Barefoot Alice

By Jan Porter

"A thoroughly chanting story with a warm, soothing feel to it. Reading this book is like putting on comfy slippers. Highly recommended!" - The Wishing Shelf Review
"This delightful and inspirational novel promises to enthrall everyone who loves an empowering tale of self-discovery and appreciation.” - The Prairie Book Review
“Beautifully written, it is an enchanting story that I will read again and again.” Reader’s Favorite 5 Star Award
“Barefoot Alice” is a heart-warming tale of one woman’s journey of loves, lost and found, of discovering ancestral ties and the magical interconnection with life.
Dumped by her husband and homeless, middle-aged Alice finds herself at the Rail Stop Café in a northern gold mining ghost town during a snowstorm. Surrounded by wilderness and a strange community at Golden Lake, Alice finds shelter in a 200-year-old schoolhouse with its ethereal teacher and students. Facing the inevitability of a life alone, she unravels legacy secrets with the help of a kindly old man, the community around and a mysterious wilderness man. She encounters descendants of Dr. Barnardo’s British Home Children, gold rush fever, an unconsecrated baby burial, ghost hunting tourists and infringing upscale cottage estates. Befriended by the old schoolhouse ghosts and community, Alice is challenged to survive and overcome a lonely life.
Alice’s heartwarming journey celebrates the life-affirming qualities of resilience, the importance of community; of this world and spirit world, and the power of love to change lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jan Porter
• Release date: Apr 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463442616

Jan Porter

Award-winning author Jan Porter brings unsung heroes to life in her notable collection of award-winning books. A connoisseur of literary fiction with strong female leads, Jan seeks to move and entertain with her humorous and heartwarming novels.Born in rural Ontario, Canada, Jan grew up in the great outdoors where she was captivated by the tales of small-town rural and the northern wilderness. She discovered her destiny to become an author during her teenage years when she came across old copies of Voltaire’s 'Candide', Margaret Caven’s 'I Heard The Owl Call My Name' and the works of Robert Service. The worn pages of old books unearthed a passion for transforming thoughts into stories. Handwritten scribbles became short stories until retiring from a career in Human Services when Jan began to focus on her writing and bring her female protagonists to life.Jan is currently cocooned in a northern Ontario sanctuary, where she pens books with strong female heroines and personal growth books.With each new release, Jan continues to share the wisdom of unsung heroes and explore the human condition in literature. Jan’s popular contemporary women literary fiction novels and personal growth books are profound, heart-warming, moving, inspiring and often humorous must-reads.​Awards:2021 Reader's Favorite 5 Star Award 'Barefoot Alice'2021 Wishing Shelf Book Awards - Best Book Cover Finalist for 'Barefoot Alice'2021 Wishing Shelf Book Awards - Best Adult Fiction Finalist for 'Barefoot Alice'2018 Wishing Shelf Book Awards Finalist for 'Maddy's Wings'Two-time winner of the Bookworks Book of the Week AwardReader’s Favorite Award for ‘Soul Skin, Woman, have you had enough?’ and ‘Angel Guides, love communicationLiterary fiction:Barefoot AliceMaddy’s WingsSoul Skin, Woman, have you had enough?Peaceful Warrior WomanSelf counsel booksAngel Guides, love communicationAngel Guides, love communication – workbookAngel Guides, love communication – journalSoul Calling, your angel-guided life purpose

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Barefoot Alice

Jan Porter

Title: Barefoot Alice By; Jan Porter

Original Title: Izzy’s Ghosts

Copyright February 16, 2013. J. I. Porter and M. J. Crowley. www.janporter.ca

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Rebecacovers

Editorial Assistance: Richard Mousseau, Robert H. Porter

Created in Canada, Porter, Janice I., author

National Library of Canada

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ASIN : B08XY5P2P7

This story is lovingly dedicated to Gloria Porter.

Mom, we summer camped, magical ice storm watched and wooey woo explored. Together we walked through the shadows of life and jig danced into the light. I miss you in the physical, more than mere words can express. Thank you for your continued love, guidance and support.

"Walk barefoot among the tall grass

and listen to the whispers of your Ancestors."

