Mildred's Legacy

By Rose M. Jones

To see a change, you must be the change.

Mary Parker has just settled down for her usual morning breakfast when a scream of sirens blazes past her manor drawing her attention away from the flowers and birds of early Spring. Her old high school is on fire, and as she watches the students' responses, she knows she needs to help. Her life, changed by Mildred' s impact, has set her up well to offer assistance to the community in need: she has a gymnasium the other school can use for their prom and graduation, and with a little coordination with the other school' s principal, she hopes to make a night the kids will never forget.

When her school, the School of Art, is vandalized, Mary knows her help must extend far beyond a single dance. But what will happen to her school and the museum if she takes in these at-risk kids? Will the new Second Chance Program truly be able to help these kids, or will the students' presence have a negative impact on the school and museum she loves so much?

With Mildred' s nudging preventing her from backing down, Mary, Alfred, Antoinette, and Charlie venture into the unknown and the risks required to make a change in their community near Chicago. Nothing could prepare them for just how much their own lives would change by opening their doors— and their hearts.

Mildred' s Legacy is the sequel to Mildred the Bird Lady, however each book can be read as a stand-alone or in order of publication.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torchflame Books
• Release date: Nov 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781611534818

Book preview

Dedication

Dedicated to all the kids

trying to change their lives,

whether from addiction, crime,

or other circumstances.

Change must come from within.

Author’s Note

Mildred’s Legacy: Second Chance Kids, was inspired by the first novel in the series, Mildred the Bird Lady, written and published in August of 2021. After completing that novel, I felt that the story wasn’t finished. Many of my readers pleaded for more, not wanting the story to end. With every twist and turn of the first novel, an idea was created for the continuum into the second novel.

I am in recovery from alcohol addiction. Through many years of trials and failures, I finally embraced sobriety. While writing this novel, I achieved nineteen years of sobriety. In early recovery, I worked with teens in high-risk family environments. They, too, were addicted to drugs or alcohol. I saw teens struggle with peer pressure to do drugs and alcohol to fit in with the crowd. They would eventually end up in juvenile detention centers or worse. I have also seen parents torn with grief over a child who died from an overdose. Heartbreak was in every phone call I received from the kids begging for help. They were all asking for a second chance. The system was failing them.

Although I did not personally have any dealings with the judicial system, I felt the need to combine the legal system with the kids left behind. The kids in today’s world are dealing with more temptation from peers than kids of decades past. Some kids commit illegal acts to stay alive. I have been an advocate for teens before they are plagued with the horrible life of addiction or living the uncertainty of the system. Teens look for guidance, love, and acceptance. I have found that I can connect with teens and parents in my writings.

Mildred’s Legacy: Second Chance Kids is influenced by my personal and business concepts. My husband and I have a business where we assist both male and female adults with drug and alcohol addiction to find a better path in life. I hope that writing about change will help create change.

Although Mildred was primarily featured in the first novel, Mildred the Bird Lady, her principles, teachings, and life lessons continue through the pages of Mildred’s Legacy: Second Chance Kids. The main character, Mary, takes the life lessons learned from Mildred and continues her legacy, her dash in life. Mary deals with peer pressure. I hope that this story will open doors for parents to talk to their teens. The subjects such as peer pressure, drugs and alcohol, teen dating, and sex are all addressed. Parents can have conversations to talk about healthy decisions and teens can speak to their parents about life.

This second novel is about Mary providing space for people to talk about life and change their lives. While we all have that dash between our birth date and the date of our death, this novel follows the lives of eight teens struggling with the judicial system. They learn to navigate through anger, temper tantrums, vandalism, truancy, and belonging to find healthy love. These teens learn what real love and sacrifice are. Mary sacrifices a part of herself with each child she encounters. Each child realizes that there is much more to life than jail time. Through the spiritual guidance from Mildred, Mary fulfills her dash just a bit more with each passing day. Through this, Mildred’s dash continues to make a difference, even after her passing. This is her life, her legacy.

