by Pat Mestern
Little Falls, Ontario
“Come in Mr. Chambers.” Ramona held the door open for Don. Mooch was snuggled on her left shoulder, the cat’s head against her neck. “My love muffler,” Ramona said. “It’s my fault. She was given to me when I needed companionship and I spoiled her by making her more human than feline.”
Ramona led the way into her living room. “Have a seat Mr. Chambers. The most comfortable are those by the fireplace, especially when there’s a fire on the hearth.”
“My goodness, you own a library,” Don said, looking at walls covered with bookcases, all full. “And, I must say, your gardens are beautiful, from what I saw.”
“Books make good insulation,” Ramona said. “At least that’s my excuse for my book collection. As for the gardens, this is an old neighbourhood. There are lots of people that are widows or widowers who love to chat. I have an open-door policy. Come for a cup of tea. Borrow a book. Weed a bit of garden. My only rules are that they must give me an hour after lunch for a wee nap, and no one arrives after seven at night unless it’s an emergency, or someone’s lonely and needs company after … well, you get my drift, Mr. Chambers.”
“Don. Call me Don. You’re a generous, big-hearted woman, Mrs. Ashdon. Few would bother with other people to the extent that you do.”
“More’s the pity,” Ramona said. “They’ve been there for me. I’m available for them. You can see that I’m ready for you. I dug around in a few boxes of photographs and letters, choosing what I thought would be relevant.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ashdon.”
“Please call me Ramona, or Ram if you find Ramona a little … unusual. Ram isn’t a nickname that everyone is comfortable using though. The only person to call me Ram was my father.”
“Ram is better than Mona,” Don laughed. “I understand from Dr. Gerry that your father had quite a sense of humour.”
“Well, Dad was a rather eccentric fellow and figured that Ram was a suitable name for a wee bit of a thing. Of course, the name quickly morphed into “Moana or Moaner” when I went to school. I had to literally beat that one down - several times. You had no difficulty finding the house?”
Don laughed. “I have to admit that when I heard you say you lived at “Castello dei Sogni” I envisioned an unconventional home, not a lovely stone house with gardens around it.”
“Hubby and I changed the name after we bought the house. It was known as “Briarlea” but it became our ‘castle of dreams’ in Little Falls”, our “Castello dei Sogni.” We spent twenty-three years here, living our dreams.”
“You’re still here hopefully enjoying the home’s memories and ambience.”
“Yes. If I didn’t have such good neighbours I might have to consider alternate living arrangements—not a decision that I’m looking forward to ever having to make. This has been my home now for more than forty years. I am rooted to it. I must admit though the house does need some tender love and care which I can’t afford. So be it. Where do you live, Mr. Chambers?”
“Please call me Don. Unfortunately, I call home an apartment on the tenth floor of an apartment building in Kitchener. I’ve not had the pleasure of tending a garden in fifteen years.”
Ramona laughed. “My dear man, if you miss gardening you are most welcome to come tend my flowerbeds any time you want to get your hands dirty.”
“I gather from seeing you behind the wheel of a car at Harry Forest’s internment that you still drive.”
“Sure do,” Ramona said. “And; I’m a good driver too, although I don’t go too far, too fast. These days I don’t trust some of the other beggars behind a wheel. Would you like a cup of tea? Your visit gave me the incentive to bake some cheese scones.”
“I haven’t tasted fresh scones in years. I would love a cup of tea.”
“Well, if you don’t mind babysitting Mooch, I’ll put the kettle on. Now, look at that. It appears that Mooch has chosen you. You don’t need to worry. She won’t wrap herself around your neck. If you’re not a cat person, I can shut her in my bedroom. You don’t need fur on your scones.”
“No need, Mrs - Ramona. I like cats.”
“Ah, you are a Ramona man.” Ramona smiled. She was comfortable with his choice. She enjoyed the way her name rolled off Don Chamber’s tongue. “Well then, enjoy the photographs.”
