Mary Hartman

-----

In a cleanly swept fireplace, in a tin cup, a little mouse was fast asleep. Matty Mouse had crawled from the cold hole in the stonework when he heard the mistress of the house settle into her rocking chair after cleaning up her kitchen. The baby was well asleep and she could finally rest for a bit and soon was nodding away with her mending in her lap.

Even though she was thorough with her cleaning, before he curled up in the cup Matty had been able to find a few crumbs from the pastry that had cooked in the oven earlier. The tin cup still held heat from the supper fire. It was not hard to sleep with all of those comforts.

Sleep didn’t last long, as they were both awakened by the sound of the door latch and a sudden dark and damp wind that blew across the sod floor.

“Here I am, dear wife. I am sorry I did not return for dinner, but the meeting just now ended.” The young husband looked excited and anxious.

“ ‘Tis no bother, husband. I have kept it warm for you on the side of the oven.” She moved from her chair, setting aside her sewing, to retrieve the soup and meat pie from the warming shelf. She placed it on the rough table before him.

“Wife, I am afraid we are going to have to uproot our little family. The king has again declared that our church and its covenant are treasonous. They are calling us Separatists now and he has decreed we should all be imprisoned or executed. Another group such as ours was caught fleeing from Lincolnshire and are now all in prison. Tonight at the meeting, William Brewster, William Bradford and the others have decided that we must all leave here posthaste in the best way we can. They have said to go to Immingham on the Humber River to join them in an attempt to get to Holland. It is our only choice, other than going against our beliefs and pledging allegiance to the Crown and the Church of England.” He paused at the stricken look on the face of his dear beloved. Her eyes were glistening, ready to overflow.

“Come, my dear,” he continued, as he put his hands around her waist and pulled her to his lap. “I will help you to gather what we need for the journey and then we will sleep for a few hours. We must rise and leave before dawn breaks.”

Matty shivered in his cup. The heat had left the fireplace. He was in a panic. Matty was an orphan, and the only reason he had survived was because he had found this cozy cottage with its fine home cooking and warm fire. How best to hide away so that he could leave with his people? He could only hope that the tin cup was one of those things they would need.

The couple hurried to pack into blankets all the utensils and clothing they could carry in their small cart. Sure enough, the tin cup with Matty in it was packed along with other cooking implements.

The group was successful in reaching Holland, but life there was not what the religious people had hoped for. Although they were allowed to worship freely, as immigrants who did not speak the language, work was scarce and poorly paid. Their children were becoming part of the Dutch culture, losing their English heritage. Worse yet, Holland and Spain were on the verge of another war. The immigrants saw nothing in their future except poverty.

They did not have the option to return to England. They would still be imprisoned there. They considered South America, but feared the hot climate. Although they worried that their cherished freedom might be attacked in the new Virginia colony, they decided it was their only choice. They would try to make a new settlement north of the established Jamestown, on the mouth of the Hudson River.

Again, poor little Matty who was now feeling his age, was forced into hiding for another trip. Little did he know what sort of trip it would be.

The ship, MAYFLOWER, along with another ship, SPEEDWELL, set sail with the Pilgrims, as they were now called. Other emigrants who were not dissidents joined the cruise as equal partners in the colonizing venture. Once out to sea, the SPEEDWELL leaked badly, and twice the ships had to return to port. Finally, on September 6, 1620, the MAYFLOWER set sail alone.

Matty was sunning himself on the top deck, well out of sight of the bustling crew and passengers. He thought to himself, If this is what sailing is all about, I could get used to life on a ship. Plenty of food stores to steal into, and the people aren’t eating much of it; they are too busy heavin’ overboard. I don’t mind the rollin’ at all; it is downright gentle and soothing.

That pleasant beginning was soon a memory as fierce storms and brutal crosswinds caused much concern about the seaworthiness of the MAYFLOWER, and its ability to cross the dreaded North Atlantic in this season.

Amazingly enough, there were only two deaths on the crossing. There was also a birth that Matty got to witness. A lady named Elizabeth Hopkins gave birth to a son, Oceanus.

“Land, ho!” was the cry on November 9, 1620. Two days later, November 11, they anchored in what is now Provincetown Harbor on Cape Cod, considerably east of their original destination. They had suffered on the cramped little ship for 66 days.

Before they went ashore, the men wrote and signed a famous document, an agreement that we know now as the Mayflower Compact. Matty also watched this very historical moment from a hook on the main mast. By this time he knew and respected many of the men who signed that night, among them Miles Standish and John Alden.

As they rowed ashore in the breakdown boat they called a shallop, the settlers saw at a distance the Native Americans and found buried corn and weapons. They could not catch up to these people as they ran away. Matty had sneaked aboard the small shallop so that he could see for himself what this new world was all about.

On their third expedition they entered Plymouth Harbor where they determined to build their new settlement. By now it was December on the cold Atlantic coastline. They had experienced some skirmishes with the natives, and that along with the weather greatly hindered their construction. Lack of food, the weakening by the voyage, and extreme cold lay many in their graves that winter, but Matty and his small family were among the fortunate.

The family shared a hut with another young family and with much hard work was able to plant in the spring. It was a beautiful and bountiful spot with many fish and a lot of wild game. By the following autumn they had become on good terms with many of the Wampanoag tribesmen who taught them how to live on this new land.

These Pilgrims were simple working class people who in addition to having their own beliefs in Christianity were also still part of the medieval culture of witches, fairies, and folk festivals.

Thus, it came to pass that on one fine late autumn morning, our Matty now gone quite white, was peeking over the rim of the old tin cup. Through the open door of the cottage he watched as his many friends gathered around large tables outside. They were meeting for three days of fun, food, and games to celebrate the ancient Harvest Festival, that later would become the Puritan religious holiday, Thanksgiving.

Matty recognized his new friends, the people of the forest who had brought that delicious yellow corn that had made him as round as he was long. There was the Chief Massasoit, and he thought he saw Squanto, the brave who spoke English, as he had been in Virginia. There were also present more of the chief’s family. This celebration would help to shed the trials of the past year.

They were busy talking and consuming large quantities of Indian corn bread, roast fowl in sauce, boiled fish, onions, tarts, and many fermented drinks made from the fruits of the land.

Matty thought about dragging his feeble body outside to join them, but it was oh, so lovely there in the old, tin cup on the warm hearth. His eyes started to close and his body curled into the bottom of the cup. He smiled at his last thought, From hearth to hearth.

In the cleanly swept fireplace, curled up in a tin cup, the tiny mouse was fast asleep. For the past five days and nights, he had slept peacefully, ever since the homeowner had taken the cat to the vet clinic because it had been sneezing constantly.

I’d better sleep well while I can, the mouse thought, because one of these days the cat will come home and the chase will begin again.

Suddenly the front door burst open and in came the homeowner carrying the telltale cage with his nemesis pacing inside.

Damn, the mouse muttered. So much for my peace and quiet.

As quietly as he could, the mouse crawled out of the tin cup and made his way as fast as he could to his home in the wall. He made it just before the homeowner released the cat from his carrier.

“I’m home, sweetheart,” the homeowner called to his wife.

“What did the vet say about Fluffy?” she asked.

“He couldn’t come up with any reason for the sneezing fits. He ran a lot of tests and told me to watch Fluffy for a few days to be sure the fits didn’t return. He thinks perhaps Fluffy is allergic to something in the house.

From the safety of his home, the mouse chuckled to himself. Little do they know that I’m the reason for the sneezing fits, and the fits will begin again tonight as soon as they are asleep.”