"Life is passionately lived for those who know loneliness, loss,

repeatedly stumble through adversity and never give up."

Chapter One ~ A Long Night

Well, Rabbit, we did it!

Alice stood proud, barefoot childlike with pudgy hands on aging plump hips and eyed the overloaded pickup truck. She was proud to be able to pull her middle-aged self together enough to sort through household items and pack a few boxes in less than twenty-four hours. Looking upward with closed eyes, she basked in sunshine, its warmth provided a hopeful momentum to an otherwise fateful turn of events. Squinting, early afternoon brightness peeked out from behind a white fluffy cloud. She turned and backhanded away a forehead sweat bead. On this day, global warming presented an unexpected gift of mild weather, rare for an early Ontario, first of November day. Alice grinned with self-appreciation. In this kerfuffle of a move, she had the wit to include Rabbit in the meagre collection of worldly possessions.

Alice scanned the bulging old pickup truck, searching for the ratty stuffed Rabbit’s steady smile for validation. A constant companion since childhood, often forgotten for years and despite its wear, Rabbit still offered comforting hugs and soul solace during stressful times.

Oh gees, Rabbit, where are you? Eyes roamed over stacked boxes. It would be nice if you would answer? We don’t have much time. The weather bureau says that winter will arrive to stay, tonight. Yup, we’ve got to get going and find a motel room before dark. Alice could not and would not leave without knowing exactly where the stuffed companion was. Together they had been through too much to be separated now. Unable to recall for certain where or if Rabbit was packed, she re-opened the tailgate and proceeded to unload one box at a time. Each box was set upon the manicured middle-class street and carefully opened, sifted through, re-sealed and set aside in an orderly fashion. Strategic planning and order were her habitual way.

Of course, as with many activities in life, looking for one item in a haystack of objects when the time was of the essence, anxiety and frustration grew.

A neighbour-woman from next door slowed her car to a stop at Alice’s tailgate workstation. Lowering a window and peering over sunglasses, somewhat disgusted, she glanced over at Alice’s barefoot pudgy body squished into tight yoga pants until their eyes met. Feeling the harsh judgmental stare, Alice squirmed, hurt and uncomfortable. The woman feigned sincerity and stammered, Oh, Hi Alice Smith. This anal middle-class woman was one of those who did everything by the book, providing a lifestyle image lawn and manicured garden. She is a brand label hound and mindless bore, according to Alice’s retaliation judgment. Half nosily looking over the scene and half beaming with the joy of finding herself right on the trail of some hot juicy gossip, the nosey woman asked, You look like you could use some help. Shall I pull over and give you a hand?

Annoyed with the interruption and the fact that Alice had already gone back to using her maiden name, she swore in thought, ‘My damned name is O’Connor, Alice O’Connor.’ They had barely spoken to each other in the thirty-years of co-existing, except for the exchange off occasional lawn care and tree branch complaints. Normally, Alice avoided the shallow woman. Yet having ones’ pudgy body shamed and worldly goods splattered on the front lawn with a strange aging pickup truck, she fought the urge to shake a fist and curse. Alice sighed and with a voice higher than normal; vulnerable, embarrassed and growing irritated, but striving for politeness, responded, Oh, no thank you. No. I’ve got everything under control. I have a young fellow coming to pick up some old things to donate to the Thrift Store. She lied.

Deflated, the nosey neighbour woman quipped, Oh. If you’re sure. Hesitating, peering eyes probed for further explanation.

Surprised by the lie and trying to hide the shock of it, Alice had no other choice than to validate the lie further. Oh yes, the thrift store boy will give me a hand, don’t you worry. Thanks again. Oh, and do enjoy this lovely weather while it’s here. Alice waved her off, politely dismissing further conversation.

The woman half-whispered, Well, okay, if that’s all that’s going on here, then slowly drove off.

