by Ruth Hay
At first, Terrence had suggested returning to her own old room in their family home. It would have been free of obligations, but she knew it represented a step back in her life journey, and with her self-worth at an all-time low, that was not going to be a satisfactory answer.
Somehow, her father had engineered this lateral move away from her usual haunts and she had grabbed at it as a chance to hide out and try to reinvent herself. She chose to view the circumstances as her generous attempt to help out her grandparents during the period before their move to the Bahamas.
If she refused to discuss the actual situation, she could pretend, for a while, it did not exist.
There was, however, no chance of avoiding the guilt she felt about Zoe. Twice a week Zoe and Wesley opened a Skype link from England, to work with Portia and check on her progress. Abi made sure she kept out of screen view but every time she heard Zoe talking so kindly to Portia and enquiring about her feelings and thoughts, Abigail Beck cringed inside and wished she knew how to make up for the damage she had done by drawing unwelcome attention to a very private lady who was selflessly taking an active role in the rehabilitation of poor Portia.
Although Abigail thought she would be bored with little to do for hours in the big house with its old-fashioned large furniture and closed rooms that were never used, she soon found her father’s instincts were right. Marian and Aylward Beck did need help. It was obvious her grandmother was tired with the daily task of supervising Portia. The girl had reacted badly when members of the small army of workers employed by the old couple arrived for their scheduled duties. The choice was to keep Portia in her room all day or to dismiss the helpers and manage by themselves. Marian chose the latter course thinking their old routines with multiple helpers would soon be gone when they moved south before the end of the year. She insisted on retaining the gardener, however. She would not risk the deterioration of the work of decades. She wished to hand an excellent garden over to the house’s new owners.
Abigail picked up the slack for the indoor workers and helped in the kitchen, driving Marian to the store and preparing simple meals for all four of them.
Cooking had not been one of the skills required in the newspaper business. Abigail Beck had preferred to eat out after a day’s work but she soon learned a few techniques and also gathered up several donated frozen dishes when she went to the family restaurant every second Monday. It was all part of her new life and seemed to fit in with the penance she had decided to endure. Gone were the expensive haircuts, the weekly nail salon treatments and the elegant clothes. She imagined even Curtis Soames would not recognize her should they meet accidentally somewhere in Toronto. At times she did not recognize herself.
To give her grandmother time for an afternoon nap, Abi volunteered to take Portia out into the extensive garden at the back of the sprawling house. At least Portia was company of her own age group on the rare occasions when the girl chose to talk. Sometimes Portia walked back and forth along the gravel paths murmuring to herself. Now and then they had an almost normal conversation about clothes and boys and make-up. Abi had to always remember to keep her cousin within sight. Her grandfather had warned her Portia might be a suicide risk.
The whole shocking story of the assault at work, the phantom pregnancy and the breakdown was revealed piece by piece and Abi’s sympathy for the girl grew with each revelation. She compared her own situation with that of her cousin and began to see she was still capable of turning her life around; a choice Portia was not yet equipped to make.
One afternoon, Portia returned to the garden arbour where Abi was seated and asked a question.
“Why are you here?”
It was the first time she had shown any real interest in her cousin and the surprise shocked Abi into revealing the truth.
“Well, Portia, I trusted someone I should not have trusted and it caused me to make a big mistake that hurt people I cared for.”
The girl stared at Abi and seemed to be processing this information. After a long minute she spoke again.
“I think that’s what I did wrong. I trusted someone who hurt me and I hurt myself afterwards. I had no friends to talk to. You have a big family, Abigail. I had no one until Zoe and Wesley and Gran and Gramps helped me. Will you be my friend?”
Abi swallowed. How sad to hear this plea from her cousin. She was like a small child in her simplicity but it had a great effect on her listener.
“Of course, I will! We both have a lot to learn while we are here. How can I help you?”
“Zoe wants me to do my hair and wear make-up. Gran has the stuff but she is no good at it and neither am I. Could you teach me what to do? It helped me before.”
“That’s easy! We’ll work at it together, Portia. Zoe will be pleased when she sees you on the computer tomorrow. Is there anything else you need?”
“I was always happiest when I was drawing or painting. This garden is so beautiful and the trees are like a forest. Could you find me some art supplies the next time you go out in the car?”
Abi’s heart lifted at the thought she could truly contribute to Portia’s return to stability. This might be a way to make up for the damage she had caused Zoe and also to repair the neglect of their cousin that she and Louise had been guilty of in the past.
It was the beginning of a new connection between the cousins and Portia began to improve slowly with Abi’s help. Everyone saw the improvement but no one knew how important Abigail’s input was. She kept their interactions a secret for weeks.