Later, when all the lights were out and the family had settled down for the night, the mouse crept out of his hole, carrying a small round object. He looked all around to be sure Fluffy was nowhere in sight, then tiptoed to the cat’s food bowl. He removed the cap from the object he carried and shook a healthy dose of cayenne pepper over the cat food.

“Bon apetite, Fluffy,” the mouse said gleefully as he tiptoed back into his hole and waited for the sneezing fits to begin again.

Jan got out of the wagon while Bill drove the team around to the stables. He unhitched the team and led the horses inside out of the bad weather.

Jan lit the fireplace and went to get a kettle for some hot tea. She came back with the kettle full of water and put the kettle over the fire.

She took off her coat and went to the cupboard for the tea and some tinned biscuits. She filled the tea strainer with tea and placed the strainer in Bill's cup.

Bill came in. He took off his gloves and warmed his hands by the fire. Then he removed his coat and put it on the peg.

“Bill, how about a cup of tea?” Jan asked.

“That would be great.”

By this time the water was hot. Jan got the kettle from the fire and reached for the tin cup. She started pouring the hot water, when suddenly she shrieked!

Hot water splashed and splattered all over the floor, over the cup and Jan dropped the kettle which fell, and made a bigger splash. She jumped and screamed as drops of hot water landed on her legs.

Bill was bewildered. “What in the world is the matter?” he asked.

Jan pointed with her finger, “A…a mouse! A mouse!”

“Where?”

“There in the cup!” she cried.

Bill looked at the cup, but there was nothing there.

The little mouse, who had been asleep, awoke with a start as the first drops of hot water hit him. He took a flying leap and landed on Jan’s shoe. Deciding he had best move, the mouse ran up Jan’s leg.

Suddenly, Jan felt the mouse and she shrieked louder and jumped up and down. She pulled up her long gingham dress, her petticoats and there was the mouse at her waist. She pointed to Bill, her face in total fright.

When Bill saw the mouse, he realized what had happened. As he reached toward the mouse, the mouse saw the hand, and he scurried into Jan’s bloomers.

At this point, Jan fainted. Bill had his hands full trying to get the mouse. Finally, he caught it. He opened the door and threw it out as far as he could into the snow.

Bill smiled as he saw his wife still unconscious. He went and got the ammonia for her. He also brought the bottle of brandy - - for him!

She watched patiently from her perch in the rafter. The humans were preparing to leave the cabin. Summer vacation at the lake was over. The whole family was busy; mother human was cleaning the cupboards and big white cold box, while father human boarded up the windows. Girl human swept the floor and boy human cleaned out the fireplace.

She just had to be patient and wait for the flurry of activity to stop. She scurried back to the small hole in the corner of the ceiling. It was cramped and she knew that cold air would start to blow soon. When the white stuff began to cover the ground, she would have to find another place to sleep. Eagerly she checked out her supply of food she had been storing away from her nightly forage to the kitchen. It included pieces of cereal, raisins and a pile of peanuts. It had taken her a whole night to remove the nuts from the dish on the table and carry them to her cache. Their aroma was inviting and tempted her to nibble while she waited. Instead she decided to scramble to the crack in the foundation that led outdoors. Perhaps she would find a tidbit outside to satisfy her hunger so she would not deplete the food bank.

Outdoors she discovered the leftover popcorn scattered in the grass. The family had discarded the tasty kernels after their camp fire last night. She feasted well and calculated there would be enough left to tote back when things settled down.

From her hiding place she watched as they packed up the motor thing, trudging in and out the door with boxes, suitcases and black shiny bags. She sensed that it would not be long before they left and she could return to the building to survey her territory without fear.

When the humans drove away she darted back to the opening and clambered up the log wall to her safe place by the rafter. The house was quiet and dark. Slowly she began to explore, crawling down the ragged stones of the chimney until she reached the opening of the fireplace. Sitting beside the cleaned surface was a tin cup that the boy human had left. Climbing over the rim of the cup she saw some colorful round stones at the bottom. Gingerly she sniffed them and was delighted to find they smelled sweet. Chewing at the hard surface, she finally bit into the most wonderful taste. This has to be CHOCOLATE she thought. She had heard the other mice talk about this wonderful treat. Slowly she gnawed at this amazing find until she was full. Then giving a contented sigh . . . she curled up for a much needed nap in her new sleeping place.

---

"In a cleanly swept fireplace, in a tin cup, a little mouse was fast asleep." His tiny eyelids fluttered as the dream played inside his head. Like most of his dreams, this one involved Zeus, and it went like this.

Percy awoke, stretched, and smoothed his whiskers, sniffing the air for the scent of food. Always, food was uppermost in his mind, and it had been scarce of late, so much so that his little belly growled. He was reminded of how his dear mother had taken the rest of the little ones and gone to the city to live with her sister. After Father ventured outside in search of food for his family, and met with the chicken hawk, Mother hadn’t the heart to stay in the old family home.

“Percy, won’t you come with us?” Mother had asked, “I am forlorn at the thought of leaving you behind.”

“No Mother, I will stay here and keep the home. Who knows, someday you may return, and I will have kept things as they always were.” Percy had consoled his mother. “Now go with assurance that I am all grown up, and able to fend for myself. You have enough to contend with. Goodbye for now.”

I’m glad they’re safely away and well fed at Auntie’s place, Percy thought. He peered out the opening that separated his home in the wall from the front room of the old, creaky house. The way was clear, no sign of Zeus.

Percy scampered to the rocking chair by the fireplace, hiding beneath it for a moment, then on to the doorway that led to the kitchen. Sneaking a peek around the doorjamb, he spied several crumbs on the floor beneath the table. Quick as a wink, he flew across the smooth planks and out of sight. Ah, a huge piece of bread, some bacon, and if he waited until the old woman took the dishwater outside, he could scale the table leg and find more precious edibles on the cloth, which had not been shaken for the birds.

Mission accomplished, Percy whisked down the table leg. The old woman had returned to clear away the breakfast things. He would bide his time until he deemed it safe to head for his own place. Just then, the front door was flung open, and a wild man rushed in!

The old woman entered the front room hospitably, asking, “May I help you with something?” She scarcely knew how else to react. For her effort, she was repaid with a vicious glare, and a low growl.

“You kin set down and keep yer mouth shet. That’s what you kin do!” the wild man said gutterally. “I haf ta lay low fer awhile,n this is whare I’m stayin, so git used to awaitin on me, hear?”

The woman was not one to be meek. She said, “You will not stay here, and I will not wait on you, so go, NOW.” Whereupon he raised his hand and shoved her down onto the rocking chair.

Percy had no intention of being party to this ruckus. He didn’t notice Zeus standing near the hole that led to his home. As he raced across the floor, Zeus gave chase. Percy ran for all his worth, up the ladder leading to the loft, with Zeus right behind him.

Across the large beam of the front room skittered Percy, followed closely by Zeus, who was gaining on him by the moment. The old beam was worn smooth and quite slippery. About midway, the little mouse fell atop the wild man’s balding head. Unable to hold on, he hid in his beard.

Zeus, thinking to catch Percy, leaped down and grabbed the ears of the man, causing him to flail about with his hands, thereby dropping the gun, which landed right in front of the old woman’s rocking chair. She cupped it in her hand and lunged at him. Taken by surprise, he fell headlong into the fireplace, bonking his head on the andiron, and passing out.

Quickly retrieving twine and scissors from a shelf, the woman tied the wild man both hand and foot. As she went out the doorway to run for the sheriff, who should drive up but all the local law enforcement, and the FBI as well.

When the wild man fell into the fireplace, Percy landed in the tin cup with such force as to render him unconcious.