Through this novel, I can make my dash more significant. When I’m gone from this earth, I hope someone reads my book and gives their dreams a second chance. This will make my dash so much more meaningful.

Chapter 1

It’s early April; the sun is high in the sky, warming the earth. I can’t help but want to take the time to sit in the garden. I like listening to the birds as they fly around the feeders I have placed for them. Since it is early spring, only the first flowers are peeking their heads out of the ground, telling everyone, I’m here! It is a much-welcomed sight after a Chicago winter. Even though the sun is at its fullest, the air is still crisp. Remnants of snow piles are still dotting the grounds, trying so hard to keep their grasp on the winter they love so much. The struggle between the seasons is all around.

Opening the back door off the hall from the kitchen area, I find the inviting garden in which I used to sit for hours with Mildred. I head on out to the table and chairs, usually covered with beautiful vines and flowers of every color imaginable. I’m met with a blustery gust of springtime air, but I don’t allow this to discourage me from venturing out. I know that I’m not appropriately dressed to be out in the cold, but the sun’s rays lure me out to play. Making my way out to the garden, I carefully navigate the walkway still plagued with ice, waiting to hurt me. It doesn’t stop me. I’m determined to make my way.

On my way out through the walkway, I notice that Antoinette has placed a warm blanket on a chair for me. I guess she knew I was going to come outside today. The blanket is comforting in the fight against the brisk spring air. With the sun caressing the earth, the garden is coming to life after a hard winter’s slumber. I perch myself on the chair and pull the blanket around me. I desperately try to find any sign of green peeking out from the brown grass. Just a hint, that’s all I need.

Early spring is like a symphony with the sun as the conductor. Each flower waits to be told the stage is now theirs. I’m eager for the flowers to begin their play on the stage of life. Each flower has its purpose. Oh, how I yearn for the bold colors of reds and yellows softened by the pinks and purples as they dance. Anticipation of the show is hard to ignore, but it is so worth the wait.

I’m facing away from the manor, but I feel the presence of someone behind me. I hear a soft voice from a young girl. Her voice sounds cautious and frail, almost afraid to speak.

Here is your coffee ma’am. The young lady comes around and stands before me with a tray of coffee and pastries. She must be a new staff member. I like to feel that the staff is like family more than just here to serve. She sets down a tray on the table before me. Oh, someone must have told her what I like in the morning. It is strange to be waited upon, but I became accustomed to it with Mildred. I now know precisely what Mildred was talking about when she mentioned years ago that, to some, it appeared that she had many friends. In truth, she paid people to be there at the manor.

Oh, thank you, my dear, I respond with proper gratitude.

No one is a servant; they simply serve. I don’t believe in people serving me as a duty. Even though Mildred, in her passing, set the entire staff up for many years of income, I still feel a bit uneasy asking for things that I could do for myself.

My pleasure, ma’am, she says with a warm and meek smile.

Oh dear, please call me Mary, or Ms. Mary, as most do. No need for that ma’am stuff. I try to ease the tension. Antoinette must have just hired her because I do not recall seeing her around the manor before.

Yes, ma’am. She notices that she has made the same mistake as before. Her face begins to redden, either from the embarrassment it causes her or from the cold. It’s hard to tell which is the true cause. She quickly corrects herself, Yes, Ms. Mary. We both giggle at the error; it was not meant in harm.

I turn back to the table where my piping hot coffee is sitting along with the pastry and reach for the coffee. The young lady reaches for my cup and saucer to reposition them.

Honey, I can handle that. You don’t need to do everything for me, I say with a little snap.

Yes, ma’am, she says, obviously upset at her misdoings. She forgot and called me ma’am again.

I’m sorry, dear. My voice is much calmer. I did not mean to snap so harshly. I can do things. Sometimes I need to take care of things myself. I try to explain, but somehow, I think I make things worse.

The young lady backs up a step or two, then folds her hands against her apron. She is noticeably chilled from the air and looks almost like a scolded puppy.

