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#Post#: 2705--------------------------------------------------
A Year On Chestnut Hill
DIR By: Maggie Flannery
Date: June 26, 2013, 11:37 pm
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I'm seriously going to smack Wendell if he up and leaves me high
and dry on this one. He's been pushing me and driving me up the
wall. I do hope you enjoy. I'm currently still revising and
putting together fashion collections to post for later updates,
there's also a playlist. I can't thank you enough for putting up
with the dear muse and I. <33
*disclaimer*
Wendell's been pushing for me to drop everything and focus on
him,self centered little muse that is, haha. I first fell in
love with Wendell's character when I watched a film entitled
Woman Wanted, it's based off of the book of the same name by
Joanna McClelland Glass and it's marvelous. I, in no way intend
to infringe upon Ms. Glass's plots, themes or her characters.
Only play with them a wee bit. I've only taken Wendell out to
play; and other characters (his parents) will merely be
mentioned from time to time. I've been granted the lovely Lottie
from the marvelous Wolfy and I thank her immensely for not only
allowing me to bring Lottie out to play yet again, but for
putting up with my many changing muses all with the face of dear
Kiefer Sutherland. I can merely only call Maggie Flannery my
own. Brian is based off Brian Flanagan from the fab movie
Mocktail. Please, do not post my work without permission. If
you ask, I shall give. I make nothing from this writing, it's
merely a hobby I love dearly.
HTML http://i1255.photobucket.com/albums/hh628/mcohen3/AYearOnChestnutHill22_zps773a214c.jpg
HTML http://i1255.photobucket.com/albums/hh628/mcohen3/chenuthill1_zpsa098b0fa.jpg
(That lovely place that Goddard fellow calls home)
Summary:
Maggie Flannery finds herself in a bit of a rut after her
boyfriend, the one and only Mike Caffee up and leaves her for
another woman. Having fallen on hard times she asks her
childhood friend for a favor and ends up the chief cook and
bottle washer for one of Boston's hoi polli, one Wendell Wharton
Goddard. A rather moody poet and novelist that has returned to
stake his claim on the Goddard residence after his father's
passing. Tensions rise and they soon find out that perhaps they
share more in common than they first thought.
The Characters:
Wendell Wharton "Wen" Goddard - A rather moody WASP that lives
in the affluent Chestnut Hill neighborhood on Clinton Street.
Having fled New England nearly ten years ago he was called home
to care for his ailing father the late Richard Goddard. Is prone
to fits of unexplainable rage and often locks himself away in
his bedroom for days on end to write and brood, probably both.
Not much of a housekeeper or a cook he puts word out that he's
in need of a live in maid. A rather finicky eater and a Scorpio
to boot.
Margaret Rose "Maggie" Flannery - Is as calm as Wendell is moody
and is given to humming while she works. Born and raised on
Dorchester Ave she's a bit of a spendthrift and make the best
out of a bad situation and something out of nothing. Has been
known to cry herself to sleep when she thinks no one is
listening. Dreamed of becoming a painter but never quite got
around to it in college, she met Mike Caffee instead. A devout
Irish Catholic Is born under the Virgo sun sign.
Charlotte Anne "Lottie" O'Dowd - A cheery bubbly girl that's
always with a song to sing or a smile to give. Born and raised
on Dorchester Ave, next door neighbor to Maggie and also her
dearest and best friend since their days at St. Anne's over on
Clinton street. Was blessed with a voice so pure that God
himself must shed a tear when he hears it. Works at the local
Filene's and cleans houses on the weekend to make ends meet and
help her lover attain his dream. Has thought about taking a few
writing courses. Is head over heels for a hot shot bartender
that works over at O'Toole's Pub. Is of the Libra kind.
Brian James Flanagan - A showman with a heart of gold and an
easy smile. Also born and raised on Dorchester Ave, three doors
down from Lottie and Maggie. Is currently working full time as a
waiter during the week at the local country club and taking
night courses over at Brown in business management. During the
weekend he's the head bartender down at O'Toole's, a watering
hole for the locals and the college kids that can't afford to go
anywhere else. Makes a mean Bloody Mary and has been known to
recite poems while he juggles bottles to pour your favorite
drink. Is utterly in love with Lottie and is going to marry her
come hell or high water. Is a Cancer but doesn't read much into
his horoscope.
Theme:
HTML http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wfYIMyS_dI
Tagline:
He thought her infuriating and quite common but something about
her felt like home. She thought he was the biggest ass on the
face of the earth but knew he needed her as much as she needed
him. After all, what are two broken people to do?