Percy felt what seemed a small earthquake. Hanging onto the edge of the cup, he looked over the rim into the eyes of Zeus. “C,mon stoopid, the sheriff brought the reward for catchin the bank robber, and she said she will fix the best feast we ever had. Then she will pay the taxes. So get movin, wil ya?” he spit out in a rush.

“So, it wasn’t just a dream?” asked Percy. He hopped out of the tin cup, ready for another day of adventure with his best friend.

Sitting at the kitchen table and watching the leaves glide gracefully to the ground, Miss Paddy knew it was time to make the call.

“Hello. Pop's Firewood. We deliver,” the voice said..

“Hello, this is Miss Paddy.”

“Miss Paddy, how are you doing? Will you be placing your order today?”

“Yes, and you better make it two cords this year. I heard the winter is going to be rough one. I’ll leave the garage door open for you.”

“Two it is. I’ll bill you as usual. Will have it there tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Good-bye.” She hung up the phone. "I'd better make sure the fireplace is ready," she mumbled to herself.

In a swept fireplace, in a tin cup, a little mouse was sound asleep. Miss Paddy exclaimed, “My goodness, what do we have here!” She reached down and carefully picked up the mouse. "You sure are a cutie."

The mouse woke. Stretching and rubbing his eyes, his wee voice said, “Hello.”

“And a hello to you,” she said. “What is your name little one?”

“My name is Chester.”

“Ok, Chester how is that?”

“Nice, warm and cozy, Chester replied.

“Here we go then up to the attic, I have just thing for you, I do hope you will like it.”

In the attic, Miss. Paddy muttered to herself, "I know I have it here somewhere. The daughter asked me to save for her. Ah, there it is," she said. Under a cloth the doll house with all the furniture still in it. The little bed would be just perfect for Chester to sleep in. Off they went back downstairs to clean it up. Finishing the job, she stepped back. "Well Chester," she remarked. "What do you think of your new home?"

Chester ran through all the rooms exclaiming, "Mine.... all mine! I love it!” He ran up Miss Paddy’s arm and kissed her cheek.

Miss Paddy and Chester became good friends and enjoyed each other’s company. Winter arrived all to soon. Miss Paddy had to bring logs in and get a fire started to take keep the house warm. “Now Chester, you be extra careful around the fireplace it can get pretty hot. I wouldn’t want you to get burned.”

“Yes, Miss Paddy I will be very careful.”

Late one night, something woke Chester up. Sniffing the air he wondered what it was. That’s an awful smell," he thought. I better check it out. Flames shot out onto the floor. “Oh no! I must wake Miss Paddy. Running up the stairs as fast as he could scurry, he ran into Miss Paddy’s room and up onto her bed. “Miss Paddy, Miss. Paddy please wake up, something bad is happening, Oh, Miss. Paddy please wake up!”

“Opening her eyes, she saw his eyes staring at her. “Why Chester, what ever is the matter with you?"

“Miss Paddy come down stairs quick! Flames are coming out of the fireplace.”

Grabbing her robe, she scooped Chester up, and put him in her pocket. “Oh, my goodness I better call the fire dept.”

When the fire department arrived they quickly got the fire out and told Miss Paddy how lucky she was to be alive. Miss. Paddy explained to them how Chester had come and got her. This amazed them. 'What a smart mouse," they commented.P> “Yes, Miss Patty replied, smart indeed. He is a little angel sent by GOD to watch over me. Angels come in all forms," she said. "How lucky I am that God loves me so very much."

The fire, like his mother, had been extinguished.

The partially charred cupboards stood empty and dry of the meekest crumb. The hearth swept clean of soot gleamed with care as the little mouse snores echoed from the tin cup up the dust free chimney, and beyond. He had said his prayers and made his wish just like this beloved mother had taught him.

The time was now. Ned woke with a start and peered over the top of his cup. Just like mom said, there was a thump, a crust of chimney flaked to the hearth floor, and whoosh! He stood tiny with a furry face, cap, boots and huge belly. He touched his nose and poof! His reflection filled Ned’s eyes. “Hello young’en,” he bellowed. “Sorry I’m late. Where do you want your Christmas tree?”

Thank you… ver verrry much. “Ned stammered. “I…I….didn’t expect a tree.”

The jolly man looked perplexed. “It comes fully equipped.”

“I have no place to put it,” Ned answered. “There’s only a few walls left standing.”

“That is a problem,” he said, stroking his beard. “Then where do I put your toys?” “Then why am I here, little fella? Didn’t you write me a `want’ list?”

“I haven’t learned to write yet, sir. But….” His eyes widened. “Momma taught me how to make a Christmas wish.”

“Now, you’re talking,” he smiled. “Christmas wishes are right up my alley.” He snapped his fingers and poof! A scroll of paper spiraled down to the floor. “Hmmm…. Ned, Ned”… his finger scanned down the names. “There you are; Mouse Ned! Oh dear.” He frowned. “Son, that’s a tough wish.”

“Please Mr. Santa…,”.he said twisting his tail. “I want to with my mom.” Fresh tears filled his eyes, again.

The old man took a deep breath. He extended his arm. “Climb aboard son.” Ned was safely tucked in the palm of his hand, the old man wiggled his nose and whoosh! flakes of chimney sauntered to the hearth floor.

Up to the stars and beyond, the sleigh rode swiftly among shades of darkness, then through an explosion of colors. Suddenly, it halted, then flying backwards it gained speed and whipping itself round and round the planet, finally rested on the snow capped roof of a tiny winter chalet, its chimney puffing trails of thick white smoke. “Land sake, Ned. Stop that! Where are we going? Out on the roof! Into the snow! Son!” He pushed her. Ahhhhhhhhh. She landed in a puff of snow. He jumped after her.

“Fire, Mom,” he said brushing the peak of snow off her night cap.

“What fire?” She brushed the snow from his whiskers.

“That one!” He pointed to the flames lashing out of the chimney into the empty midnight sky. The sleigh was gone.

“Oh son… “she hugged him. “You saved us.”

That night Ned slept in the arms of his mom, safe in a tin cup, warmed by the charring fire. When he woke … It was Christmas morning. A few things remained; a patch of charred kitchen cupboards, a few walls, the stone hearth…. and his Christmas wish…his mom had survived the fire.

.

A beautiful girl, Jenna. She watched as Eric flung a duffel bag into the rear of the van, then swung his lanky, yet well-muscled body into the front seat. She slurred, “Why’re you sa mad?”

Eric didn’t answer, but looked at Jenna with unreadable pain in his blue-grey eyes. She saw a tear splash onto his wrist as he gripped the steering wheel and drove away. In her fuzzy state of being, she was perplexed by his behavior. Turning toward the bungalow, she tried to think what she should do now. He’s never been so mad at me, she thought. Finally she ambled into the small house they had shared for the past year or so.

“Wonder if my stash is safe?” Jenna asked nobody in particular. Realizing she was completely alone, she wondered if she should call her supplier. As always, uppermost in her mind was the cocaine. Dialing the number, she waited anxiously until someone answered. “Your dime” said the voice of Fred, Grant’s father. “If you’re lookin fer Grant, he ain’t here. Call agin later.” The phone went dead, then the dial tone.

At this point Jenna became frantic. “Oh my God, he is leaving me too.” She wailed, beginning to throw sofa pillows left and right, heaving books from the bookcase, flinging open the closet door, and searching among the coats for her precious stash of drugs.

