Review, Revision, Edit and Update:
As I'm sure Martha would agree, we each have our story. Some stories are detailed and layered, others fairly straight forward. However all stories are important to the individual, to family and to friends - whether in large part or small.
There were few wording details that were corrected. These weekly stories further develop the characters who people Situationally Theirs in Dez Eliot and Emelina Beaufort's world on a deeper level.
A Simple Story
“James, are you listening?” Martha Haverstock-Digby had been busying herself in the kitchen. Her husband, James, just coming in the door from a morning walk, was humming an old Irish melody. Lost in thought about the lovely day, pleased that he was back to his old self, James barely heard Martha say something about a meal.
“Yes dear. I am now. It was just so wonderful to be outside in the sunshine after being cooped up in the cottage for these last couple of weeks. I’m so glad I’ll be back at work this week. Now, what is it that you were saying?” James hung his cap and jacket in the front closet. He met Martha coming from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Oh James, I’m so glad you are better. I was so worried about you, so sure that you had that dreadful Covid virus. It was just the flu!” James and Martha had worked together for many years, but had only been married for a few months. Carefully hidden feelings for each other had finally blossomed in the summer sun. Martha smiled up at her husband. He gently put his hands on her shoulders, bent down and gave her a kiss. “Now, what were you telling me, dear?”
Martha patted and smoothed his shirt front. “I’ve made you a lunch. It’s in the fridge, dear, and I’ve set your place at the table. I ate my lunch while you were out and will be locking myself in my little den to write my story. Would you read it over when I’m done, please and see what you think?” Martha untied her apron and walked away into the kitchen to hang it up, talking to herself all the way. Quite absentmindedly, she gave James a peck on the cheek and went off down the hall. She didn’t hear James call out - “Thank you for lunch Martha”. He heard the door to her den close.
~~~~~
Dear Storyteller, my story is a simple one. When I was twenty one, I only wanted to work. After high school, I did go to secretarial school for a while, but I wasn’t all that interested in all the typing and note taking and answering phones, so I told my parents I had a new job. Well, I didn’t have any job at all and didn’t know where I would get one. Some of my friends told me to go into nursing, but I faint at the mere mention of blood so dismissed that thought immediately. I didn’t know just what I would do! No place to go, no income, and nothing interesting at all. Twenty one years old and just set adrift. I’m not one to read newspapers - at least at that young age I surely wasn’t - but on that day I did. I’d gone to this little cafe to eat lunch and think. Local, and frequented by office workers and passersby, they had the best soup and sandwiches! Especially the egg salad. It was wonderful. The elderly couple that ran the cafe made everything on site, even the bread. The only food I’ve tasted that’s any better is Elizabeth’s here at the Estate.
Anyway, while I was waiting - they were very busy that day - I picked up the newspaper that the previous patron had left behind. He - or she - must have been looking for a job too because the paper was all folded up with the classified ads showing. One ad was circled in red: ‘Housekeeper wanted for a small estate. Contact Mr. James Digby Senior…..’ It gave the number and that there may be some over night work. Curious, I decided to call. I knew how to ‘keep house’ but didn’t know I could get paid for it! I’d heard about this Beaufort Mansion place, but really just wanted to see it. I didn’t really plan to take the job. But now, all these years later I’m here and married to James Digby, Jr.!
I did get married to someone else many years before, but we separated when our daughter Joanie was just two years old. For many years, we lived with my parents. Riding my bicycle to work was a real joy for me. I miss those days, but now I would fall off or run into a tree. When I was in my forties, I was able to buy a small duplex on the edge of the Beaufort property. Joanie was married by then and had my two lovely grandchildren - Ben and Abby. Almost the same time as I was hired here, I met Elizabeth Saunders - most people call her Cook. She was a new employee too. We both needed a friend, she had come all the way from England on a whim, but now she needed a job and a friend.
And this is where I met my James. His father had been the butler that hired me. He came on staff just as his father was retiring, around the same time Elizabeth and I were hired. We three were friends and co-workers for many, many years. James was so handsome, his black hair with the little curl that escaped to his forehead, always trying to look so stern. Just like his father, Digby, Sr. although his father had a smile that charmed the world. It was just this year that James told me he loved me and asked me to marry him. Elizabeth told me she had known for years that we were made for each other. So, when James got sick, this year of the pandemic, I became quite frightened. Frightened that I’d lose him so soon after we’d found each other. It was just the flu though and he’s so much better.
I don’t know if this plain story is any good, but it is my story. I’ve loved my life out here, and it just keeps getting better. I do hope we have been of help to you with all our stories. You are missed and I hope you are well.
“There. I’ll let James read this to see if it’s all right.” Martha set down her pen, folded her paper in half and pushed her chair back from her beautiful old desk. Opening the door to the hallway, she sang out to James “Put the kettle on James. We’ll have a cup of tea and a piece of pie. You can read my little story and tell me of any mistakes.”
“A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment
of experience from which to look bak or from which to look ahead.”
~ Graham Green, novelist and author