I guess I just need my morning coffee. I chuckle to lighten the tense atmosphere.

Like every morning, I wake up with a love affair in my coffee cup. I reach for my cup and saucer once more. Ah yes, Antoinette must have set up the tray because it has my creamer on it. The love affair can begin.

I put hazelnut creamer in my dark roasted coffee and watch the dance begin. The rich hazelnut creamer pierces the dark abyss and begins to resemble the arms of a lover. The arms reach for their partner so that they can hold each other on the dance floor. The dance is for young lovers. The cup must be disturbed to start the dance but not too much. The coffee and creamer cannot become one, not yet.

The music in my head is romantic to match the young lovers’ tango across the dance floor in my cup. The creamer swirls hold their partner close while the black coffee fights for its very existence. The deep blackness of the abyss succumbs to the match made in heaven. The black roasted coffee soon becomes a masterpiece of golden-brown coffee with an aroma fit for a queen.

The elixir warms my soul this brisk morning—a much-welcomed feeling. Before this meek young lady notices, I must pull myself back into reality. I put the coffee cup to my lips and drink in the essence of the dance before me. My heart is warm as I feel the young lovers dance down to the pit of my stomach. Ah, my senses are in overload. The brisk cool wind brushes my skin, causing goose pimples. However, the inside of my body is bursting with flavor and warmth from the dance of lovers.

Putting the coffee cup carefully back upon its saucer, I casually turn to speak to the young lady as she stands before me, waiting for direction. I quickly change the topic of discussion to prevent her from knowing about the dance that has just taken place. But what shall I talk about? It would be crazy to talk about the weather. We all know it’s still cold outside, even with the sun beaming above. Not to mention the poor young lady is beginning to shiver. It’s not like Antoinette, with whom I can talk about anything. Hmm, oh, I got it!

Is Charlie in the kitchen by chance? I ask. He must be. My husband loves nothing more than to create delicious food.

She looks puzzled before attempting to answer. I’m not sure who that is, ma’am, I mean Ms. Mary. Looking a bit upset at trying to remember my name, she backs up a few steps.

Oh, dear, it’s okay, I reassure her, showing that no harm is done. I haven’t seen you here before. I reposition myself in my seat. What is your name?

Mia, she says under her breath. She’s cautious, like I’m going to yell at her.

I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t hear you, I say to prompt another answer and turn my head to better hear her soft voice.

My name is Mia. Her eyes begin to lighten as she responds. Mia appears to be in her teens, even though I know that is far from the truth. Everyone looks young to me. I must have seemed very young to Mildred when she first met me.

Nonetheless, once broken out of her shell, Mia is bright-eyed and stands up straight. I know she is on her best behavior in my presence. I can see that her mother has given her excellent guidance, much as Mildred did for me.

But, she pauses, unsure if she should speak.

What is it, dear? I must know what she wants to say. It drives me nuts when people don’t finish their sentences. I guess I get that from my mother.

My real name is Amelia, she says as she looks to the barren floor. But, her eyes raise to meet mine, everyone calls me Mia. She stops once more. Except my Momma. She calls me Amelia. I can tell that she loves her mother with all her heart. Her eyes soften as well as her voice. The bond between a mother and daughter is far too strong to break.

That is a beautiful name. I look up into the clouds as if to hear angels. Amelia. I try to reassure her just how beautiful her name is. Don’t let anyone take your name away from you. It is a gift from your mother.

Amelia smiles. I never looked at it like that.

Well, I pause to reach for my coffee cup. Amelia, if I may call you that, I know you do not know me yet, but I’m Mary or Ms. Mary. Charlie is my husband, and he runs the coffee shop while popping in and out of the kitchen with the staff. He is also a teacher at the school. You’ll meet him soon enough, but please, dear, I take her by the hand, please relax. You are in a very special place here.

Antoinette comes around the corner into the gardens with a hurried look.

