbor lady.  I'm Caroll. 

I thought so, the lady yelled back from her porch.  Come over here and I will get you the key and a broom.

A broom, Caroll thought, what forever for?

Mrs. Bradley answered the unspoken question.  No one has been in her house since she, and then the neighbor lady pause, ah - passed.  She completed the sentence almost reluctantly.

Yes, Caroll thought, Grams 'passed' while attending church.  She never went back home.  And then the startling news from a lawyer informed the family that she was the lone heir amid vague mutterings of the lack of fairness from her siblings and a sigh of relief from her Mother that she did not have to deal with the 'relics' left behind. 

Caroll could remember days when the 'relics' were called 'religious junk' and 'useless knickknacks'.  Now, she was responsible for all that.  Good grief, was this what I went to college to do, sort 'junk'?

The neighbor lady met Caroll on the front walk.  Here is the key and the broom.

Broom? Caroll echoed.

Yes, the cobwebs will probably be fierce and you might have to knock down a spider or two.  You aren't afraid of spiders, are you?

As a biology and entomology major, Caroll had to laugh.  Her studies had taken her into rain forests where the insects were almost big enough to carry a small animal away not to mention the poisonous ones.  Although spiders were of a specialized grouping because of their eight legs, and intelligent too, anything she found in her Grams house would be docile - she hoped.

Accepting the key and the broom, she couldn't help but notice the warmth and love coming from Gram's neighbor.  When you get tired or hungry come over for a light snack, the lady replied before turning and walking back to her own house.

Caroll cautiously stepped up on the wooden porch and found it remarkably sound under her feet.  The key slid effortlessly into the door lock and almost to her disappointment, the door did not creak, as it swung open.  You have been reading too many ghost stories, Caroll chatted to herself.  Actually, she didn't know what to expect.  The house had been closed up for several months since her grandmother had passed. 

Passed!  She remembered her mother snorting at the term.  Died is what she did, just like everyone does!  Caroll had been on a research trip at the time so she only got the stories later. 

There were no cobwebs or any accumulated dust!  That realization struck her first.  The living room, small, furnished with two stuffed chairs and a 'sorry sofa', which is what her mother called the two-seater, looked as though her Grams had just straightened it before she arrived.  She had to stifle the urge to call out for the elderly woman.  An unbeckoned chill ran down her back for she had the distinct feeling that if she had called out, the old woman would have answered.

Moving into the diminutive bedroom off the living room, it was as Caroll remembered when she last visited, including an up-to-date laptop computer sitting on an antique ladies writing desk.  Grams had been modern even though she had laughed at the inconsistency of using the antique desk as her computer desk.  Caroll knew that the bureau on the far wall contained not clothing but volumes of books and CD and DVD discs that Grams devoured or composed.  That can wait until later, she thought. 

The bed was made and a lap throw lay neatly folded on the chair by the window.  She knew without looking that the closet would be well organized and contained little in the way of clothing.  Grams had two file cabinets, locked Caroll supposed, stored in the back of the closet.  What they contained, Caroll had no idea.  She remembered Grams one day telling her that they contain important stuff and to be careful.  Careful about what, she thought.

A small dining room connected the living room to the kitchen and like so many small older homes; the bathroom was added later off the kitchen.  'Totally unsanitary' was what she remembered hearing someone in the family remark years ago.  Unsanitary? she questioned in her mind.

The kitchen had a small stove with an oven that was unpredictable, as she had heard her Grams say.  The old lady controlled the temperature in the oven with opening and shutting the oven door.  How Grams ever got a cake that looked like it was fresh from the bakery from that antique stove had always amaze Caroll, but she had!

The knock at the front door startled her.  The REMC on the man's uniform left her bewildered temporarily.  She used so many initials for shortcuts in her work that until he said, Electric Company, m'am, she had been lost. 

Oh, yes?

The electricity is on.  Mrs. Bradley said you would be needing it.  He reached inside the open door and flipped the wall switch.  The ceiling light came on. 

Oh, Caroll seemed to be repeating herself. Thank you. 

You will need to stop by the office down town and change the name and address for the billing.  He handed her a business card with that information on it.  There is no charge for turning the power back on, he said with a smile.  Your relative was a fine lady.  He nodded his head and turned to leave.

Where is you truck? Caroll asked, belatedly, having become aware that her car was the only vehicle parked at the curb. 

Out back in the alley, he responded as he disappeared around the side of the house.

Caroll shut the door and turned the lock.  She had learned to be cautious and safe and even though her Grams always seem to have an unlocked door when she visited, life had shown Caroll otherwise.

From ceiling light, she noticed her Grams' journal on the table beside the most used chair in the room.

She turned on the lamp and off the overhead light and sat down.  The chair seemed to fit her as though she, Caroll, had used it often.  Opening the small book sitting beside the lamp, she saw an inscription on the first page.

To my friend, Mary and for

my grandchild, Carole Anne. 

Something was wrong!  Caroll's middle name was Anne, but she had never spelled her first name like that.  Suddenly Caroll felt like an intruder. 

She remembered her Mother's lament.  I wish Mom would learn to spell your name correctly!  The envelope with the offending writing was then torn into shreds while the card inside was thrust into Caroll's waiting hands eager to see what unusual picture would be on her birthday