Eric drove onto I-75 with tears falling so profusely he could barely see. He brought to mind every moment he had spent with Jenna. From first grade till a few minutes ago when he left her standing alone by their bungalow. In his eyes, she was the most beautiful person he had ever known. They had been inseparable through high school. Since neither could afford college, they decided to take the money left him by his grandfather and move to the small village of Black Rock.

Life was a dream for the two as they renovated the little house. Eric worked in the Ford plant nearby while Jenna waited tables at the local restaurant. They spoke of children, but felt they weren’t ready-maybe in ten years, if all went well. Both had a happy childhood and knew how important it was to be settled before bringing kids into their relationship.

Many evenings and weekends were spent as volunteers for Habitat for Humanity, or other projects. They had a few couples with whom they enjoyed casual dates. Bliss seemed to be theirs. Then, Grant entered the scene. Handsome, debonair, intelligent Grant! He was a regular customer at the restaurant where Jenna worked, and always chose her table. He would linger after closing time, eventually asking her to join him at a local nightclub for one drink. Eric worked the night shift, so she saw no harm in what they were doing. There were usually others along in the beginning.

Grant played Jenna like a violin. He got to know her inside out, and used all that he learned. Each time she and Eric had a small tiff, Grant was there to lean on, all ready to comfort, always available. But, he was only a friend.

Once Jenna and Eric had a disagreement that seemed more horrid than any other had. She went straight to Grant for solace. He was SO ready. This time he brought out the cocaine. “No way!” she yelled. “I do NOT do drugs.”

Quietly Grant snorted his lines, and then he turned to her saying, “Did I ever ask you to?”

“No, but I assumed you wanted me to join you. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. Forgive me?” Jenna murmured.

“Of course. We’re friends, and friends are always there for each other, right?” said Grant smoothly.

The die was cast. Within two weeks, Jenna tried a line of cocaine. Afterwards, she was a regular user. She soon had her own stash, which she bought from Grant, of course.

The first cold day of autumn, Eric searched the closet for his parka and boots. A small package of some white substance fell from Jenna’s coat pocket. He called her from the bathroom and asked what it was.

Jenna tried to lie her way out of the fiasco, but Eric was no dummy. He tried to get her into rehab, worked with her for as long as he could stand it, but to no avail. She refused to admit there was a problem, other than one with him, as she perceived it.

So came the night Eric could no longer live the lie with Jenna. He took his few things, said goodbye and left her to whatever God wills.

“What are you so mad about?” she asked.

He sat at the kitchen table holding his head in his hands. There was no room for his elbows, -all the dishes, dibs and dabs of food, and drink from three days filled all available space on the stained, checkered cloth.

“You got to go to the Super Bowl with you buds, your dream of a lifetime. I was happy for you; now you are mad at ME?” she continued, trying to get an answer.

“So, I had a few friends here to keep me from missing you. What was wrong with that?” she tried again. No answer came forth.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have borrowed your SUV to drive to the mall? Oh come on, after the $1000.00 deductible, the insurance will pay for the new tailgate, right? “Whoops, I just remembered. The insurance company called just before you left on your trip, and said your premium was overdue by two months, and they would be canceling within a week if they did not receive it. Damn, I was sure I mailed that for you. “O. K., I know you came home and found Sam sleeping in our bed, but believe me, nothing happened. I would have wakened long enough to know if it had! “You know what, I haven’t seen Charlie, your favorite cat in a while. There is no food or water in his bowl, so he must have eaten sometime. “Did those dumb neighbors across the street tell you they called the cops? Really, they scared us all to death with their lights and sirens at 4:30 in the morning. Geez, the music was not that loud. Don’t you believe me? “Aren’t you going to say anything? “Well, if you are going to just sit there and sulk, you can do it while you help clean up this joint, O. K.? I’m not going to say anymore until you decide to talk to me.” A prolonged moan came from the mouth hidden behind the hands of the poor man sitting at the table. Slowly, he leaned to the side and fell on the floor, head still clasped in hands.

Karen hurried down the ramp from the plane to the main airport building. Once inside, she found the baggage carousel as quickly as possible and waited impatiently for her bag to come around so she could retrieve it. She dragged the heavy bag outside and hailed a cab. Giving the cabbie her address, she settled back in the fake leather seat and tried to relax.

The week away had been exhausting, with meetings from early morning to far into the night. She realized the importance of their discussions, yet she longed to be home. We could have accomplished the same thing in three days, she thought to herself. Oh, well, I’m almost home. She hated to admit it, but she had missed Bob more than she thought she would. When she left home a week ago, she was thoroughly pissed at him. He is so damned demanding, she complained to herself, thinking back to what triggered her anger at him. She knew, however, that he would not be loving and friendly when she came home. After one of these trips, he was always hostile and aloof.

Finally the cabbie pulled up in her driveway. She paid him, retrieved her bag from the trunk of his cab, and dragged it to the front porch. Unlocking the door, she pushed the bag in first and called out to Bob.

“I’m home, Bob. Where are you, sweetie?”

Bob sauntered into the room, yawning as if she had awakened him from a deep sleep. Unfriendly, as she had known he would be, he growled something unintelligible and glared at her.

“What are you so mad about?” Karen asked. “I wasn’t gone that long, and I told you I had to go away.

“Oh, you’re going to give me the silent treatment? Well, okay. You’ll come around. You never stay mad very long. Once I start fixing dinner, you’ll change your tune.”

Karen kicked off her shoes, stuck her toes into her comfortable slippers, tied an apron around her waist, and rummaged through the cupboards searching for something appetizing.

“Here you go, Bob,” she said, opening up a can. “It’s your favorite meal.”

She dished out a hefty helping of tuna with egg and placed it on the floor beside the cat’s water bowl.

“Bon apetite.”

“Hey Elaine,” Judy said, “ I need to get out of this house to forget my troubles. How about going to the Ponderosa tonight with me? You know how I hate to go there alone.”

“Ok,” Elaine replied.

Arriving at the Ponderosa, the ladies paid their $4.00 entrance fee and continued inside. Looking around, Judy noticed their favorite table was empty, and the girls knew they would get asked to dance if they sat there.

“Hello ladies,” the cocktail waitress said. “What can I get for you tonight?”

“I’ll have a Colorado Bulldog,” Judy replied.

“Make mine plain 7up,” Elaine said.

They both agreed that the music was good.

“Excuse us ladies," two gentlemen said. "May we have this dance?’

Both girls stood up smiling, each taking the hand held out to them.

“My name is Jim.”

“Mine is Elaine.”

“Hi,” they both said, smiling.

Drawing her closer in his arms, Jim told her she was a wonderful dancer.

When the last note ended Jim escorted Elaine back to her table. Judy had already arrived there. Thanking her, he turned to Judy and held his hand out to her, then escorted her to the dance floor.

During the evening both girls danced with other men, and more with Jim. They were both having a good evening.

Jim started becoming very amorous towards the girls.

Returning to the table Elaine muttered to herself, “I wonder just what part of NO he doesn’t understand!”

On Judy’s return to the table she could see Elaine was fuming about something.

‘What are you so mad about?’ she asked.

The girls started talking about Jim and his sexual advances. What a jerk, they both agreed. They wondered why men thought you needed to go to bed with them. Just because you are single doesn’t mean you need a hop in bed! He had made advances to both of them. It’s about time a NO lesson was taught, and Elaine knew she would be the teacher.

Elaine told Judy she would think of something, and whatever she decided Judy should go along with it. Judy could hardly wait to see what would happen.

Just about this time Jim showed up and held his hand out to Elaine. Smiling, Elaine took it and danced once again with Jim.