By the end of the month she was able to take Portia out in the car to an art supply store to allow her to choose some paints and canvas that she preferred. It was a risk for Abi, but she felt it would be worthwhile. The store was not too busy and Portia went around the shelves with a basket in hand and seemed totally absorbed in her task. Abi watched her progress and paid for the supplies with cash, retaining the sales slip as evidence of their outing. After this breakthrough, Portia began to draw and paint every afternoon when the house was quiet. Abi marvelled at the talent that emerged. At first, Portia was transforming stark white paper into an indecipherable storm of dark turbulent emotions which gradually calmed down until the varied colours and patterns of the summer garden began to superimpose themselves. Abi was no psychologist but she thought this was a sign of the internal healing of Portia’s mind and spirit.
Eventually, the secret sessions became public. Portia was on Skype with Zoe when the girl mentioned her paintings.
“This is excellent news, Portia. What have you been working on?”
“I’ve been thinking of designs related to the foliage plants in the garden. The shapes are so lovely and the colours so varied. I can draw or paint for hours without worrying about my bad thoughts.”
“What a great idea, Portia. Did Marian buy materials for you?”
“No, I went with Abi to choose them for myself. It’s hard for someone else to know what to get.”
“Wait! Do you mean Abigail Beck? Is Abigail there with you?”
“Yes, Abi helps me with lots of things. She’s my friend now. We have good talks in the garden.”
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear about this. Could you ask Abi to talk to me on our next Skype session, Portia? I want to thank her.”
“I will ask her for you, Zoe.”
“I have to go now, Portia. It’s late in the day in England and I must go to bed soon but I need you to know how delighted Wesley and I are with your progress. You are getting better every day now. I can see it and I am sure you can feel it also.”
“I do. This is a good place for me. Goodbye for now, Zoe.”
* * *
Portia conveyed Zoe’s invitation to Abi as soon as she left the Library and Abi knew her confrontation with Zoe Morton was now inescapable. What she did not know was that Zoe had asked Wesley to make a call to Aylward to check out Portia’s account of her activities. Although they had seen improvements in their patient over the weeks, it was possible Po
rtia was imagining incidents that had not actually occurred.
Aylward began by apologizing to Wesley for his limited time with his niece. He had many things to attend to with the move to the Bahamas looming over him. There was an entire houseful of furnishings to dispose of and a host of financial and medical issues to consider as well as establishing their new accommodations at the other end of the operation.
“I have been locked away every afternoon with my computer once your sessions with Portia have ended. Abigail begged me not to reveal her presence here and I respected her wishes. In fact, neither Marian nor I could have managed without Abi. She has been a godsend in so many ways. I am glad you finally know about her role with Portia. They are of a similar age and Abi has made advances with her that have surprised me enormously. The contact has been good for each of them, as I think you will see. Abigail had gone through a very bad time lately, much of it as a consequence of that disastrous magazine article. She is truly contrite about it, Wesley. As far as we are concerned, Abigail has changed for the better. She is a kinder, more compassionate person and she has become the friend that Portia has needed for most of her adult life.”
“Well, your news answers a number of questions for us, Aylward. Zoe has noticed Portia’s appearance and her attitude have both improved. Of course, the work that all of us have been doing with her has helped immensely but there were times when we wondered what else was having such a good influence. Now we know and it is a good surprise. I hope we can move forward from here at a steady rate. The signs are certainly indicating that.”
Aylward Beck put down the phone and considered how things in life come together in unexpected ways.
His idea to take his family away to Mexico had produced amazing effects. The repercussions were still reverberating in many lives. Just a day before, Terrence had related the news about Devon’s success. When he heard about his father’s anxieties regarding disposing of the Forest Hill mansion’s contents, Terrence suggested Devon had contacts who could possibly help. Aylward had accepted this idea with alacrity. It was bearing in upon him that he was no longer capable of doing everything required by the move to the Bahamas. He hated to admit defeat but he had to accept the realities of his situation. Marian’s health, also, was not what it used to be. She was exhibiting fatigue at a level above the normal.
If this move south was to be accomplished without further problems, he had to get help.
* * *
When her Aunt Megan paid occasional visits to see her daughter, Abi kept out of the way. She would take the car and drive to the downtown lakeshore and sit there on the boardwalk contemplating the lake, the islands and the people enjoying a carefree day sailing on the water or walking about in the sunshine.
It was here, near the end of June, she had an idea.
I am, after all, a trained journalist.
So what, if I have no paid position in a newspaper?
So what, if my dream of becoming a television anchor is gone?
There was nothing to stop her from practising her craft wherever she was placed. She could work as an independent, a freelance contributor far away from the office politics that had tripped her up before.
She cast around in her mind for a subject she could examine in detail.
And, suddenly there it was! Right in front of her nose, as it were.
Her grandfather had initiated a move from Canada to a warmer climate. The entire process was unfolding each day in their home and she had a front seat on the progress.
What was involved when snowbirds decided to unwind their lives, undo their finances and start again at an advanced age? What were the advantages and disadvantages in the current economic climate? What were the repercussions for the remaining family members? How long would it take an elderly couple to feel at home again? How much effort would it take and would the effort be worth it?
