by Teri Harman
Matilda’s face broke into a thousand pieces. “But what I did …”
“And I drove the car that killed our daughter. We both made mistakes, but it’s done enough damage. Let’s fix it now. Don’t make it worse. Running away is not the answer.” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s fix it,” he repeated in a whisper. “I want to remember our baby girl. I want to hurt over her death and figure out a way to deal with it. I need you to help me deal with it. Because it’s so ugly, this feeling of losing her. Stay with me, help me. And I’ll help you.”
Matilda held his eyes. He watched the struggle in her. He felt her body ready to run, to leave. He felt every dark emotion she was fighting and silently urged her to let them go. Finally, she whispered. “I miss her.”
Henry smiled sadly, feeling the tightness uncoil in his stomach. He kissed her softly. “Me too. Yes. I miss you too. I love you. I never forgot that.”
“But how do we …” Her lip trembled. “I don’t know how. The grief … it’s so heavy.”
“I’ll help you; you’ll help me. Walking away from each other would be the greater tragedy.”
“Henry is right, Tilly.”
Matilda gasped loudly. They both turned to look at a woman standing behind them. “Jetty?” Matilda asked, her face turning pale. “Is that you?”
“Hi, Tilly-girl.” Jetty’s long skirt, made of layers of pink lace, rustled as she moved closer. She also wore a white peasant top with big angel sleeves. Her hair was ochre orange, wildly curly. Her entire form shimmered slightly, opaque and translucent. Henry sucked in a breath.
Matilda shifted away from him. “Is that really you, Jetty?”
Jetty squatted down, smiled lovingly at her niece. “Yes.”
“But you’re …” Matilda’s eyes traveled over her aunt’s form.
“A ghost?” Jetty laughed quietly. “Yep, that’s right.” Jetty reached out to touch Matilda’s face. She gasped again.
“I can feel you.”
“Yeah, this ghost thing is pretty groovy. I’m not bound by the laws of a physical body: I can move with a thought, I can be seen or not be seen, and I can still touch and feel.” She put both hands on Matilda’s face, cupping her muddy cheeks.
Henry watched a flicker of relief on Matilda’s face that quickly crumpled to despair. “Jetty,” Matilda cried, her voice weak and childlike. “Something bad happened.”
Jetty’s face tightened. “I know, sweetie. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I left you before it happened, and that I couldn’t help fix it. I’m sorry my death added to your grief, helping to cause this whole thing.”
“How did it happen? How did I … ?”
“I always told you there are forces in the world we don’t understand. I told you there was power in you.”
Matilda shook her head. “What power? What do you mean?”
“We rarely realize how powerful our thoughts can be, how powerful our emotions are. There’s tremendous energy there, and if we let it that energy can build and build until it creates its own strength, its own will. It’s like when you think about someone all day and then they call you that night and say, ‘I just felt like I needed to call you.’ ”
“But this was six years of our lives!”
“Grief is especially potent. You’ve heard the expression ‘died of a broken heart.’ It’s not just a saying. Sadness has weight, and it can have power too. That’s what I meant about being careful with your grief.”
Matilda let out a small gasp. “I didn’t realize …” Her eyes pulled wide. “What about Lucy? Where is she?”
“Oh, Tilly-girl. She died. That didn’t change. When you two disappeared, pulled back to the places you were before you met, I helped her spirit find its way. Then I took her body to a beautiful farm. An old artist friend of mine owns the place. She has a thousand acres of corn and does gorgeous stained glass in her barn. She got the biggest kick out of me being a ghost.” She laughed quietly. “And she helped me bury Lucy there in her family plot. It’s a gorgeous spot, under an old maple tree, green fields, big sky. We planted yellow tulips.” Jetty nodded, rubbed her thumbs over Matilda’s skin. “The Bel Air and all your things—pictures, books, Henry’s letters—are there as well.”