The lie rattled inside Alice, there was no helping young man, nor was the load going to the Thrift Store. It simply was not in her nature to lie, yet, it had been a stroke of genius. Yes, a brilliant witty intervention that had spared an agonizing hour or more or having to explain all that had transpired with husband Ed’s abrupt departure and then his phone message left on the answering machine two days ago. Alice had not been paying any of the matrimonial household bills. Rather than allowing the house to go into foreclosure and having to declare bankruptcy, Ed had sold the house to their bank manager who had bought it for his own daughter. Sold barely above the mortgage amount left owing, the opportunist banker had literally stolen the house or rather, Ed had given it away. In his husband role he had always been the main breadwinner and doer of all matters; household, cars, retirement savings, finances and arranger of maintenance services. It had never occurred to her, not to trust in him; household business was all his department. It had also never occurred to her to learn household bookkeeping or the ins and outs of building a personal financial portfolio. Ed had already calculated his cut of the meagre house sale’s profit after their accounts were frozen. Alice’s financial ruin with Ed’s departure was clearly none of the nosey neighbour’s business, and most assuredly, the woman was not the confidante kind. Rabbit had always been, the only counsel sought; politer than polite, always readily available and comforting. It was a loyal teddy bear companion and calm adviser.

Alice normally followed the social appearance decorum role set out for her, yet now publicly, she unceremoniously yanked the stretchy yoga pants over a pillowous bum, then reached inside a sweatshirt, lifted a breast and adjusted a poke-stabbing bra wire. Where is that damn Rabbit?

Back at it, Alice glanced upward as the sunshine was quickly fading to grey. In the distance, a wall of dark ominous snow clouds nudged over the city. Winter weather was coming, shortly.

The unmistakable worn and faded brown fur of the stuffed animal peeked through an un-taped box. AH HA! Quickly gathering it under an arm and opening the passenger door, she tucked it into a day bag then slammed the door. Back to the business of re-piling the load, she suddenly turned-on heels and went back to Rabbit. Gently lifting it out of the bag, she lovingly re-arranged arms and legs to sit Buddha style on top of the bag. Now you can see where we’re going. Right? She smiled. You’re my co-pilot and we’re going on an adventure.

With Rabbit settled in, she hesitated to feel a gust of cool north wind sending arm hair tingling. A dark weather wall was gaining in a matter of minutes. Opting out of the natural inclination to properly repack the boxes in an orderly fashion, she jammed all back in, slammed the tailgate closed and slid on boots. I think that’s all I can fit in, but I’d better go back inside and take one last look around inside in case I’ve forgotten anything important.

Existence was surreal, as though only a year had passed since Ed had carried her over the threshold, giddy newlyweds moving into an empty house, expecting to fill it with love and children. There had been neither. This was not as sad an outcome as one might expect, perhaps Alice was still in shock and merely tending to the immediacy of tasks at hand. Normally at this time of day, she would have Ed’s dinner warming in the oven, should he happen to come early enough to eat it. He worked a lot of overtime, you see. Yes, normally, she would have his dinner in the oven, and she would be rubbing her own sore pudgy feet while watching a documentary or a romantic old black and white movie on the television. A thirty-two-year routine had abruptly come to an end. She would have to wait until settling into a motel room to massage sore arches, toes and swollen thick ankles.

In the house remained most of the furniture, linens, and dishes still in cupboards with assorted clothes spilling out of the laundry room. Downstairs into the basement recreation room, she peeked into the storage cupboard and opened a plastic tub filled with un-used baby clothes. She removed a tiny pink baby blanket, a memento of a spirited little one named Ann who never fully materialized in the physical. On the top shelf sat Grandma Violet O’Connor’s old hatbox. Alice had never looked at the memories inside, having always considered it to be the old woman’s private sanctuary and likely contained nothing of interest. Well, it won’t be of interest to the new homeowners, she debated, then on intuition, Might as well take it anyway. I’ll peek inside someday when I am settled.

Upstairs, the thirty-year-old once upon a time fashionable furniture would have to remain, likely to the annoyance of the new owners who will likely ditch it. There had been no time to arrange a Thrift Store pick up. Alice had scheduled a moving truck then canceled, there was nowhere to move everything to. She had considered renting a storage unit but had no idea where she was going. She felt guilty for leaving the new people to deal with household contents. Then again, no one was around considerate enough, or helpful of her situation. Alice’s friends had been work-acquaintances, just chiropractic patients to which she had always maintained professional boundaries. No one knew what was happening except for Ed and the bimbo who was accompanying him to Fiji.