While they were dancing Jim inquired if the girls would have breakfast with him. Elaine thought this was a great idea especially when he said they could have whatever they wanted on the menu. They agreed to meet ate the Steak and Eggs since they both came in their own cars. Elaine found Judy and told her what the plans were. Meeting at the Steak and Eggs, the three went inside and were seated. Judy on one side and Jim slide in, then Elaine sat beside him.

The waitress came and took their orders. All three ordered the steak breakfast. Waiting for their orders, they made small talk. When they were served, they all agreed the food looked wonderful. About half way through the meal, Jim moved closer toward Elaine and placed his arm around her shoulders. “Now, tell me why you won’t go to bed with me,” he inquired.

Looking him square in the eyes, she said, “I didn’t want to tell you the real reason because I wanted to avoid being embarrassed. I have VD."

Upon hearing this, Judy nearly choked on her mouthful of food. Jim acted like he had just been burned and slid back to his spot. They all finished their food in silence. While Jim paid the bill the girls went outside; then they burst out laughing, wondering if he finally learned what no meant.

Marilyn returned home and received a shock when she opened her door. There were wet, stinky clothes scattered all over. The followed the putrid trail which led to the bathroom.

Marilyn heard the water running as she opened the bathroom door.

Jim popped his head out of the shower. “Marilyn, I’m so mad, I could spit! I was nearly run down by a drunker driver, and I fell in a dirty, stinky, wet ditch just trying to get out of the way!”

“Oh my, how did it happen?” she asked.

“Well, my car stalled about 2 blocks from here. I started walking when suddenly I saw this car zig- zagging along the street. It was coming straight at me. I jumped to one side. My left foot slipped on the incline, and I slipped on the wet grass into the ditch. I fell as I tried to avoid some broken bottles. Marilyn, I fell flat on my face! I can still smell that putrid water!”

“Oh my."

"Hon, would you please put my clothes in a trash bag and I will take them out to the trash can as soon as I get out of this shower. Please?

"I wrote down the number of the license plate on the pad in the kitchen. That driver should have his license revoked. Marilyn, he almost killed me!”

“Well Jim, I’m glad you made it home safe and in one piece.”

"Just let me soap myself again. This is my fourth time….I can’t seem to get the smell off my body!”

“Jim, try this lotion soap. I think it will help you.”

“Thanks! I will try anything.”

Descending through thick cloud cover jangled Natalie's nerves, which already were raw from the turbulence and air pockets. At times the passengers were literally tossed about in their seats. The flight crew seemed grumpy, the food barely edible, now this awful landing. Things could only get better, she hoped.

After the plane taxied to the accordioned gate, Natalie hoisted her carry-on bag from the overhead compartment, flung the strap over her shoulder with her leather purse, and made her way to baggage claim. Happily, she found her wheeled suitcase immediately. "Now for a cab." she thought, "The tube is out of the question at this juncture."

As she raised her hand to flag a cab, someone called out, "Miss Danson?" A young man in chauffer uniform approached her. He wore a badge, and after she assured him that she was indeed Natalie Danson, he said, "Mrs. Holloway will see you tonight."

Natalie allowed the chauffer to take care of the baggage. She slipped into the rear seat, thinking, "Well, things are certainly looking up. This may be all that Ralph proclaimed . The transport is more to my taste than the previous employment afforded. Ah, I could become accustomed to luxury!" Little did she know how quickly that would change.

The sedan sped away through typically English fog. Natalie thought she would recognize the Savoy from seeing it on television. Before she had time to think twice, the car stopped, and she was hustled through a revolving door, into an elevator which whined its way to the third floor. As they stepped out into the corridor, she surmised this must be the service entrance. Certainly the Savoy wasn't this drab!

The young man whisked her along hastily to number 37, and rapped briskly on the door. Inside a raspy voice barked, "Who is it?" "Edmund," answered the chauffer. The door opened a crack, then fully. Edmund dragged Natalie inside, and left.

She had no more than set down her bags before she knew this was not where she wanted to be. The woman before her appeared to be elderly, well dressed in the fashion of English matrons. Natalie asked, "Mrs. Holloway, what is the meaning of this? You led me to believe your residence was in the countryside, and that I was to be secretary to your son. This s hardly what I was expecting."

"All in good time, Miss Danson." replied Mrs. Holloway, "You may hang your coat there, and then come into the sitting room to meet my son." At a loss as to what else to do, Natalie complied. Following the lady into a dimly lit room, she shook hands with the gentleman presented to her as Geoffrey Holloway. "Mother, please turn up the lamp. I would like to see Miss Danson, and to have her get a glimpse of me."

As the light grew stronger, Natalie gasped, "It's you! I saw your picture on the internet. You're accused of embezzling millions from the First Bank of England!" Turning around, she found herself face to face with Edmund. He barred her way to escape.

"Why did you mislead me? Mrs. Holloway, I cannot work for a criminal." Natalie exclaimed. "Oh, bloody hell Mother, what shall we do now?" said Geoffrey. Mrs. Holloway began to plead with her to reconsider. "I will pay you $1000.00 each week. I must continue to live a normal life, and that is impossible if I must be with Geoffrey. He is innocent, but he must be in hiding until our solicitor can prove it."

Natalie felt a small wave of sympathy for the elderly lady, but her instinct told her that this man was guilty. She had no desire to be caught up in a mess of this magnitude. "No, I'm sorry, but no amount of money is worth the risk, worth going against my conscience. I cannot. Please allow me to leave now," she pleaded.

Furtive glances between the three gave Natalie gooseflesh. What had Ralph gotten her into this time? After secretive consultation, Edmund said, "Come along then." Gathering her bags, he led her back to the sedan, and whisked her away into the English night.

"Wow!" What a trip!" Maxine declares as she struggled with her suitcase.

"They told me this suitcase had wheels, yet it keeps falling on its side." she grumbled.

Maxine and Julie had been stuck in traffic in Houston for over an hour. Then they had to walk to a different terminal in Dallas. Now they were in Denver and had to walk a long way to the shuttle.

"Just think," replied Julie, "we are closer to our destination. Think of it that way, and it won't seem so bad."

"Okay, I will try, but that doesn't make the going any better. This big suitcase is so full it topples over."

"Maxine, did you pack all of your clothes? We are only going for 3 days!"

"Well, I wasn't sure of the weather, and I brought summer and winter clothes."

"Winter?" exclaimed Julie. "Maxine, it is still early fall."

"Well, you know I can't stand the cold. I brought everything, including my winter undies!"

Julie shook her head. "Oh look, here is our shuttle."

The driver struggled with Maxine's suitcase, but got it on board. He loaded Julie's suitcase also.

The girls settled themselves in the van and prepared for the two hour drive.

"Does Jan and Mike know we are coming this weekend?" Julie asked.

Maxine answered, "Well, Jan said we were welcome at any time, but I forgot to call or send her an e-mail."

The driver lefts them at Jan and Mike's house.

They rang the doorbell, and heard, "Come in, it's open."

The minute Julie opened the door and dropped her bag, she knew she was not staying. She stood rooted to the floor. In shock, she turns to Maxine, "What is this?"

Maxine's face was red. "I didn't know! I didn't know!" she wailed, as she stamped her foot.

Just then Jan came forward. "Girls, I didn't expect you this weekend. We are having our nudist group meeting here this weekend!"

At that moment, another car drove up and a fellow stepped out. Jan called, "Bryan, could you drive these girls to the Holiday Inn please. They didn't know we were having our group meeting."

"Sure, I will be happy to take them."

Two red-faced girls followed Bryan. Maxine's suitcase seemed to develop wings as she wheeled it toward the car.