“You buried her? She’s there? But … I erased her! I—”
“No, no! Her spirit lives, just like mine. She’s passed on. She’s happy, safe. Her death was not your fault.” Jetty lifted Matilda’s chin to make her look her in the eye. “That was not your fault or Henry’s.” Her eyes moved to him briefly; Henry felt a chill move down his spine. “Understand me? That was an accident. Like Enzo falling off his ladder, like getting cancer. That’s just life.”
“But I took those years from Henry and me. I screwed up everything!”
“It can be fixed—if you want. Would you rather face the grief of Lucy’s death or never have known her and Henry?”
Matilda stilled, looked briefly at Henry, and then back to Jetty. “But it hurts …”
“I know, honey. But Lucy is happy and free. You’ve imprisoned yourself in the loss. It’s time to set yourselves free as well.”
“Jetty …” Henry said hesitantly.
Jetty turned her bright green eyes on him. “Hello, Henry. Nice to meet you.”
He smiled shyly. “And you.” He swallowed, nervous and amazed. “The typewriters and books … did you?”
“I did. I made sure you had the typewriters and the books to help you remember. I used some of my ghostly powers to send the letters from one to the other. I thought of simply appearing and telling Tilly everything, but I was worried about her mind.”
Matilda sucked in a breath. “Mom’s disease? I do have it?”
“No, I don’t think you do. But they say it can be brought on or aggravated by a tragedy or extreme shock. I was trying to find the right time, the right way.”
“So it was all real, not my damaged mind? And I did see you that night?”
“It’s all been real, sweetie. And yes, I was testing the waters, but the way you ran, how scared you were—I didn’t want to push it again. And then you found my letter. I had to know your mind was stable before I tried again.”
Matilda reached for Henry, he pulled her into his arms. Her arms tightened around him. “What if we had never found each other again?” she asked.
Henry looked at Jetty. “I think we have Jetty to thank for that too.” Matilda pulled away to look at her aunt.
Jetty smiled. “An old newspaper in the right place at the right time.”
Matilda shook her head. “You saved us. Thank you, Jetty. It’s … it’s so good to see you again. Have you been here the whole time—since you died?”
“I have. I knew you still needed some help. So I stuck around, I watched. I was so happy when you found Henry.” She smiled at him. “But I still sensed something. One of those pesky feelings I always got. Guess those pass on with you.”
Matilda smiled sadly. “You always believed in magic.”
“And you always wanted to. Now you see, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. Will you stay, Jetty? Help us get through this?”
Jetty took her hand. “No, Tilly-girl. It’s time for me to go. You and Henry are all you need to get through this. Help each other.”
Matilda leaned forward. “You’re leaving?”
“It’s time I be with Enzo and Lucy and my parents. They’re waiting.” Her hand came to Matilda’s face again; Henry’s heart ached for her. “Enzo’s waiting.”
Matilda nodded. “Of course. Go to him.”
“Thank you, Jetty,” Henry said.
“My pleasure, handsome. Take care of my girl.”
“I will.”
Matilda sniffed, “Tell Lucy we love her. We miss her. Tell her …”
“I’ll tell her everything.” Jetty kissed them both on the forehead. She reached into her right pocket. “Here are the keys to the Bel Air. The address for the farm is written on the keychain; it’s not far from El Dorado. And he
re,” Jetty reached into her left pocket and pulled out a rolled piece of paper. “A little parting gift.”
Matilda opened the paper with a gasp. In soft, cottony watercolors, Jetty had painted Lucy, sitting in the grass surrounded by yellow tulips, and smiling. Matilda’s hand came to her mouth, and Henry’s heart tugged hard. They both looked up to thank Jetty, but the yard was empty.
Henry pulled Matilda into his arms and held tight.
Matilda
Matilda closed her eyes and clung to Henry. She looked at the spot where Jetty had been, marveling at her appearance, her help. All the pain felt a little less awful knowing Jetty had been there, doing what she could to guide them back to each other, back to the truth. It’s not my fault. We can get through this.
In her head, Matilda heard typewriter keys and Lucy laughing: her two favorite sounds. The ache of Lucy’s loss swelled in her chest. She knew it would never go away. But maybe she could make it stop burning.