Alice checked the kitchen cupboards and tucked a precious box of chocolate truffles into a cloth grocery bag. Moving into the bedrooms, she checked closets and dressers, wanting nothing more. Bathroom cupboards were opened; she was leaving Ed’s razor, cologne, shampoo and soaps where he had left them. Opening the front door closet, she noticed that Ed had left winter clothes, having taken only warm weather items to the Fiji paradise. Alice grabbed a sewing machine.

It was done. This was it. This antiquated, once fashionable décor was all that was left upon a last look around moment. Resisting the urge to buckle and cry, she sucked in a deep breath then wiped a tear. There was no more time to wallow in the pain and shock of leaving home. The empty house echoed of their lives co-existing and of routines that were once carved in stone, now done and shattered into gravel.

Juggling a hatbox and sewing machine on top of one knee, Alice removed the house keys from a keychain then dropped them onto the floor. Sorry, she apologized to the new homeowners. I don’t have time to do anything else for you. I have to go now. I sure hope you’ll all be happy here. I hope you also know, you got one heck of a deal buying this place, because..., catching tears, This was my life and my house. It wasn’t my choice to leave. If you have any problems, you can hunt Ed down, he’s in Fiji now with a sleazy lover.

As Alice placed the last items in the back of the truck, she wavered. Glancing down the street in both directions, she looked for Ed, fantasizing briefly that he was arriving last minute to save the day. There was no sign of Ed. Back handing tears, she gulped grief and stuffed fear. The ignition turned on and seat belt locked, a frigid cold wind-blasted, gently rocking the truck. Gear in drive, she drove into the northern wind and greying sky.

All suburban streets look similar and surreally blended into one another with manicured lawns, houses, and mini malls. Fighting tears of loss, she shifted thoughts forward and strove for one positive thought to cling to, surely one day she would find another house. Yes, more than anything, Alice wanted a place to call home. ‘Somehow, someway’, she hoped.

Suburban houses turned to downtown franchises of fast food and shopping malls. Streetlights flickered, confused by the early darkness of grey weather. Rain spits turned from snow to rain then back to snow again. Gradually, the reality of not having anywhere in particular to go, and being a creature of habit, she fought the urge to go back to the house to safe familiarity. She drove on. Alice held the steering wheel tightly with both hands and aimed forward, looking for a respectable motel to spend a few nights, gather thoughts, strategize and plan what to do and where to go.

Ex-husband-Ed today, would be referred to as, ‘Mr. Exit’, who had found his second youth with a thirty-something office underling. Free and far away from Alice’s fat and boring old self, his midlife crisis had found comforting joy in the arms of another. Humiliated, she had yet to come to terms with the fact that his lover was a gorgeous young man half his age. Unsure of exactly what hurt more; jealous of the fact that he radiated pure joy in his new relationship while she was alone, or the fact that he had cleaned her financial clock in the process of exiting their former marital home, or the fact that their entire heterosexual marriage was a sham. If only she had known long ago, she may have had time to find love and raise children with another more suitable man. Long past childbearing age and innately loyal, it had not occurred to her to leave to find another life partner. She had missed out and only now admitted the grief of not having those soulful family longings fulfilled. Alice accepted a childless life but had yet to accept Ed’s newfound happiness and a new life without her.

Months had passed since that fateful-life-defining day. Ed had arrived home early from work, a rare occasion, and Alice had cooked a romantic dinner, expecting to spend the evening together for a change. He had arrived home impatient and perhaps anxious, though sincerely happy. An excited Alice thought it was a renewal of newlywed times and catching the giddy moment, she had glibly joked, Well, Ed, you do seem happy today adding to the jest, It must be some new young hot thing at the office. Unprepared and naïve, she had expected him to scoff away the joking inference.

Slumping into his favourite dining room chair and running a hand through dark greying hair, he calmly blithered, Oh, thank God Alice. Whew! Am I glad that you have figured it out. Thank God. Been wondering how I was going to tell you. Oh boy he sighed, thank God. Gees, oh gees. This has been killing me. God, that’s a load off my mind.

