The Woman Who Found Her Fire: The Avery Victoria Spencer Fables, #3

By Vivian Ruth Probst

Avery Victoria Spencer is the woman who forgot who she was--before trauma-induced amnesia erased a slice of her story, her marriage, her family. Nearly twenty years later, Avery's becoming more conscious of who she really is.Two incredible inner journeys have brought her to a deeper understanding of herself and her power to create a wonderful life. She's kinder to herself and others, and at long last has made amends with her strange and withdrawn father. Even love has peeked out timidly in the person of George Robert Logan, a man with whom she is enjoying a platonic relationship, while hoping for more.

 

But Avery stumbles over two tough patches in her life journey: her father dies, leaving her with no sense of her family's past, and George disappears suddenly. His father in London has had a heart attack, he claims. Avery thinks otherwise because their attempt at intimacy has failed miserably. Torn apart by grief and outrage, Avery can't get out of bed, much less go to work.

 

A three-month leave of absence is arranged as Avery goes through what is rumored among social circles to be a 'mid-life crisis,' a.k.a. 'second Saturn return,' a.k.a. 'Dark Night of the Soul.' Whatever it's called, Avery stubbornly refuses to request any assistance from her inner realm, where powerful forces are still at work. Instead, she clutches her bed sheets refusing to embrace who she is becoming. But life has a work-around.

 

Avery's third journey lands her in a very small cave, surrounded by shadows of grieving and fearful women who comfort her, until an intimidating and angry mountain threatens to turn her to shadow as well, if she refuses to face her rage. It could be Avery's last chance to become real. She must complete her course, no matter how terrifying. Every irritation, every morsel of disquiet, every piece of unresolved bitterness shows up on her mountain trek—not for her to battle, but for her to love and embrace. Underneath her rageaholic tendencies, she will find her full and real self—which includes both her masculine and feminine energies. It's called wholeness.  

 

Avery has never been a champion of femininity ('wimpy females' is how she refers to those of her own gender), and is obviously uncomfortable with her own sexuality. As she faces her mountain, she encounters an enormous serpent, claiming to be from the Garden of Eden. Terrified of snakes, Avery would run away if she could, but their meeting occurs on a narrow mountain ledge about 11,000 feet above sea level. There is no escape. At least, both she and her slithering guide like cigars.

 

It's that last piece—love—that Avery needs before she can return to her life and face everything she had chosen to forget. If she can do that, she will be strong enough to move into full acceptance of who she really is, restoring herself from a heart-breaking past and stepping into true love. For without love, all is lost.

 

The thing about buried trauma is that it doesn't stay buried; Life wakes it up. The Avery Victoria Spencer Fables are an intimate series of stories that brought this author to an authentic life. Welcome to Book Three: The Woman Who Found Her Fire.

 

Set in the charming historical city of Waukesha, Wisconsin, an inspired fable of a woman with a forgotten past, and a life calling her forward to restore her true wholeness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vivian Probst
• Release date: Nov 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9780975342299

Vivian Ruth Probst

Vivian Probst Trained in culture, anthropology, and linguistics with bachelor’s degree in Multicultural Ministries 34-year veteran/national trainer and consultant to the affordable housing industry (theopro.com) Creator of the endowed CANIF Fund through the Women’s Center of Waukesha, WI Creator of gender inclusive WEnglish™ (vivianprobst.com/WEnglish) Author/playwright/songwriter/poet (through LifeMark Press): (vivianprobst.com) Website:  VivianProbst.com Contact for information and events: Sharyn Alden/Sharyn Alden Communications

Book preview

Part I

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1

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February 10, 1975

Avery watches numbly as a plain bronze coffin is lowered into its final resting place. Tears slide down her face as her father is laid to rest, as inexpensively as possible in a non-sealed casket. It was his last request.

Promise me—no fancy funeral. Just bury me, cheap, OK? Howard Spencer had begged. And don’t burn me to ashes, he had added, even though it would cost less. Got it? Avery’s father believed that his Presbyterian God might not be able to put him back together at the resurrection of saints if he was a pile of bony dust.

She does her best. No funeral; no flowers–just a burial on a cold and windy February day, only two months after his touching speech at Avery’s charity fundraiser–the very night Avery and George kissed that first time, which led to more, ending in fizzled passion. It has been utterly humiliating.

George. Avery’s sobbing escalates. The minister stops and looks at her sympathetically. Evelyn puts her arm around Avery and indicates with a soft smile to him that he should wrap things up--because, as Evelyn knows, Avery’s tears aren’t for her father--not at all! She weeps for George. George is gone, and Avery can’t bear to think of why, although she’s absolutely sure it’s all her fault.

Enormous regret consumes her, for she realizes too late that she truly loves George Robert Logan, no matter how poorly she’s shown it.

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George would be at Avery’s side if he knew her father had died; but Avery refuses to contact him. She lives alone with her regrets, believing she’s ruined everything. Yes, she will miss her father a little—so much of her past will now remain forever unknown. But that’s nothing compared to how deeply she aches for George. He’s an ocean away now, back in England with his family, due to my father’s heart attack, he claimed in a hasty phone call. Avery isn’t sure she believes him. He left because I’m a miserable failure at love! Avery knows what she’s lost. Such grief!