Madam lay decrepit with age. Shallow breaths escaped her lips unnoticed as her lawyer sat at the desk re-writing her last will and testament.

In the library, Madam's doctor of 30 years ravished through her books. Ahhh....there it is." He smelled the book as if to capture its ancient text before stuffing it carefully in his valise.

Across the hall in the forbidden bedroom, Madam's maid clawed under the false bottom of the dresser. She purred with pleasure as her fingers touched the priceless string of black pearls.

In the dining room, the butler hurried to the Chinese tapestry and the hidden wall-safe. When he emerged, his vest bulged. Madam's money, no doubt.

The gardener, Joe, stood among the flowers, his eyes wet with fresh tears. They forbid him to see Madam, his secret love of thirty years, and confined him to tending the gardens until further notice. Cuffing away his tears, Joe tended the flower bed closest to Nick, the chauffeur, who buffed the red Corvette till it mirrored the sky. Nick would own the corvette soon. A gift for his silence.

Joe hollered out. "Hey Nick. How's the old lady? She croak yet?" It pained Joe to say such ugly words about his beloved, Lily. He had to pretend to mean mouth her or be discharged like the others when Madam lost consciousness. "Naaaa," he hollered back. "The witch ain't dead yet. Doc says maybe tonight. If I had my way," he said, unfolding his plan, " I'd kill her myself. Get me one of them big pickles, shove it down her throat until she croaked and then eat the evidence. Good idea, huh?" He looked for Joe's approval.

Joe nodded his head and turned away just as a scream emerged from the second floor of the estate. Nick held Joe at bay. "I'll see what's going on," he said rushing up the stairs. "Hope it's the ol' lady," trailed behind him as he entered the door.

Moments later Joe heard a woman cry out in agony. He felt a lump in his throat. Lily? The entrance was locked. "Lily! Lily! " He pounded his fists frantically against the door. Finally, the door opened, slowly. It was his beloved Lily. Folding her in his arms, he carried her to their garden. As he had done so many times before, he laid her on the soft grass; his tears and breath lingered on her cheek.

With her last breath she whispered, "I killed them all, Joe. It's yours now," she said as the bloody scissors dropped from her hand.

He opened the worn black leather case tenderly, unsnapping each catch slowly. Ever so gently, he lifted the lid and peered inside.

There, nestled in midnight blue velvet, was the violin. Its warm, rich wood almost glowed in the dim room light. Carefully he untied the soft bands that encircled it and lifted it reverently from its molded nest.

He turned the violin over in his hands, caressing it and feeling its shape in his small fingers. He held it up to his chin and wrapped his fingers around its neck. It felt comfortable, natural. He looked at the inscription written in German on the top of the violin: In the forest I was silent. Now I sing.

He reached down to free the bow from its resting place in the lid of the case. Laying the violin carefully back in the case, he tightened the bow until the horsehair was taut. Removing the tiny block of resin from its box, he carefully ran the resin over the bow, watching the dust rise as he worked to prepare the bow. Then he picked up the violin again, adjusted the chin rest, and placed the bow on the strings.

Holding his breath, he drew the bow across the strings. The tone was rich and full. He released his breath and began to play, hesitantly at first. Soon the soaring notes of Vivaldi filled the room. He played faster now, his fingers sure on the fingerboard, his bow firm on the strings. The notes floated, danced. The boy’s face was a changing kaleidoscope of emotion as he became one with the instrument and the music.

That was 40 years ago. Through those years, the boy-turned-man had learned to tease the instrument to unlock its tone. He knew every quirk. His ear caught changes in tone when the weather was damp, and he adjusted his pressure on the strings to keep its tone sweet and pure.

Audiences gave him standing ovations, one after another, whenever he played. Reviews in the media heaped high praise upon his playing. His name was the first mentioned whenever the subject of violin virtuosos came up. He was the master, the epitome of what a violinist should be. Unassuming, he always gave credit to his violin. "Without it," he would say, "the violinist would just be another fiddler."

As the years went on, his fingers began to gnarl in painful arthritis and the artist was forced to give up playing. Although he taught others, younger musicians with dreams of glory, he was never enriched by it. He was a violinist, not a teacher.

One day, he tenderly replaced the violin in its tattered blue velvet nest and closed the lid on the worn leather case. When finished, he picked up the case and walked slowly out of the room. No one ever saw him again and his precious violin, which had sung for years under his fingers, was silent once more.

“Dickie, hold on to my hand”, I said to my small son as we entered the grocery store.

“Lynn, you hold on the shopping cart,” I told my five-year-old daughter.

The store we had just entered was in a nearby town to ours and had not been a grocery store for twenty years or more since I was a child. It was at present a department store I visited often. Steps led down from the street level entrance to the grocery/now hardware department.

Suddenly, Richard (Dick) pulled away from me and bolted up the steps and through the open door that led to the busy street. There was the screech of brakes and even as I stood there I could see my beautiful blonde boy lifeless in the street.

I, of course, woke up then, jumped out of bed, and went to check on the children. They were both snoring gently, and I went back to bed with heart pounding.

Nearly every day the three of us walked about a mile or so into town to the post office, and late afternoons we walked in the opposite direction to meet “Daddy” as he was coming home from work. The road was a major state route and was not too wide near our house because of railroad tracks bordering it. After the dream, Richard had to walk with my vice-grip upon him. Every time a big truck whizzed by I had the feeling he was going to break loose.

Why the dream, why the fear? I never had such a dream about my other children. That dream is as vivid to me right now as the night it happened, over 40 years ago.

The calendar flicks by to the year 1977. My baby daughter, Annette, was now five years old. We had recently moved into a new split-level duplex that we were sharing with my dad. We had our master bedroom and bath on the lower level.

“Honey chile, let’s talk into the tape recorder so we can play it back and hear ourselves. Annette, stop giggling and talk to the machine. Wanna sing some songs? Come on now, calm down and stop wriggling on the bed. How about if I read you a story and then we can get ready for bed?”

This scene is imprinted on my mind like a photograph. I see my red and gold paisley bedspread and the white dotted curtains in the windows. The bedside lamp was casting a soft light and shadows in the room. Annette had her Dorothy Hamill haircut, was wearing a navy blue turtleneck with brown and blue print corduroy pants. She sat with me on my bed, smiling at the suggestion of a favorite story. As I opened the book and looked at her, her face took on a look of horror and she was looking above and beyond my head. The next sensation was just one of me being gone. Not there at all! I seemed to know that I was dead. I woke up. This dream like the other one was so defined and so real that I have never forgotten it or the feelings.

I self-analyzed this one. It was probably connected to a fear that I had that at the ripe old age of forty-three I might not be around to care for my later- in- life child before she was grown enough to care for herself. (Like there wasn’t another soul that could do that!) Nothing wrong with my ego, anyhow.

I am still here. Richard is forty-five and other than minor motorcycle, car, and bicycle accidents he is whole and in one piece. He has skied, ridden motorcross, and still likes to push the envelope a little.

These dreams were obviously not premonitions. Warnings, maybe? They certainly did affect my life. In the first case, I was much more aware of safety for the kids than I had been. In the second, I know now that unconsciously I started to take better care of myself from around that time.

I am not sure that I believe our dreams have any significance, but these two were too real to be forgotten.

As I sat drinking coffee gone cold, my eyes were riveted to the events unfolding on TV. I was stunned by the events taking place before my eyes on September 11.

The morning had been like any other morning, with people going to work, students to school, people traveling in planes all over the United States. All were innocent and unsuspecting of forthcoming events.

By mid morning we were shocked as we watched the drama play out on national television. We saw the collapse of the first building, and then we watched in horror as the plane hit the second tower.