Shock-horrified, her spirit had whooshed out of a breaking heart, drained down legs and onto the floor under feet. Through dizzying tears of abandonment rejection, her mind raced with trying to figure out which office gal had openly given Ed flirt innuendoes. Searching for clues in his eyes, face and body language, then for the grin that would indicate a possible joke at her expense had failed. Inside of calm eyes, he had never looked so radiant, vital and happy. Mr. Exit half mumbled a man’s name; John or Juan or something similar and muttered about how hard it has been to ‘come out’.

Finding herself heading north out of the city, she casually drove on, seeking a cheap highway motel. It would do fine if not filled with dirty old men or scary drug dealers.

With their luxury sedan re-possessed, this old pickup truck was quickly purchased and now highway danced, overloaded with personal items. Alice aimlessly drove into the night, wrapping thoughts around the shock of job loss, the house, savings, and Ed. Mind-blanking out, focus was only on avoiding her parents’ legacy of dying in a snow freezing rain-weathered car accident. She was trying to make sense of life thus far; where to go, what to do and why she had not seen the truth about Ed. Alice had already lost so much. Mom and Dad had died in a car crash when she was a mere four years old. The only family that the estate lawyer could track down was her father’s mother. Plain and quiet to a fault, aging Grandma Violet O’Connor assumed custody and care of little-girl Alice and one small suitcase with a stuffed Rabbit.

Grandma Violet had sold her country farm the year before, and with her husband passed, the farm had become too much for a lonely old woman. The wrinkled old woman smelled of tacky cheap lavender perfume and had barely uttered a word to Alice over the years. The young girl’s meals were eaten alone in the kitchen. Breakfast consisted of a tiny snack-sized box of cereal, school lunches were made until the age of seven, full course dinners prepared early afternoons were kept warm in the oven. Grandpa O’Connor and her Dad’s photos adorned the mantle and the old gal’s dresser. Nothing indicated that Alice or Alice’s mother had ever existed.

Grandma Violet seemed indifferent to Alice’s emotional care, opting each day for the simple stability of routine which consisted of eating her own breakfast cereal in front of morning talk shows. Afternoons were for short walks to the grocery store, mailbox or bank. Saturday’s were for polishing silverware, house cleaning and laundry or mending. Each dinner quietly consumed alone watching soap operas.

A second-hand black and white television appeared in Alice’s attic bedroom one week after her arrival. Rather than cartoons, she discovered an early preference for losing herself in historical documentaries and romantic old black and white movies. Clothing and personal items were purchased twice a year, sizes and taste in apparel and shoes chosen by Violet. As Alice grew into adolescence, sanitary pads magically appeared on the bathroom counter one day with a dated medical book. It was obviously a taboo topic, among most topics never to be discussed. Important life information was learned by listening to other girls’ reiteration of intimate talks with their mothers.

It was immediately after watching the nineteen-fifties movie, ‘Harvey’, starring Jimmy Stewart, that Rabbit’s constant companionship took on a more profound appreciation. Harvey, in the movie, was actor Jimmy Stewart’s live six-foot-tall, spirited version of a man-sized Rabbit, a Pooka. Like her own stuffed teddy bear Rabbit, Jimmy Stewarts’ giant rabbit was innately kind, caring and considerate, with a tall animated spirited presence, he was Stewart’s happy shadow. As a child, Alice imagined that her ghostly parents loved and offered wisdom through Rabbit.

The summer passage between grades seven and eight, Violet took to leaving twenty dollars, sometimes even forty dollars on the kitchen table with a note stating, ‘for clothes.’ Having no idea where or how to buy clothes, Alice spent the first two afternoons winding in and out of shopping mall stores. Day three was a library day, spent reviewing fashion magazines and studiously observing what stylish young women were wearing. Day four, upon returning to the mall with a strategy in mind, she left two hours later empty-handed and in burning humiliation. Nothing, not one piece of trendy adolescent clothing came in her size and what was available, cost more than twenty dollars. One saleswoman offered caring solid advice, "Why don’t you toddle on downtown to the Big Miss store, surely they will be able to find some garments that will fit. Day five was spent in her room watching black and white movies, eating chocolate bars and enwrapped in Rabbit’s comfort.

