Open hearted and sad, the residents of The Beaufort Estate were gathered together for a meeting. It had become evident that it was time to say good bye to the Storyteller. Martha Haverstock-Digby and her husband James Digby had talked quietly over the Christmas holidays about their futures. On Christmas Eve, they had Samuel Forrester and Elizabeth Saunders to their cottage for supper. The four of them had been working at the Estate for well over 20 years. James and Samuel had actually been raised on the Estate. James Digby took over butler duties when his father retired. Samuel Forrester took over the groundskeeping when his father retired. Martha, the housekeeper and Elizabeth, better known as Cook, came to the Estate at the same time. They had all seen marriages, deaths, children and even a little ghost girl. So on Christmas Eve they agreed that a meeting was needed for them all on the Estate. The pandemic was long over, even if the Covid virus was still hovering about. They were all getting on with their lives, their individual stories quiet but moving forward.
Included at the meeting was the chauffeur, Giles Thornton and his family; Martha’s daughter and a teacher, Joanie Richardson and her children, Ben and Abby; Brigitte Smithson had been a maid and personal assistant to Emelina. All of this little community had been affected in some way by the pandemic. But as they always had, they rallied around each other.
After the meeting, Digby drew up a letter to the Storyteller, explaining their decision. He had to go to his office and close the door to get his thoughts in order. While he was composing the letter, Cook served tea and coffee, and fresh baking to the tearful group. Martha kept trying to find ways that they could send in their stories as they had the previous Christmas. Samuel was just quiet. Martha’s grandchildren were off in a corner with Gile’s sons not knowing why they had to be there anyway. Joanie sat by her mother and comforted her.
Digby returned to the long table in the big old kitchen. He read out the letter in a strained voice, clearing his throat several times. “We are all very sad about our decision to end our relationship with the Storyteller. However, each of us has to get on with our lives whether it is retirement, paying attention to our growing children, focusing more on our jobs here, or taking holidays away from the Estate.” He paused. “This may sound ungrateful, but over these last couple of years, making sure our stories are told has become an interruption in our lives. During the pandemic, it was important to tell our stories and how we dealt with coming back together again. We have all become closer because of it and grateful to all those people who have read our stories.” Dez stood and turned to her sister, “I would never have known any of you if that nasty virus hadn’t upended my life.” She wiped her eyes and sat again. Emelina hugged her and said “If I hadn’t been left alone that night, when the radio told us all to isolate, I wouldn’t have had to get out of bed and out of myself to go find you, Dez.” She looked around the table. “You all saved my life by leaving me to myself that night. You are so like a family to me.” Samuel, his face stern, was quiet. He never had liked all this kind of gushy talk. Elizabeth, her back to the group filling the tea pot, wiped a tear from her eye before returning to the table. “Enough going on and on. We will still come to work tomorrow and get ready for the next wedding, right Miss Dez?”
Tension dissolved as the women started talking about wedding plans. Digby, Samuel and Giles started talking about what the winter would bring. “No snow forecast, Giles? How was the highway in all the rain? Ground’s pretty mushy out here.”
Sarah, the little ghost girl, had been at the meeting, sitting atop the cupboards. She had rather liked her story being told. She often felt lonely, but now that so many of these people were kind to her, she wasn’t worried. And she loved it when Cook made cookies, even if she couldn’t eat them or smell them. She remembered them. She sighed and floated across the ceiling and up the stairs to hide in the book shelf.
~~~~~
“Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending.”
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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