Thousands suffered death or injuries, as my coffee got colder.

My grandchildren were playing outside, oblivious to all, while inside I wept for the many victims.

It was indeed a devastating tragedy and a very dark day in the history of the modern world. We were left with a vast feeling of vulnerability, of hopelessness in not being able to help the wounded so many miles away.

The response of Americans was overwhelming, as those closest to the scene offered their services, while others across the nation waited in long lines to donate blood.

As President Bush declared war on terrorist groups, the al Qaeda, and other groups around the world, the US became a world leader in the fight.

The effects of 9/11 are still being felt around the world. It united America, yet at the same time made us aware of terrorist groups operating within our borders.

America had to tighten its security all over, from the airports, to government offices and buildings to ports, plants, etc. America lost its innocence on 9/ll..

"Are you sure I have to wear this getup? It’s hot and scratchy, and I have a tennis date in less than an hour."

"Relax, Mom. This won’t take much time. A few strokes and you’ll be out of here."

"Well, okay, but watch the clock, James Abbot McNeill Whistler. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this ridiculous idea!"

"Mom, some day you’ll thank me. You’ll be famous. Your picture will be everywhere. People will appreciate what I’m doing for you. I’m making you immortal, you know."

"Immortal, my foot! Immoral is more like it."

"Hold still, Mom. No, no – fold your hands on your lap and keep your head still. You’re squirming too much. The way you keep moving, I’m going to be painting a blur instead of a portrait. Please, Mom, keep your feet on the box. You keep trying to cross your legs and it destroys the whole effect of the gentle woman."

"Gentle, I’ll show you gentle, my fine son. How long is this going to take? I need to scratch in a most non-gentlewoman fashion. Couldn’t you just paint an outline and fill it in later? I’m going to be late for the tennis game. Why couldn’t you have followed in your father’s footsteps and become a successful businessman? You’ll never get anywhere as an artist."

"I’m almost finished. Just a few more brush strokes and it will be over. There, it’s just right. This is a pretty good portrait, if I do say so myself. Wanna take a look?"

"My God, Jimmy. I look like an old lady. Is that the way you really see me? What will my bridge club say? My exercise group? It is awful. Whatever you do, please don’t put my name on it!"

"Don’t worry, Mom. I was going to call it "Whistler’s Mother," but for your sake I’ll just call it "Arrangement in Grey and Black: Portrait of the Painter’s Mother."

"Thank goodness it is the end of another day. It is so difficult to have all sorts of people look, comment, or make faces at you, and all you can do is stare sweetly back at them." said the portrait of the lovely young woman. "A large portion of the visitors passing in front of me seem to feel I was born into wealth and never had to struggle for anything in my life. That is not exactly how my life unfolded.

"Since you have managed to stay in the museum, please stay and let me tell you the rest of the story," said the young woman.

This is the tale she then related to me.

" I was the fourth from the eldest child in a family of many children. My father worked the fields of the wealthy land owner, while mother worked in the great house in the kitchen.

Until I was about nine years old, I had lived a very carefree life. I did not have to do much except watch a couple of younger siblings. That allowed us to frolic in the fields and enjoy the outdoors in the summer. People did not refer to me as a beautiful child, but rather a happy, slightly flirtacious girl with a most beguiling smile.

When I was nine I was put to work in the kitchen of the main house. The work was hard and made me very tired, but I always tried to do my work well so my mother would be proud of me. It didn’t take long to for me to discover that a coy look or a secretive smile would get me a second glance from the young men who lived and worked in the house.

Over the years I tried to learn quickly and do expert work, so that I could move up to better jobs. I graduated from the kitchen to the general care of the upstairs sleeping quarters and from that position to an apprenticeship lady in waiting when I was in my early teen years. Now I discovered the beautiful fabrics that were used for the ladies' gowns, undergarments and even for the bedding and window coverings. Feeling those soft, thick fabrics made me determine that I would some day wear lovely garments and live graciously.

A wealthy man would be needed to provide for me. Now how would a low born person like me learn the ways of a true lady? I had been known as a mimic and I now used that skill to mimic the ladies I waited upon. At night I would practice using their phrases, their walk, their table manners so that one day I too would be considered a lady. Flirting came very naturally to me, and I soon perfected a half smile, one that made the observer wonder about my thoughts and wish to know me better.

I learned my lessons well and quickly. By the time I had a very womanly body, I was catching the interest of many of the young men who came to the great house on business or to visit. They often brought me gifts. Some were wonderful pieces of fabric. Now I had a high enough station within the house to wear nicer clothing, and I always made mine of the most luxurious fabric that came into my hands.

My many hours of practicing how to be a lady bore fruit one summer when I gained the attention of a young man who was visiting on business and stayed all summer at the main house. Our relationship began with quick smiles but soon changed to touching each other oh so slightly as we passed by. Within a month we were meeting each other outside and spending many delightful hours becoming physically acquainted during warm .moonlight nights. At the end of summer I was able to leave with the young man and go to Italy where I was unknown. I was immediately accepted as his mistress and he introduced me to the city and court society. That pampered life style quickly erased any signs of my former life.

Over the next few years I developed my courtesan skills and led a contented exsistence with each of the men who cared for me until the fateful day when the most wonderful man came into my life. He was very popular, a few years my senior, had a light hearted approach to life, and lived slightly above his means on his inherited income. This was the man I had hoped to meet my entire life and best of all he came to truly love and adore me.

My mentor liked to paint just for the pure enjoyment of painting. On day he chose me to pose for him. We were at home so I was wearing a rather plain colored gown and I really wanted to change into something brightly colored and dramatic ,however the light was just right and my lover wanted to paint me immediately in the clothing I was wearing. There were several sittings before the portrait was completed and sometimes the posing was very tedious. I would cheer myself up by thinking of all the other artistic skills of this man that I would be enjoying later in the evening. Those were the thoughts which created that special secretive smile that he captured in the portrait."

The hour was late and I had enjoyed talking to this enchanting women. I knew that I would not soon again be able to visit the museum after it closed when the magic happened and the pictures were able to talk. As I started to leave, I told her that when I came in the day time to visit, I would wink broadly at her and smile myself because now I knew the rest of the story.

I am the little fou-fou dog in the picture. My name is Ombre, but my beautiful mistress, who is Aline, calls me Cheri. She loves me so much and treats me like a prince, as I deserve to be treated. I am, after all, a most special little pooch.

Today we are at Le Maison Fournaise for luncheon. We have all just returned from a morning of rowing on the Seine. It is such a lovely summer day, with gentle breezes and a bright, blue sky. The breeze lifts my long hair, and cools me so nicely.

We come here on many a Saturday now. My mistress Aline, who is a seamstress by trade, could never have come to this very nice town of Chatou a few years ago. When the revolution happened, they promised the working people liberte, egalite, fraternite. It has come to pass that workers like my mistress do not have to work on Saturdays anymore, and because of the many new railroad lines surrounding our city of Paris, all kinds of people can now travel to places previously only used by the blue bloods.

In the town of Chatou, Le Maison Fournaise sits on a small island in the river. All classes of people are here, artists, actresses, society people, writers such as de Maupassant, critics, and shopkeepers. Also here are shop girls and seamstresses

Admiring, famous people who are paying court to the good life surround me, Ombre. There in a tall hat is a famous editor and art historian and his secretary. A famous actress is sitting at our table and is being greatly admired by the party. The son and daughter of the proprietor are here also. He is very handsome in his canotier (straw boating hat) and his sleeveless shirt. A baron is entertaining her, no less. There are artists and journalists here. It is indeed a fete galante. I could only wish for a small white poodle named FiFi for me to flirt with.