Oh, Amelia, there you are, Antoinette says with relief as if she has been looking for her for quite some time. Amelia’s smile brightens. Her eyes meet mine in a silent conversation shared for only a split second between us. An understanding of her importance in this world fills her heart.

I see you have met Ms. Mary, Antoinette says with a half-smile. She is standing with purpose, every bit the boss because she is Amelia’s new boss. Even though we are like a family here at the manor, we still need accountability for each job performed. Antoinette is my right-hand man, if I may say. She runs the manor. I just live here; well, I own it. Amelia’s face turns from warm joy to a young girl again, as if she is in trouble when actually, she is far from it.

When Amelia isn’t looking, Antoinette gives a little smirk and a wink to tell me that it was all an act.

Yes ma’am, I have. Amelia’s posture is more rigid in Antoinette’s presence.

Ms. Mary, is there anything else Amelia can get for you this morning? Antoinette asks.

No, I don’t believe so, I respond. I flash a smile of approval in both directions, they have both done their jobs well.

Antoinette turns her attention to Amelia and instructs, Amelia, you are needed in the kitchen for silverware.

Yes, ma’am, Amelia says. As she turns to leave the garden, I feel the need to reach out for her hand once more.

It was nice to meet you, I pause with a warm smile, my dear Amelia. I make sure we make eye contact so I can tell her that she is valued here at the manor.

Yes ma’am, I mean, and she pauses with an embarrassed smile, I mean, Ms. Mary. It was nice to meet you as well. She walks away with a skip in her step.

A few more steps and Amelia becomes a memory.

Antoinette walks over. May I? She gestures to the chair across from mine.

Antoinette, you know you don’t have to ask permission for anything from me. A giggle fills me.

Antoinette turns around to look at the doorway to make sure Amelia is gone, I know, but I need to make it look good. We both have a good laugh before Antoinette returns to business.

She pulls out the adjacent chair and sighs deeply. She does so much, she must be exhausted.

You really need to take time for yourself, you know, I mention to Antoinette with a concerned voice, pulling my blanket closer to me. I remember her tireless days with Mildred. She was at her beck and call for her when she was so ill. Antoinette kept the manor running and in tip-top shape while Mildred was ill, and no one really knew just how ill she was.

I know, she says as she takes another deep breath in, and, while letting it out, she rolls her eyes as if I have said this a thousand times.

You know? I question as I sit up more in my chair.

Antoinette fidgets. Sitting still is not in her nature.

You and Alfred are the very backbone of this manor, not to mention to everyone here as well, I remind her. Eventually you will need to pass the torch, much like Mildred did.

Are you saying retire? Me? her hand grasps her chest, Me, retire? She looks at me as if I have three heads.

No, not really retire. You live here, I assure her. I mean delegate. Give projects to others so you have more time to enjoy life.

Hmm. She is beginning to understand what I’m talking about. She had been so caught up assisting Mildred, and now assisting me, with the manor’s daily activities that she let life get away from her. Maybe a vacation would be nice.

So, I giggle under my breath. I lean over to her and whisper close to her as if we were planning a secret get-away. Where are we going?

We both give a big chuckle that comes deep from our bellies.

When she finally catches her breath, she says, Oh, it feels so good to laugh.

Yes, Antoinette, it sure does.

We are both so caught up in the moment and that we don’t realize Amelia is standing back in the doorway. Antoinette quickly gathers herself and becomes Amelia’s boss once more. Being caught having fun and being a boss do not look good together., At least not yet. Not until Amelia gets through her first week of work.

Yes? Antoinette directs her attention to Amelia.

They told me to come talk to you. I finished rolling silverware for the coffee shop. Amelia rubs her arms. The brisk wind has made its presence known.

Go ahead and go back into the kitchen and I will be there shortly, Antoinette instructs.

Yes ma’am. Amelia turns and starts back.

Boy, you sure do play that part well, I say with a smirk and little giggle.

Yeah, Antoinette stands with a small grunt and then a smile. I do, don’t I?