On the seventh day, Alice hopped on a bus to venture downtown at the Big Miss store. Browsing and seeing only a variety of colourful tent-like blouses, elastic stretch pants, and bras that looked like Grandma Violets, Alice quietly left the store and perched on the adjacent office building steps. Dandelion fluff freely danced upward in the summer breeze. She shielded her eyes from the sun, eyes following fluffy dander spiral. ‘Looks like summer snow and childhood magical wish making’, she thought, briefly recalling a glimpse of an early childhood memory with her parents. She closed her eyes and wished for nice clothes that fit. Stress gobbling a chocolate bar, she hesitated as her eyes noticed a large second-hand store directly adjacent. She expected only street people and bums going in and out. Polishing off the last of the chocolate and in sugar cocoa euphoric high, she watched as hippies, and what resembled happy university students entering and exiting with large bags of clothing. One well-to-do woman exited with a bed-side table under one arm and an ornate table lamp in the other hand.

After two hours, and for a grand total of a mere thirteen dollars and gloriously happy, Alice left with a bag of clothes, two fashion magazines, a sewing machine and sewing basket full of threads, zippers, buttons, sewing patterns, and a how-to manual.

The pride in that memory brought a new sense of resourceful gratitude. Somehow, someway, everything would be better than could be imagined. Surely, her ghostly parents had always been watching over and were still guiding her. She had always sensed that their love washed through Rabbit in needy cuddling times, like now. Side glancing at Rabbit, she said, Yes, it must be like that. Hmmm. If my baby Ann had lived and I was the one that died, you can be damn sure, if there were the will and a way, I’d be ghostly guiding that child with love. Why I’d never leave the child. Do you think it’s possible Rabbit? Rabbit slumped, losing its Buddha position as the truck veered around a tight bend. Silently it stared skyward. Grateful that Rabbit would not argue the point, Alice decided to research more on the topic, perhaps the next library trek would offer further insight into the material of all things dead and gone to heaven. There was no one else alive to turn to. Yes, damn straight, if baby Ann had lived and I was dead, you can be damn sure, I’d be love-haunting and guiding my little girl. Ha, I could be like a big fat Guardian Angel. Oh, little Ann, I do miss you so. I hope you know little girl; just how much I love you! Mindful not to slide into the melancholy of a deeply intimate loving life un-lived, Alice tried to envision what her Mother had looked like. There was not one photo of Mom to call her own.

One summer afternoon after having a classmate happily talk about visiting her grandparents, Alice marched home with bold teenaged passion. With terse hands on hips, she confronted Violet. Demands spit forward, requesting photos and answers as to why the old woman never talked about her Mother nor displayed photos.

With eyes steady on the late afternoon talk show, Violet calmly muttered, I figured this day would come. Do you want to know what your mother looked like? Go and look in the mirror. You are the spitting image of your mother and you’re just like her. Except, you have your Father’s big monster feet.

Aghast, emotions swirled in the joy of instantly knowing something about her mother. An emptiness was suddenly filled with a maternal and paternal love bond. Gathering a new sense of mature posturing, Alice plunged further, You only have Grandpa’s and Dad’s pictures around the house. Why don’t you have any of my Mom?

Shifting in the easy chair with eyes fixed on the television, a deeply annoying gasp followed a jaw clenching retort, Well, I’ve been expecting this conversation from you. If you must know, fixing a British sense of decorum of angry hesitation, the old woman’s eyes drifted away from the television and fixed midair as though to indicate the discussion was closed.

It had been the first time Alice had seen the old woman angry. Retaining her determined teenage spirit, she held her ground, waiting, Well? Yes, I want to know. What is it? What is your problem with her?

Violet became lost in painful memory. Gathered wits, she slowly returned to the talk show. Well, I suppose you won’t let it go, will you? Does it matter now, after these years?

Unflinching, immovable, Alice held her stance, a force to be reckoned with, Yes, it does matter. I want to know!!!