Flirting of course is much enhanced by the presence of so many wine bottles. SO MANY wine bottles! There is also cheese and much wonderful fresh fruit which people drop now and then and which my mistress hand feeds to me. As I have said, I am one special little dog, and I deserve this treatment. A young man sitting across from us is gazing with much interest at my mistress, but I have a feeling that it is another artist who is stealing her heart.

I can only hope that we will have many more days such as this. Food, wine, and love in the plain air, what more could a very special dog ask for?

I first saw the painting when I was around twelve years old. We had gone to visit my father's elderly Aunt Emily. Every time they looked for me I was in my grandfather's study sitting in his overstuffed old chair looking at the picture. It just seamed to be calling to me whenever I was not busy elsewhere. Dad said," That child seems to be mesmerized by that old painting!"

It was just a painting of several mountains, a lake , and a lot of trees. Yet if you studied it closely you could just make out the ruins of a gold mine. I think that is what stirred my curiosity. There had to be a story behind that old abandoned mine!

I asked Aunt Emily about it, because she had seen it as well but did not remember much of anything about it this late at night. She said ,"Martha, let me sleep on it and I might remember something, alright?">P> I could hardly wait for morning to see if she'd remembered anything. When breakfast over, I offered to clean up the dishes since she had made such a great breakfast for us. She smiled and said,"Why thank you, Martha, you are such a dear niece. When you are finished come out to the front porch; that's where I'll be."

When we were settled on the front porch, Aunt Emily began the story.

"All I can remember is that your grandfather told me that the gold mine was his. That is why he bought this ranch. His older brother died in it when the timbers gave way. There was no one to help get him out, so it is hallowed ground now . His brother's grave!

"They dug a lot of gold out from there all by themselves and were considered very rich men. They had to keep the location a secret for fear of claim jumpers !

"Jim, the foreman's father, could tell you more about it. He worked as foreman here on the ranch until his son took over his job. We are going to town tomorrow. Would you like to go visit with him while we are in town?"

" Oh, Aunt Emily, could I please?"

"I'll give him a call this evening to see if he will be at home."

Old Jim welcomed all of us when we stopped by for my visit. "Sure nice to see all of you and is this Miss Martha? Don't get much company these days, except when young Jim comes by once a week with supplies for me. He usually stays for supper and fills me in on how things are at the ranch."

He asked me why I wanted to visit with him, so I told him of the painting in Grandfather's study and how mysterious it was to me. Old Jim laughed and said, "Child, there is a mystery about it. Would you like to hear the story?"

"Oh yes, please tell me, Jim. I just knew there was a story about it and someone still knew it!"

"Your grandfather and his brother were so worried about claim jumpers that they made a plan. They rode all over the area and decided to buy the land in order to resolve that problem, once and for all. They hid most of the gold and went into town to see if the property was for sale. It was and the realtor said that there had been a few inquires on purchasing it years ago, but no one came back to buy it. He asked them what they were going to do with the property and they replied either raise cattle or horses. There was plenty of grazing areas and lots of natural water springs, even a few ponds and one really nice lake near the mountains.

"The asking price for the land was $3.00 an acre,and the realtor wanted to know how much land they wanted. They went to the local saloon for a quick lunch and decided to buy 800 acres with the lake right in the center. That would include 200 acres of the mountains. Now back in the 1800s , $2,400.00 was a lot of money. The clerk asked when they would be back with the money. They gave the clerk $400.00 as a down payment and promised to be back in a one week or so with the rest.

"They went home , dug the gold out of its hiding place, then shoved boulders over the opening to disguise it as well as the opening to the mine, just in case anyone came snooping around. They took the sacks of gold hidden in secret flooring of the wagon. Two horses tagged along and outfitted the wagon like they were sightseers. They got to the city in three days, exchanged the gold nuggets and dust for cash, and stopped for a good meal before the return trip.

"That's where they met up with me. I told them I had been a foreman for an old friend for many years before he got waylaid and shot to death. His son took over the ranch and hated me, so I left looking for another job.

"They decided I would be the best judge of which to raise ,horses or cattle so they asked me to go to the new ranch and work for them. They rode back into town three days later and bought , with cash, the new ranch! They rode all over their new property, decided where to build a house, barns etc. and asked me which kind of animal would do best there. I felt that cattle would be best, so they sent me into town to hire on some men to drive the cattle up from Texas.

"While I was gone the brothers decided to take the gold out of the mine and hide it all around the ranch. They marked each spot and made a map of where each stash of gold was buried, it was their secret. The map was secure in the town safe along with their wills. Each brother would take a few days off every month and return to the gold mine for more gold when it was needed. They left the buried gold alone.

"One morning the bank was robbed and set on fire. Contents of the safe were never seen again, so they lost the map of their buried gold! A year after that your grandfather's brother was killed in the mine collapse. They had that painting done soon after the house was completed and each spot where they had buried gold was marked. They dug all that up and invested in more cattle and land.

"I'm sure that they remembered some of the other places that gold was buried and dug some of it up. There is still a lot of it buried out there if one cared to look for it. Not me though, I like my comforts of home. They paid me very well and I've plenty to live on for the rest of my days.

"Now when your daddy passes and you inherit this ranch, you're welcome to look for the buried gold if you like, child. It will be yours to do with as you please."

If you’ve always been a "city mouse", it may be a bit difficult for you to relate to what I am about to say; however, you may just find yourself transported. That is the intent of this writing.

When I was a child, we lived on a hill overlooking Johnson’s Bay and Quoddy Bay. It was a 180-degree view of the ocean. Grand Manan and Campobello Islands, Canada, were visible except in exteme fog conditions. On our property, which consisted of approximately 10 acres, we had the pleasure of a shorefront of nearly a quarter mile. The tides in the Quoddy Bay area are the highest in the country. They reach an astounding 25 feet on extremes of the full moon.

The fields and forests along this part of eastern coastal Maine are where I grew up. Cool breezes from the ocean and dense fog during the summer months allowed wild and commercial strawberries to flourish under God’s care. The warmth of the northwest winds gently ripened these delicacies to perfection. My mother, bless her, was the "harvester in residence", scouting out wild berry patches and secretly staking them out as her very own cache. She spent hours in the summer months of June and July wandering through the nearby fields in search of those small gems, which she would lovingly hull and stew down to make wild strawberry jam for the winter months. She would return each day with her fingertips and the knees of her pants stained red. She said it was her chance to unwind and enjoy the blessings summer had to offer. On occasion, as I grew older, I would accompany her—but my child’s patience was short and I fear I ate more than I picked. I was admonished one day when she found me picking for my own pleasures. She quietly reminded me that those berries would not be available for toast during the winter if I continued eating. I got the message plain and clear and allowed her to continue to hold her unchallenged ownership of that patch.

It was the smell and taste of the berries, freshly picked, that I remember. It was also the smell of the salt ocean air, the tall Timothy grass waving gently in the breezes, the sight of cow vetch twining through the fields, the furtive call of seagulls gliding overhead, the warmth of much-appreciated sunshine on the back of my neck that are the memories of a lifetime.

It gives me great joy now to be able to leave part of my front lawn not mowed until after berry season. Three years ago I discovered wild strawberries growing there. Now daisies, too, have appeared. My mother used to say, "Find me a daisy and I’ll find you a strawberry".

It is my turn now to pick berries for my mother. There is only a handful at each picking, but I stew them down with a bit of water and sugar and present them to her for her morning toast. I believe it brings her happiness. I know it does me.