Opening her eyes, she looked at the remains of the garden. She felt ashamed at the senseless display of emotion and mourned the loss of the thriving plants. “I ruined my garden,” she whispered.
Henry brought his chin over her head to look at the garden. “I think we can save some of it. Come on.”
Together they went to the edge of the plot. Matilda set Lucy’s portrait nearby. Henry pulled away some debris and she saw that some of the basil was intact and one tomato plant. Their hands went to work.
A short time later, as they were finishing the rescue mission, Matilda heard a car pull into the driveway. A door opened, but didn’t shut. Henry and she exchanged a look. Parker’s voice came from the front of the house.
“Tilly! Tilly, are you home?”
Matilda ran around the house, Henry behind her. “Parker?” He nearly collided with her by the red Honda. “What’s wrong?”
“Thea!” he huffed and bent to look in the backseat. Thea was there, in obvious pain, her face even more swollen than before. “She wanted you with her,” Parker went on, voice frantic. “But I’m worried. Something’s not right.”
“Let’s go!” Matilda said. “Henry, you drive. Parker, passenger seat. I’ll sit with Thea.”
They piled into the car and Henry raced off toward the clinic. “Thea? What’s wrong?” Matilda said, quickly scanning her friend. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Thea, sweating badly, red faced, and breathless said, “I can’t catch my breath. And the contractions—” She doubled over, groaning as one hit hard. All her memories now intact, Matilda remembered that all-consuming pain of labor. And the fear of the unknown inherent to a first birth.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “Take my hand, hold as tight as you need. We’ll be with Dr. Wells in just a minute. Hey, look at me.” Thea’s wide, scared eyes lifted to Matilda. “You’re having a baby.” She said it with tender awe and excitement.
Thea grinned. “I’m having a baby.”
n
Four hours later, Matilda sat in a chair next to Thea’s bed, tiny pink Toby in her arms. “He’s perfect, Thea.”
“Of course he is.” She smiled sleepily and then sighed. “Doc said I had that toxemia or whatever. Blood pressure through the roof! But we got here just in time. Thanks for being with me, Tilly. I needed that.”
“My pleasure.”
“Where’s Henry?”
“He went to get Abby. Gill died last night. Heart attack during the festival.”
“What?” Thea opened her eyes. “No. Is she okay?”
“She’s about how you’d expect. But she wants to see Toby. I think it will help her to see him, to hold him. New life, you know?”
Thea nodded. She looked at Matilda for a thoughtful moment. “How did you know so much about having a baby?”
Matilda’s eyes instantly filled with tears. She looked at the newborn through the mist and only saw Lucy’s face. “I had this.”
Thea started. “What do you mean?” Parker opened the door, back with some Mad Hash food for Thea.
He looked between them. “What’s wrong?”
Thea waved him forward, snatching the food from him. “Sit down,” she said. “Matilda is going to tell us her story.”
Matilda launched into the whole story, feeling a tiny catharsis as she told it, but also feeling a strange hope bloom in her heart. When she had finished, she looked up at Thea and Parker, not sure her friends would believe it.
Thea’s eyes were narrowed in thought. “I can’t imagine how you must feel. That little guy is not even an hour old, but if I lost him …”
“It hit me like a train. I didn’t want to feel the pain of it.” Matilda touched Toby’s warm face. “And I had never faced the pain of my parent’s death or Jetty’s. It was so much.”
“Grief hits us all differently. You’ve had more than your fair share, so I can’t blame you. When my grandma died I didn’t want to leave my bed for days. When you left Parker he jumped in the river. And you—”
“What?” Matilda said, her stomach twisting. She looked to Parker, “You said you fell.”
Thea sighed. “No, he jumped. He was sad and drunk and he jumped into the river.”
Matilda went cold from head to toe. “I … I can’t …”
Parker raised a hand. “I didn’t jump to kill myself, I jumped to feel something. I’d gone so numb from the pain that I needed a shock to the system. I jumped in that stupid river and got pulled out a recovered man. The next day, I stopped wallowing in the pain, started living again. Jumping in that river was a good thing.”