The old woman’s eyes shifted to the carpet as she spoke quietly and spat, That Molly McGuire was a wild thing. My Willie was a good and decent boy. Your parents were only sixteen years old when they told us that they were officially engaged. Your Grandfather and I forbade it, yet they snuck around in sin. Your Grandfather found them in the barn, indecently naked and fornicating. Disgraceful, that Molly was a loose woman. We did not approve of their relationship.

Alice’s mind reeled with imagery of her parent’s intimate and passionate love, unfolding as though watching a romantic Hollywood movie. Softening, adjusting to the new information, more questions surfaced, So, what did my Mother’s parents have to say about their relationship?

Shifting, the old gal obviously loosened somewhat and continued. Well, what do you expect from those rogue Irish? Violet huffed in disgust. Well, there was no talking to your parents. Her parents not only condoned the relationship but granted permission for a marriage certificate. Her parents, your other grandparents died shortly after. Your Father stayed with your Mother in her parents’ house as newlyweds until the estate was settled a year later. The house sold for a pittance. They should have held out for a better price, but what could my son do when greedy lawyers only want money without a thought of concern of a naïve young couple? Well, your Father could not get along with your Grandfather, they argued constantly. It broke our hearts. You see, your Grandfather and I had spent our adult lives building the farm, expecting our only son to take over. We did not accept their marriage. We would not welcome her under our roof, and he refused to leave her.

Empowered, Alice quite liked the romance of the young lovers, in her mind’s eye, images of Romeo and Juliet played out, then sad that the adults were unable to compromise.

Violet thoughtfully rubbed aging chin whiskers. Momentarily distracted, Alice noticed the wiry hairs growing in clusters on the old woman’s neck and upper lip. A raised brown mole with long wiry white hairs on the woman’s lip danced as she breathed. Did the old woman not see the wiry hairs when she looked in the mirror? Did they not tickle her face? The soap opera ended abruptly, and the old gal passed gas as she stood to reach and turn the television channel knob. Suddenly afraid that the old woman would dismiss any further conversation, Alice continued, softer in tone yet firmly seeking details. You never told me about the car accident and how my parents died. What happened to my parents after my other grandparents died?

Stiffening her back, the old gal opened her mouth as though to speak then became lost for a moment in reverie.

‘Good’, thought Alice, ‘she’s still on a roll,’ patiently waiting. Though the two had never held a conversation that did not entail household business or chores to be done, a crack in the old woman had opened and there may never be another opportunity to ask questions.

Alright, alright. Violet rose to the task. First, your father took a job working in the city for a newspaper agency as a printing apprentice. He stayed at the YMCA for nearly a year while your mother closed her parents’ house, having saved their money to buy a house in the city, I figure. You know, your Grandfather made them a proper dining table and chairs, hoping to mend the rift, hoping Willie would come home to the farm where he belonged. It darn near killed your Grandfather and I, when the delivery truck returned the table set, without even a, ‘Thank you, we already have one’. We never knew why. I guess at the time, we assumed the refusal was your mother’s doing. Judging by the old woman’s watery eyes and saddened guilty demeanor, the past choices and misunderstandings were no excuse for lost years. Your Grandfather and I waited for Willie to come to his senses, leave her and come home.

Sadness choked Alice to a tear, she would process that part of their life, later. Grandma, all I know is that my parents died in a car accident, how? What happened? Do you know?

Violet’s old shaky hands carefully retrieved Willie’s photo from a side table. A tender forefinger traced the young man’s face. It was a snowy freezing rain evening and my sweet Willie was driving. They were returning from an office family Christmas party. Apparently, a large truck slid on black ice and swerved but clipped your Father’s car which sent them spinning off the road. They hit a large tree. This is what the police officer told me. Anyway, they had both leaned their bodies over you. You were sitting in the middle. Violet paused then added, My Willie died, protecting you. The old gal shook with resentment when recalling the tragic memory. An aging hand wobbled the photo back to its place on the side table. Staring midair, she became lost in old emotional memories. We didn’t even know he had had a child. Your Grandfather died not knowing that you existed. He died of heartbreak I figure, having lost his only son to the city life. I don’t know. I think it might have softened his hurting heart if he knew of a grandchild. I don’t know for certain. I wish we had sorted it all out. I wish that your father would have at least come to visit your grandfather and I, maybe for Thanksgiving, Easter, and Christmas. I didn’t know much of anything about their life in the city until the police tracked me down to tell me about your parents' car accident.