As winds howl and icy rain stings her face, Avery recalls her inability to reciprocate George’s gentle approach to love with anything remotely resembling her true feelings for him. Instead, she went into lock-down. She lives with a new companion in her psyche, as accusing whispers assault her day and night. ‘Frigid. Ice Queen. Spinster. Prude. Bitch.’ Grief, remorse, rage, and profound loss all tangle up together, leaving her breathless.

Avery attempts to bring her focus back to her father’s graveside service. But the minister’s final benediction is a metaphor for her future without George. ‘Earth to earth; dust to dust.' She sobs even louder. Evelyn takes her hand and squeezes it gently. Avery wants to slap her. After all, it‘s Evelyn’s fault. She introduced Avery to George, even suggesting that he might be ‘the one.' Avery is swallowed up in memories. Could it really be only four months ago? She mourns.

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October 1974—Four months earlier

Avery, you simply must drop everything you think is important right now and meet me at a new shop I’ve discovered just two blocks from your bank. Evelyn had ordered. "You aren’t going to believe it! I’m there right now. Come out your front door and turn left—you’ll see me. Right now, Ms. Bank President! It’s your duty, after all, to welcome new businesses into town."

Dr. Evelyn Morgan was not typically all that excitable. A professor of women‘s studies at Carroll College in Waukesha, Wisconsin, she and Avery had become fast friends in spite of their differing sexual preferences. Evelyn was a lesbian—a wonderful balance to Avery’s more serious and hetero-sexless life.

Full of curiosity, Avery did just as Evelyn instructed that day. Within minutes she was standing beside her friend in one of those long-vacant storefronts on the corner of Madison Street and St. Paul Avenue, that suggested a city in decline. Somehow, without her knowing, it now housed a shop called Soul’s Decor, owned by Englishman George Logan, Evelyn explained, who was newly-arrived from London. Yes, that George Logan that now causes Avery such sorrow.

A bank president is usually aware of everything that goes on in a small city. Lenders are popular with retail merchants who come looking for loans with limited resources, their heads full of dreams. No one from Soul’s Decor had darkened Prairieville Bank’s doorstep, which meant George Logan was relying on independent capital. That alone intrigued Avery.

As she stepped into a shop full of rich, colorful furnishings, her intrigue catapulted into an almost eerie sense of wonder for she found herself among fabrics, objects, textures, and coordinated color and patterns that expressed her own preferred décor perfectly. Avery was getting ready to renovate her house. It was as if someone had reached into her imagination and put her desires on stunning store displays. She knew instantly that she’d found someone to handle every detail of her project. It was also too good to be true, which always made Avery suspicious.

A bit of graying hair at George’s temples hinted at maturity, but it was his eyes that drew her in—so green and sparkling with enthusiasm, yet sad, as if suggesting an old grief. Avery tried to be formal and professional, but felt more like a giddy, giggling teenager. George fascinated Avery and no man had ever had that effect on her. She wondered, of course, if he was gay, and hoped he was—or not.

Avery, I’d like you to meet George Logan, Evelyn had said in an unusually tender voice, as if she, too, was captivated. Before she could reverse and formally introduce Avery to George, he had taken Avery’s hand and placed it between both of his. In his lovely British accent he had said "Avery, darling," and had stopped suddenly, as if he’d said something wrong.

That short sentence sealed George’s sexual preference as far as Avery was concerned. Those two words told Avery she was safe—disappointed, of course, but safe. Evelyn would correct Avery about that later, but right now, it created a protecting shield for George and Avery to become reacquainted. Avery had no idea who George was, but he remembered everything. Seeing her after so long startled him into using that old, familiar endearing term Darling, that he’d always used for only her. She was his wife after all, even if she didn’t remember.

Indeed, Avery has no memory of the tragedy that morphed into dissociative amnesia. After twenty years, she still doesn’t remember that George is her husband or that they had twin daughters, one long dead, the other crippled from the accident. Doctors had told George that if she ever remembered, it could kill her. Worst of all, Avery’s subconscious feeling of horrific guilt haunts her in ways she doesn’t realize. She blames herself for the accident. After all, she sent the twins off on a snowy evening with their nanny, Bee, to see holiday decorations, so she could study. How selfish! How deadly! George’s return to Waukesha now was to see if he could convince Avery to fall in love with him even though she obviously doesn’t remember him.

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A-men. the minister’s words bring her back. As she stands to leave her father’s gravesite, Avery feels herself letting go of both her father and her brief but glorious friendship with George, destroyed in a poorly-timed attempt at love. It’s utterly humiliating to think back to those tender times with George; but Avery can’t stop her ferocious drive to recall every awful detail. Avery’s stomach twists as her memories insist on another torturous replay.

As Evelyn drives Avery home from the funeral, Avery remembers fondly how, even during their first encounter at his shop, George’s thumb rested thoughtfully under his chin as he asked about her project. His eyes watched her intently, almost intimately, she thought. He frowned slightly as he listened, his index finger tapping his nose from time to time, as if turning on some sort of idea machine. It was a gesture Avery would learn to treasure—and now misses dreadfully.