Don, one hand patting the cat, began sorting through the pictures on the coffee table while Ramona busied herself in the kitchen. He was so involved in the task he didn’t hear her return.
“Find anything of interest?” Ramona, holding a tea tray, stood by the couch.
“Is this your mother?” Don asked as he held up a photo of a woman in a nurse’s uniform.
“Good heavens! No. My mother was tall, dark-haired, and a bookkeeper. She was the exact opposite of her … sister-in-law. That’s Nurse Carmello, Harry’s Charlotte Carmello. The picture was taken in London, just after she arrived for her training.”
“As in Harry Forest?”
“Yes, and so is Mooch—as in Harry Forest. I see that she’s made herself at home on your knee.”
“We’ve become good friends.” Don laughed. “The cat belonged to Harry?”
“After my husband’s death, Harry appeared at the door with the kitten. Such a little thing she was—shouldn’t have been taken from her mother. I can remember the very words that Harry said: ‘Mrs. Ashdon, you need a companion to see you through the rough times. This is Mooch. Her mother is wild and lives in a cave by the river behind my house. The kitten needs a home as much as you need company.’ It was the most words I’d ever hear Harry say at one time. He was a man of few words, you know, when around most women.”
“It’s interesting that he’d be so generous … caring.”
“I took Mooch without hesitation. I’d been told about what Harry went through so many years ago. I could only imagine what was ahead for me. I mean I cried for a month after John died. And that was only the beginning of the nightmare.”
“John being your husband. Dr. Gerry did say that he succumbed to an aggressive type of cancer.”
“Yes, five years ago.”
“But surely you must have had the support of your children, Ramona.”
“We didn’t have children,” Ramona said. “I wanted children but it simply didn’t happen. We didn’t blame one another. We just accepted fate and financially supported a few children through various agencies around the world that have good programs for such endeavours. John’s favourite saying was that he married a wisp of a woman but he had to always be fully aware of the will-o’-the-wisp. I would have adopted twenty, thirty children if we had the financial resources to do so. We did what we could. Dad used to say that our vein of love stretched around the world. I suppose it did. I still hear from some of those we supported, grown now, of course.”
Don made room on the coffee table for Ramona’s tray. “You realize that you’re a direct throwback to your Aunt Charlotte in looks.”
“That’s right. I do take after my father in some respects. Unlike Charlotte, he was tall. I didn’t inherit that physical element. Like her, he was blonde-haired and blue-eyed, one of those Northern Italians of Celtic origin. Mother’s ancestors were Black Irish, something she didn’t appreciate. When I came into the world, I was completely different to any of my cousins, nephews, or nieces. I am a replica of Charlotte who was totally different from her brothers, uncles and aunts, mother or father. No one would believe that she was of Italian origin. But she was.”
“These physical anomalies do happen,” Don said.
“Oh, I would definitely call Charlotte an anomaly,” Ramona said. “She stood just less than five feet, in stockings, and was very delicate looking. But she had the tenacity of a bulldog when necessity called for attitude. Charlotte was apparently a beauty with honey-blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a heart of gold. She was also very clever.”
This you know from your parents and grandmother?”
“Yes and, from Harry too. The only t
imes he spoke at length to me, it was always about Charlotte or with Charlotte on his mind. His only correspondence to me was about Charlotte or in memory of Charlotte.”
“He wrote to you?”
“He wrote poems, Mr.—Don, poems dedicated to Charlotte.” Ramona settled into her chair and poured the tea. “Do you take cream, sugar?” Mooch abandoned Don and climbed into Ramona’s lap. “Get away with you, fur-ball. Give me time to enjoy a cuppa and scone with my guest. Check your food dish. I filled it when I was in the kitchen. Fur and food don’t mix.” Ramona put Mooch on the floor.
“I drink tea with a teaspoon of sugar and a little milk,” Don said.