A sigh of relief. “Why didn’t you tell me that? Why the story about falling in?”
“It’s hard to explain. The falling in story is what I tell everyone.”
Thea cut in. “Everyone thinks he’s covering up a suicide attempt with the falling story. Most still believe he did want to kill himself. That’s the more dramatic story. Much juicer than wanting to reset, refresh himself. That’s part of the reason you got such a warm reception.” She smiled. “I mean, it is pretty crazy to get drunk and jump in a river.”
“But you understand crazy, don’t you, Tilly?” Parker smiled, a glint of humor in his eyes.
Matilda laughed quietly. “Too much, I’m afraid.”
“So what now?” Thea asked. “What will you and Henry do?”
Toby stirred in his sleep, Matilda bounced him a little. “We move forward. This is our jump in the river, I guess. Now we let the anger and the blackness wash away.”
“That’s sorta beautiful.” Thea closed her eyes again. “Maybe you should have another baby.”
A kick in her heart, a flood of warmth in her blood. “Maybe.”
A quiet knock on the door brought all their heads up. Henry pushed the door open for Abby, who hurried in, tears on her cheeks but bearing a smile that filled the room. “Hand over the goods,” she said, opening her arms.
With a laugh, Matilda stood and shifted the baby into her waiting embrace. Abby adjusted the baby into the crook of one elbow and then lifted her free hand to Matilda’s face. She didn’t say anything, but Matilda knew everything she meant from the look in her eyes. Abby nodded once. Turning to Thea, she said, “Have mercy, he’s so handsome, Thea. But of course, you and Parker would have a beautiful baby.” Abby turned. “Parker, well done. Although, what did you do, huh? Thea did all the hard work.”
Parker frowned in mock insult. “I gave him that full head of blond hair and perfect nose. It was hard work.”
They all laughed.
Matilda went to Henry who took her into his arms.
Matilda
October 1998
Matilda pulled back the paper from the window. The new white letters read, The Typed Page. A Bookshop for Book Lovers. The Remington Rand typewriter shape stood in as the shop logo, placed below the words.
Abby clapped her hands. “Praise the Lord! Silent Fields has a bookstore again.” She looked up at the sky. “Thank you, Gill, for taking out life insurance.”
Henr
y put his arm around Matilda’s shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, and warmth washed down her body. The time since their discovery had not been easy. Matilda struggled with the guilt every day, but Henry never gave up on her. He moved into the house with her, and they started the painful process of healing. The memories were not as forgiving as he. Every moment, she felt the space where Lucy should be and the consequences of what she’d done. At times it was abrasive, leaving her feeling stripped of all her skin.
Opening the bookshop had become a sort of redemption, as well as a distraction. They all needed it—Abby, Henry, and she. So they took it on with vigor, using the money from Gill’s life insurance to pay for the stock and new business costs.
Henry had started work on a new novel as well as continuing his duties as editor of the newspaper. The clack of keys often filled the house and the bookshop, a typewriter placed in each location. His letters to her, the ones that had come miraculously, were framed and hung on the wall of the bookshop office above the roll top desk. And a new shoebox was quickly filling up with fresh love letters.
“There’s one more sign you need to put up.” Abby smiled mischievously, nodding toward the door.
“What sign?” Henry asked.
“Follow me!” Abby led them to the children’s section in the small room off the main area. Matilda couldn’t help but smile at all the full shelves and especially the children’s space, bursting with colorful decorations. Twenty crystals hung in the windows. She’d even managed to fit in a small table with two chairs. She imagined Lucy sitting in one of the chairs, flipping the pages of a picture book.
Abby lifted a pink gift bag from behind the small table and presented it to Matilda. There were tears in her weak-tea eyes. Matilda smiled as she exchanged a look with Henry before plunging her hand into the bag. Tossing the tissue paper to the floor, Matilda revealed a small pewter plaque. Her own tears came instantly.