Alice was lost in her own four-year-old childhood memories of that fateful car crash. Recalling vague images of snow and flashing lights, as a policeman man reached into the car and pulled her out to safety. I didn’t know. I vaguely remember being in the car with them that night.

Yes, a policeman saved you. The emergency people took you to a hospital and kept you there for two days. You were quiet as a mouse and did what you were told. From what the nurse told me, you did not cry, not once. I always thought it a bit strange, I was expecting to be greeted by a wild and unruly child. The old gal leaned back into her easy chair, pulling a sitting blanket over her legs and promptly sliding into a snit-snoring sleep. The conversation was officially over. Alice stood looking at the old woman, lost in her own memories and emotions, like an old 1960’s Hollywood movie of her parent’s tragic love story.

She would never hear more.

One fine spring day as Alice prepared for her high school graduation ceremony, she was focused on going to the community college secretary program. After Grandma Violet’s needs were tended to, she had spent the afternoon excitedly styling hair and nails while listening to rock and roll on a little transistor radio. Grown-up, Hollywood gorgeous, she was finally stepping out into the world as an adult. Ravenously hungry, she had made her way downstairs expecting to make an early dinner for Grandma Violet. Hearing no snoring sounds from Violet and concerned, Alice followed the trail of soap opera melodramatic music to find the old woman slumped in a chair, panting, slightly drooling. Grandma, are you alright?

Violet lingeringly glanced at Alice’s barefeet, stretched a cold and wrinkly hand to rest caringly against Alice’s cheek, then slurred, Do something about your feet dear, sandals and high heels are most unattractive on your fat feet. Violet closed her eyes, panted slightly, gasped then slumped quietly still.

Grandma! Alice shook the old gal. Grandma? Violet remained slumped in the chair, body still and lifeless. Alice did not know why she remained to hold the woman for nearly an hour. It was not until Violet’s body grew stiff and cold, did Alice rally enough to call emergency services.

Alice did not attend her high school graduation ceremony that day, nor community college. In a valiant attempt to keep Violet’s tiny house going, Alice took a job as an entry receptionist at a nearby factory. Yes, that was when Ed Smith entered the picture, tall and handsome and wildly charismatic. She was head over heels smitten with the office’s newest apprentice. Ed was movie star polished each day and had quickly set eyes upon her. Valiantly courting with fine dinners, full of questions about Alice’s lack of family and meagre inheritances, he divulged little if anything about his true self. Had she not been so naïve as to the ways of the world, she may have caught on to his firm interest of what financial assets and inheritances she possessed and lack of infringing relatives. It was only occurring now, what the truth was, and the play setup. He had promised a rose garden life. Her parent's’ small inheritance trust fund had made a perfect start for their young life together as husband and wife.

Ed’s initial attention had been wildly flattering by bouquets of flowers appearing on her desk each Monday morning with calligraphy-written dinner invitations, or tickets to theatre a play. It had been a bright city lights whirlwind romance, where he seemed un-phased by her pudginess, big feet, and thick ankles. Tickled by the romance without the pressure of sexual advances, she assumed that she had met the perfect man. Soon, a word from the estate lawyer advised that all financial matters concerning Alice’s inheritances would be available in short order. Everything, it seemed, was turning out far better than she could ever have imagined. Clearly recalling their post romantic lunch date and early afternoon stroll in a park, Ed had abruptly dropped to his knees and proposed. Gleefully caught in the romantic ideal and without fanfare or family or friends, they began their life together. The two were city-hall married on that life-defining sunny day, in the afternoon at promptly quarter to five.

It was not until after the first year of marriage had passed when Ed’s lack of honesty first came to light; he had not been orphaned. He had living parents that he neither associated with nor had spoken to in years. He had never explained why and refused to say where they lived. They had either disowned him or, he of them.

The wedding night consisted of awkward fumbling as Ed grew frustrated. At