While Ramona busied herself with plating scones, she said “As usual I’ve given far more information than I’ve received. As I understand from the short conversation at the cemetery, you are acting on behalf of the late Harry Forest and you have questions, or concerns, about Charlotte Carmello. For good reason that might seem odd to some people because Charlotte died more than seventy years ago. But again, not odd if the situation has a connection to Harry.”
“Mr. Forest died testate. It was thought that he arranged everything through the local bank branch. Everything seemed to be at hand. But he did leave some unusual requests in his will. There are several directives regarding the dispersal of the remainder of his estate. Those requests have led me to believe there is some … information or some papers that seem to have been misplaced, for want of a better word. Harry Forest did not die a pauper, Mrs…. Ramona.”
“You knew him? Met him?”
“I didn’t until I signed onto the job. Then I met with him on a number of occasions. May I?” Don reached for a second warm buttered scone.
“The more you eat, the less weight I gain,” Ramona said pushing the plate closer to Don. “If you didn’t know Harry why are you dealing with finalizing his estate?”
“Harry changed banks six months before he died and specifically requested I be put in charge of his estate. It was an unusual request because we had never met. But that’s what I do for the Royal Bank, clear estates when necessary. Until recently I felt that all the paperwork was in place and signed.”
“Sounds like Harry,” Ramona said. “And, you met Harry after his request to put you in charge?”
“On a number of occasions, all requested by Harry,” Don said. “And, always at his home. Were you ever in Harry’s home?”
“I was never allowed into the house. Women visitors were not well received.”
Don smiled. “So you never saw his living room?”
“No, but after the life he led, I imagine that Harry wouldn’t need to be surrounded by much in the way of material possessions.” Mooch wandered in from the kitchen. Ramona picked her up and settled her on her lap. “Tell me, Mr… Don, how did Harry die?”
“In his sleep. His neighbour found him after investigating why the dog was howling, had been howling for half the night before the fellow went to check on the situation.”
“Oh my goodness! If I recall Harry’s latest dog appeared to be half wolf, or at least a big German Shepherd.”
“A German Shepherd. You got a cat. I have the dog.” Don laughed. “We took to each other right away. I couldn’t see Major put down for lack of a master. But I can tell you, don’t ever try to keep a large dog in a small tenth-floor apartment.”
“Ah, so you do have a soft heart, Don Chambers.”
“Either a soft heart or I’m a fool.”
“At least Harry didn’t suffer. And his body was found quickly.”
“Harry must have known he had a health issue,” Don said. “He was found in bed with a photo pressed to his heart. The front and back doors of the house hadn’t been locked. He mentioned to the neighbour that if the dog ever howled, the man should check the house. Major’s food and water dishes had been filled as though Harry anticipated he might not be found for a little while though. He didn’t have a telephone in his bedroom.”
“Harry didn’t … It wasn’t …”
“Suicide?” Don paused then said, “He was eighty-nine years old. He’d been seeing Dr. Gerry for a while about a heart condition.” Don reached into an inner jacket pocket. “This is the photograph Harry had clutched to his chest, close to his heart.”
Ramona recognized the woman in the picture. “Charlotte,” she said. “There’s an identical photograph in the album on the table. The picture was taken just before Charlotte left for London. That is London, as in Ontario.”
“Read what’s on the back,” Don said.
“I don’t have to. I bet that it says, For my beloved, which would make it absolutely identical to my copy.”
“Those two young people must have been besotted with each other.”
“They were. The strangest part about his death in January is that he died on the same day as Charlotte. Now you can’t deny that was a spooky coincidence.”
“That’s why the suicide question.”
“Yes.”
“Food for thought,” Don said. “The doctor just assumed … There was no autopsy. And Harry wrote that he wanted to be cremated.”
“Let it be,” Ramona said. “Stranger things have happened. Like the fact that he was buried on Charlotte’s birthday.”
“That date-request was in his will along with several others. Regardless of what month he died, he left instructions that his body be cremated and the ashes held until they could be interred on May 20th.” Don stretched his legs and settled his backside into the chair. “How did these two meet? What’s their story? How long did they know each other? Why did they never marry?”