She pushes her hands down her dress to smooth out any wrinkles. It is far too cold to be ironing out any wrinkles with just your hands. We both have another laugh as she goes through the door.

Laughing with Antoinette reminds me so much of my times with Mildred in the garden and all the laughs we shared. Oh, how I miss Mildred and our laughs in the garden. Sitting in the garden, drinking my coffee, and eating the pastries that Amelia brought out to me makes me remember my dear friend. Mildred enjoyed tea more than coffee. We had some of the most extraordinary conversations about life at this very table. Even though our friendship began in the park so many years prior, this table will always be special to me.

All types of flowers are beginning to come to life around me. Early April is still cool up here in Chicago and quite frankly, it could still snow. But today the sun is high in the sky and it is heating the air around me, much to my delight.

Mildred’s gardens are normally filled with such color. She made sure the gardens would bloom constantly with different variations of flowers and foliage, although it was hard to have winter flowers. When all the flowers bloom it brings in the honeybees. I personally take care to stay away from the honeybees, though I do understand their importance in the world of biology. Along with the foliage of spring color and the bees who’ve come to pollinate them, comes the sweet songs from the many different varieties of birds. I begin to take a special interest in the birds and think of all my friends down at the park bench. I must go feed them today.

While gazing off into the wild outdoors, I feel someone approach behind me. Not paying too much attention to them, I ask, Have you ever seen so many birds come to visit here? They seem early this year.

Waiting for an answer, I keep watching, wide-eyed and curious. Then, a warm, loving hand slowly surrounds my shoulder. This hand is not one of the many men or women working in the kitchen; they would not hold me so. This hand is warm, large enough to be able to wrap the fingers around my shoulder and partly down my arm. It feels like safety, security. Alfred.

Sometimes, I need to stop and look at nature just as you are doing Ms. Mary.

His voice is low, rough and manly, but also protective. It sounds like it is wrapped in a deep caramel or silk. I know this sweltering voice all too well. I place my hand lovingly on top of his. Because of the safety and security that his hand bestows upon me, I cannot help but tilt my head on top of his warm hand. Then, my head lifts to see the person who spoke.

Mildred sure would love this time of year, I say, turning to look at him, holding back the many emotions surrounding me. I feel the love from Alfred’s presence. He was always by Mildred’s side making sure everything was taken care of. I honestly don’t believe this man ever sits down. He is always pulling weeds, planting new flowers, painting, or working on a screen door, but always with a smile on his face.

Ms. Mildred would sit out here for hours. I think she would have sat here and watched the seasons change if she could. She didn’t mind how cold or warm it was. His voice turns to a jovial chuckle.

I bet she would, I agree.

A few minutes pass. We are both mesmerized by the moment. He speaks first.

Ms. Mary, it is quite cold out here for you. Is there anything I can get or do for you while I’m here?

I have to think for a moment. I usually respond with a subtle, No, everything is fine, or something along those lines, but today is a bit different. Why, yes, there is, I mention.

Yes Ms. Mary? His smile is large and bright. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him without that smile, waiting for instruction. His eyes are slanted with joy. His skin, although dark in nature, has been kissed by the sun, even though the year is young. It looks tough from all the years of working outside with no regard for the sun’s damage.

You work so tirelessly here. Don’t you ever just sit down and enjoy life? I gesture for him to sit next to me in the garden.

Alfred settles into the chair across from me. I notice his grunt as he sits. Oh, Ms. Mary, my body isn’t quite what it used to be. We both chuckle. This cold air plays hard with my bones.

We sit in silence for a few moments, taking in the beauty of the world behind the walls of the manor. We are so close to the city, but there is safety behind these walls.

Within these walls is an entirely different world, our world. The big iron gates at the entrance protect our peace and tranquility. I remember gazing at the very gates that stand so tall and proud at the entrance as a child. I was always warned that the old lady that lived behind them was mean and hated children, a reputation seemingly confirmed by all the toilet paper that graced the ornate iron gates each and every Halloween. But, once I got to know the woman in hiding, I soon realized that everyone was wrong. Mildred was a kind soul. I still feel a twinge of guilt about the toilet paper.