There was never a contract between George and Avery; their ability to sense what needed to be done and do it companionably was enough. Such trust and compatibility easily became love. Until…

2

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Avery can still feel George’s first kiss under the starry sky after Prairieville Bank’s holiday gala in December. It sends a wave of pulsating warmth through every cell of her being, even now. His love embraced her like a warm blanket and exploded that very night. As Avery lay in bed recalling George’s kiss, disappointed that he claimed to be too tired to spend any more time with her that evening, her doorbell rang.

George had apparently changed his mind. As he stood there snow-covered and looking askance at Avery, she took his hand. Leading him upstairs to her bedroom, articles of clothing fell off their bodies. Avery couldn’t believe how intensely she desired him. She wasn’t a virgin—that sorrowful encounter had already occurred, and she had sworn off sex as messy, gross, and completely unnecessary. But George was different. Now she wanted it/him/both desperately. She knew George and trusted him more than any other man.

Yet falling naked into one another’s arms, something inside Avery snapped; she went rigid and froze. George was above her, looking down at her quizzically.

I can’t do it, George, Avery had whispered at last, completely honest. I don’t know why, but I can’t. It’s been a long time—I don’t recall ever really going so far with anyone. I guess I’m a prude. George remembers his wife as anything but, but he understands.

Moving slowly to Avery’s side; George had taken her hand and kissed it. I understand, he had said quietly, but with obvious pain in his voice. It’s too much, isn’t it? Too much, too soon. We’ll just take it more slowly. Inwardly calling himself every nasty name he could think of, George stayed and held Avery until she fell asleep. She woke up hours later. He was gone.

But George was still careful for Avery. He called her; he took her out on dates. There was no going back to just being friends and both were in anguish. Avery tried to open up to him; he tenderly tried to encourage her. Avery knew she cared for George, but she couldn’t make love to him, no matter how desperately she wanted to. What she didn’t know was that George couldn’t either. Had they proceeded further that night, he wouldn’t have been able to satisfy her. He had been impotent since the accident. Before crossing that delicate threshold from friends to lovers, George had believed that making love to his wife after twenty years would be like coming home. He had ached for that comfort—had lived for it and breathed life into it for so long. Reality was crushing.

Suddenly in mid-January, a quick call from George told Avery of his own father’s heart attack–that he had to return to London. He was gone.***

Avery’s mind wanders back to that love scene incessantly. She’s haunted by her inability to respond to George. Shocked by grief, rendered defenseless by discovery of her sexual frigidity, she swims in torrents of sorrow and self-loathing. A raging monster has awakened inside her, consuming her façade of composure. Unable to hide from the seismic quake within, Avery is torn apart. Outraged by love lost, she is rudderless, and can’t find her way back into life as she's known it. Not even her wonderful stories of Greatness and Worthiness can rescue her. She has no idea that George is suffering as well.

3

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January 12, 1975, London

Dr. Peyton Logan’s urgent call to George about their father’s emergency heart bypass surgery is perfectly timed; it gives George an excuse to leave his own heart-rending encounter with Avery and return to London. Putting distance between himself and Avery also feels like an emergency.

It’s not that he considers his father’s need for surgery ‘fortuitous,’ but it gives him a way to leave quickly—to escape before he must face his own impotence. He knows that going back to his family will only make things worse. He knows he can’t hide his heartache from his family, who will now say, ‘We told you so’ in an infinite number of ways, without ever using those words.

As a Boeing 747 lifts George away from Avery’s world, he enters his own private torture chamber. Trying to love her has been punishing. Now, stunned with grief over the sudden end of his twenty-year quest to restore his wife back to himself, coupled with his private sexual failure, George falls into an even deeper agony. Knowing that during the same twenty years that he pursued Avery, he also refused to take his place as eldest son in their family—that he let the Logan family business, Logan Press International, languish while he selfishly pursued his own interests—George blames himself for his father’s physical trauma.

Now heart-broken, George tries to turn his focus to salvaging his family’s business and their once historically important identity, while blaming himself for his failed attempt to love Avery again. All in all, there isn’t much proof that George has accomplished anything worthwhile during his life.

First-class seating allows George a privacy he doesn’t relish. Only a steady flow of single malt scotch whiskies soothe him until he succumbs to a desperate weariness. If he were going home to love and support, it would be different, but that fountain dried up years ago. For as long as his father, George Robert Logan II, lives, he will justifiably rail on George for deserting their family. Any respectable Scottish father would do that. George will be defenseless, for now he understands what almost everyone had been inferring all those years—that he’s been in love with a memory and not with who his wife had become.

Ah, but I had no idea that my wife had become a heartless, frigid bitch! He defends himself in his mind, as his flight brings him closer to London. You should talk, his heart sings back to him. It’s not like you had much to offer except ridiculous and unreasonable fantasies of how easy it would be, dickless wonder that you are. George’s mind is good at reminding him about his own inept sexual performance. Even touching Avery had been painful. It’s as if both of their bodies held a secret magnetic code that repelled any physical advances, screaming, ‘I’m not ready!" Neither can go back to what had been