“You really need to know?”
“Yes.”
Ramona busied herself tidying the contents on the tea table. If there was one positive thing that she’d learned since John’s death it was that there suddenly seemed to be an urgency to her life. She’d begun to realize that there were a few things - loose ends, for want of a better phrase, which needed immediate attention. It was in her nature that if she started something, she had to find a suitable end to it so that there’d be no dangling strings left. She did have a list, but because of her age, she had been hesitant to stir too many pots. Harry was on that list.
“I’ll help you,” Ramona said. “Charlotte and Harry are two of my personal loose ends. Before I die, I’d like their stories told. I’d especially like Harry’s clarified. There are things that I don’t know about him and would like to—periods of time when he seemed to disappear from … life. Not even mother could fill in all of the blanks. Grandmother is dead. Uncle Tomas and Dad are dead. But there must be other people who know his life story. They need to be found before they die. Does that speech, for want of a better word, make sense?”
“It does sound a bit like a fatalistic attitude,” Don said. “You’re still a young woman, Ramona.”
“And you need to see an optometrist.” Ramona laughed. “Young? Look again, Donald Chambers. I’m in the autumn of my life. Quite a few leaves have already fallen from my tree.”
“Well then, I live in the same forest as you, Ramona Ashdon. I’m no spring chicken. There are quite a few things on my list that haven’t been accomplished yet. Given your philosophy, I’d better get to them soon. How did Robert Lewis Stevenson put it? ‘Wealth I ask not, hope, nor love, / Nor a friend to know me. / All I ask, the heaven above / And the road below me.’”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to not want, or treasure friends,” Ramona said. I’ve experienced love in my life. Wealth is a different matter. I never coveted what others had but I can relate to the heavens above and the road below.” Ramona glanced at an ornate clock on the mantle. “I’m ready for a little adventure in my life. Harry Forest just might provide that, again. Given the time, I think we’d better get back to discussing him. There are several places I’d like you to see today.”
“It’s a great day for a drive,” Don said.
“Then let’s go. I can best tell you Harry’s story by showing you these places.” Ramo
na finished collecting the dirty china. “You’re driving, of course.”
“Do you mind riding around with a pooch in the back seat?”
“You brought Major and left him in your vehicle?”
“He’s used to it now,” Don said. “I use a dog sitter during the week but when I’m going to be out of town, I bring him along. We’ve become quite close since February. I’ll take him for a short walk before we leave.”
“Let him loose in the backyard while I finish tidying up here then get a sweater and my purse. It’s a bit chilly yet. My back doth protest if it’s not kept warm.”
“Are we going far?” Don asked.
Ramona smiled. “Not today. Tomorrow might be another story.”
Don parked his car in the shade of a maple tree on Beech Street directly across from the front entrance to the primary school. Twice in the past ten minutes a middle-aged woman had appeared at the school’s entrance. The second time she had a notepad in her hand in which she scribbled something.
The woman probably thinks that we’re child stalkers,” Ramona said. “We’ve been parked that long she thinks we’re scoping the school. I bet that she just wrote down a description of your car and us.”
“I guess one can’t be too careful in this day and age.”
“Tell me honestly, do we look like child snatchers? Two oldsters in a mini with a monster dog in the back seat?”
“Who are you calling old?”
“You.” Ramona laughed. “You’re near retirement age I bet. You’re well kept for being over sixty though. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Don laughed. “You’re either a very observant or a mind reader. I seriously thought of retiring - just before Harry asked if I’d manage his estate. After I met him I decided to postpone the inevitable.”
“It takes one old fogey to recognize another. When did your wife die?”
“Now, there’s where you’re picking at straws,” Don said. “I never married.”
“So that explains the apartment and the small car. The love of gardening threw me.”
“I lived with my mother until she passed away. She used to have a lovely cottage in St. Marys, surrounded by gardens,” Don said.