Each section of the grounds has its own purpose. The museum is in the front with many steps to get up to the front entrance. The entrance is grand with tall cement pillars that stretch as far as the eye can see. To a child, the pillars are giants. The museum is open for all to come and see the world through an artist’s perspective. Hopefully it will inspire them to be artists themselves. That is where the School of Art comes in.

The School of Art is connected to the museum itself and is also encapsulated by the walls, though the manor is very spread out. The School of Art is a school where kids come to learn not just the fundamentals of education, but also the beauty of art. It is a special school primarily for wealthy children and artistic children honing their crafts. Students come to learn the arts of dance, drawing, music, and painting. This is where students come to learn the finer elements of life. They don’t believe it, but this school teaches them to be a gentleman or a lady.

My old friend Sandra came here when we were young to learn piano. I watched her play in the auditorium. She played in front of hundreds of people. The music I heard from her was astonishing. I had no idea she was that good. Even though she went to public school with me, she attended this school to learn piano.

Then there is the art of dance. Mildred herself was a dancer. She told me how her husband helped her fulfill her passion for dance. They opened the Art Museum as well as the School of Art together in hopes of helping the community. This way, Mildred could pass on her life’s wealth of culture to those wanting to learn as well.

I also have a hall dedicated to my artwork, in which I have brought my favorite subjects to life through my drawings. Mildred and her birds are living in each drawing displayed down that hallway. When I go down the hallway, I’m always compelled to stop at each drawing carefully displayed behind glass in preservation of each memory of her. The hallway was her gift to me. It has been much too long since I have been there. I must visit soon.

Oh, my mind is wandering again. I turn my attention back to Alfred.

You know, Alfred, I say while I’m watching the birds fly to and fro, there is something that you can do.

Yes Ms. Mary, anything. Alfred waits for instruction patiently.

You know, and I can’t help but pause and think of the task that I am about to ask of him, you know Mildred loved this beautiful garden. I can feel the warmth of the sun upon my face, as well as the cool spring breeze blowing, as if it just did not want to give winter away quite yet. I close my eyes and take it all in.

Alfred takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as his face softens with the mere mention of our dear ol’ friend.

Yes, she sure did indeed. Alfred’s tone is somber in reflection. How can I help you, Ms. Mary?

Well, I take a moment to gather my thoughts. I guess I’m much like Mildred in that way. The flowers are more stunning with each passing day and season.

Uh-huh. Alfred interrupts my thoughts. His attention is taken by the mere aroma of the flowers coming up to greet us.

And the flowers need the bees to pollinate them, so they thrive with each passing year. I speak like I’m a teacher. I gaze out over the gardens.

Uh-huh. Alfred is still waiting for the instruction like the much-awaited punch line to a joke. Anticipation is killing him.

The birds come and go, then come and go once more, I say. My hand gestures over the flowers and then to the bright blue sky, dotted with cotton candy white clouds above. The sky is very deceiving. In appearance, it looks like a warm summer day, but instead, it is a brisk spring day.

Well, Ms. Mary, I do see all kinds of birds come to visit this beautiful garden each and every day as well.

Yes, well. I turn to him to catch his full attention. A warmth comes from within my heart and my face radiates with joy. Where do they go? I ask. I feel something almost like the deep sadness of losing an old friend.

Well, if I were a bird, and the jovial chuckle comes from his belly beneath his work overalls, I think I could answer that. But, as you see Ms. Mary, Alfred sticks his thumbs in the straps of his overalls and gives a quirky smile, I’m not a bird.

This thought sends us both into a fit of laughter.

I would like to see bird houses in the garden. I point over to the right side of the garden. Maybe one over there. I search for other perfect spaces for a bird house to be placed. And maybe one over there. I point to a different location.

"I believe Mildred would have loved