Her mind began to bubble with ideas and approaches. Her fingers itched for a computer but she pulled out her smart phone and made a few preliminary notes. It was then she noticed a magazine fluttering in the breeze beneath her bench. It was an edition of the Zoomer magazine, a Toronto publication created by Moses Znaimer for the edification of seniors in the community and across Canada.
Perfect! She had an audience ready-made for this type of series. All she had to do was start writing the articles. She would compose an outline and send it to the Zoomer offices as soon as possible. Her name still carried some credibility; enough to get her proposal to an editor’s desk. She picked up the abandoned magazine and tucked it under her arm.
When Abigail Beck stood up again, she had a mission and a new purpose.
Chapter 13
Zoe Morton thought she had never before been so busy. Not even in the midst of the rebuilding of Dunstan’s Close had she felt such time pressure. Excelsior commanded most of her energies for the Portal campaign, the Beauty Forever mother and daughter campaign that Carla and Corinne had been involved in, and the ever-changing business of keeping up with scientific breakthroughs in skin care standards; all of these were part of her daily tasks but what now added weight to the list were personal issues.
Wesley was not saying much but she knew he wanted to ask her every day how she was feeling now that she had stopped taking the contraceptive pill. The truth was it was not in the forefront of her mind. She had the schedule of Skype sessions with Portia, regular appointments with Dr. Ambrose at the medical centre and the ever-present avoidance of paparazzi to contend with.
The photographers were like vultures waiting for prey and she was determined not to provide that prey. She went to outside appointments in a variety of disguises which ranged from floppy hats and long flowing coats to wigs and the fashionable one-piece jump suits which covered her from shoulders to toes. The disguises necessitated carrying a large bag with more formal clothes and a brush for her hair. It all took time to organize but it was worth it if she could elude the vultures. Any trial photos they shot were sure to be disappointing and, hopefully, they would eventually give up and go off to seek some other more interesting individual. Her secluded home with Wesley was still a sanctuary and that gave her comfort.
There had been no further publishing of Abigail’s short piece and that helped to cool the frenzy.
When she finally came face to face on Skype with Abigail, she was quite shocked to see the girl’s demeanour. Gone was the sharp look and calculating gaze of the young woman she had met in Mexico. The ambitious journalist was now, it seemed, transformed into a kind of mother’s helper to the senior Becks, living in their home and doing great things with her cousin Portia. Zoe was happy to give praise where it was due but Abigail would not hear of it.
“I have merely followed your guidelines Miss Morton. Portia knew what you had advised and I helped her with the final effects.”
“Oh, I think you can claim more than that, Abigail. My husband assures me her art work is evidence of her improved mental condition. I believe you have been able to take Portia by car into the city. That is a major step forward. Your Aunt Megan reports she and Portia have been able to talk in a civil fashion and begin to build bridges back to a better relationship. She has hopes her daughter will be able to return home someday.”
“Please, I can’t claim any credit for that result. Portia has handled her mother all on her own.
She does talk to me now about her feelings and I am able to share my own problems. Trust has been a big subject of our chats and that is the thing I am most ashamed of with respect to you, Miss Morton. I can only repeat how sorry I am at the way my article was handled and to assure you nothing of that kind will ever embarrass you again.”
“Let’s put all that behind us, Abigail. The English paparazzi are finally getting tired of stalking me and no one has managed to track down Wesley so I am happy there have been no dire results.”
“It has been a lesson to me about the repercussions of unwanted publicity on people’s lives. Thank you, for being so understanding, Miss Morton.”
“Call me Zoe, please. I am glad we had this talk to clear the air. Keep up the good work, Abigail.”
This conversation on Skype had the effect of releasing energies Abi had kept a lid on for months.
Knowing Zoe did not blame her, allowed her to forge ahead with her plan to become a freelance journalist. She faxed her series outline to the Zoomer offices and was amazed to get a fast response. She was to write the first article and submit it as soon as possible. If approved, the editors, who apparently admired her previous work at the city newspaper, wished to interview her for a bio and photograph. Since Zoomer Radio was another of the company’s holdings, there was the opportunity to take part in a live talk show on air to respond to readers’ questions.
Abigail Beck was astonished at the speed of this development. She chuckled to herself. Perhaps a business focussed on aging boomers had no time to waste. They were certainly moving ahead at a rapid pace.
While Portia painted in the garden, Abi sat near her with her laptop and wrote the articles.
It was one of the easiest assignments she had ever had. It was as if the pages wrote themselves. She researched some current facts and figures on snowbirds and it all fell into place. She began to feel a sense of returning confidence in her abilities. There was one resounding lesson as guidance. She would use the experiences of her grandparents in her series but would not reveal their names or location. Privacy would be her guideline from now on.
* * *
Devon Beck enlisted the help of a photographer and toured the Forest Hill mansion one afternoon when Portia was in the garden with his sister. Aylward accompanied them around the house pointing out the items he would transfer to the Bahamas and those he felt were integral to the style and status of the home and should remain there with the new owners.