Summer Playlist:
If You Ever Did Believe - Stevie Nicks
Farewell To Mystic Harbor - David Huntsinger
Irish Heartbeat- Van Morrison
Conway Bay - Judith Owen
Tell The Truth - Jude Cole
Morning Weaves Through Irish Lace - David Huntsinger
Climbing Katahdin - David Huntsinger
Rocky Road - Irish Celtic Music (spotify went vague one me,
sorry!)
Beacon Hill - Sharon Isbin
The Summer Attire:
HTML http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/collection?id=2668207
#Post#: 2706--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Year On Chestnut Hill
DIR By: Wolfy
Date: June 27, 2013, 7:41 am
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I want to adopt this one already and it hasn't even started yet!
I can say, though it makes me feel quite guilty, that I haven't
heard any of those songs before. I do know Only Time, though and
it's a lovely theme for this story. Wendell is definitely
sounding like a bit of a brat but I've no doubt that Maggie will
straighten him out. The ladies clothing.. to die for. I only
wish I looked even half decent in that purple skirt you picked
out for Lottie. Also, very excited to see Brian in this one ;)
can't wait for it to begin!
#Post#: 2709--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Year On Chestnut Hill
DIR By: Maggie Flannery
Date: June 27, 2013, 8:13 pm
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Aww why thank you! Consider it your little bundle of joy my dear
:D Oh don't feel guilty at all! I just picked a few instrumental
pieces and a smattering of mood music. I believe the one Stevie
Nicks song is from Practical Magic but don't quote me. I've lost
my copy of the soundtrack :( You're quite right, Wendell is
going to prove to be quite the brat and Lottie's going to have
to put him in his place :) Oh why thank you, I'm so glad you
like them! Oh I'm sure you could :) Brian's going to be a bit of
a spitfire in this one. :) I didn't intend to make Mike so mean
in this but I had to, please forgive me :0
Boston Massachusetts, June 1st
It was a day like any other, the bright early summer sun was
rippling through the leaves of the small maples that lined the
Common. The sky was a crisp vibrant blue and there was no sign
of rain in sight. The neighborhood kids were out of school for
the summer officially and loitered in the street playing all
those games that seemed ever present in childhood. Hopscotch
throwing stones clicked across the pavement and young voices let
out laughs of glee over Miss Mary Mack. I'd spent the better
part of the day cleaning the tiny apartment on Dorchester Avenue
that I shared with the one and only Mike Caffee, a hard working
blue collar man that was as Irish as the night was dark. I'd
finally been able to pry open all the window's and give the
place a nice airing out and finished scrubbing the floors down.
The place we had wasn't much, furnished with second hand
furniture but it was ours. We had each other and that was
enough, or so I'd thought. I suppose it was only a matter of
time before we officially settled into life like our parents
before us had and tied the knot down at St. Andrew's church and
ended up having a reception down at O’Toole's Pub. I glanced
over at the ever ticking clock on the wall and noticed that he
was officially an hour late. He never usually ran this late
without calling me but I assumed he'd taken a second roofing job
or was helping Freddie or something.. I didn't have a second
thought until I heard a car pull up. I could have sworn he'd
walked to work, oh well maybe Tommy Fitzgerald gave him a lift
home. I went back to dusting the coffee table and the book
shelves. The smell of summer's sweet breeze and the scent of a
clean home surrounded me as Mike came ambling up the creaking
steps to our second floor apartment. There was no sound of his
usual whistling of Raglan Road, maybe he had something on his
mind.
"You wait here, I'll be out in five, babe."
Babe? Who the hell is he calling babe and who is he talking to
out there?
I thought to myself as I stopped dusting. Just as the door
opened I noticed Mike's face change from it's usual easy sunny
smile to something much more stoic.
"Why the long face?"
I asked as Mike moved without a word into the bedroom we shared
for the past seven years and went about packing up his clothes
and various things.
"What's going on, Michael?"
I asked as I moved in behind him and watched him pack up and
refold some of his shirts and pants trying to make the most room
in his suitcase, the Samsonite I'd given him just a year before
as a Christmas gift, along with an Aran sweater from my Aunt Peg
over in County Clare. My chest was starting to tighten, the room
was still spinning as the air left my lungs.
"We've been lying to ourselves, Margaret. These last two years I
haven't been happy and you knew it."
This was the man that just this morning told me that he loved me
and gave me a kiss on the cheek before we went our separate
ways, I to help my mother clean the local Greensboro Trust and
Loan, and he to his roofing job with Bobby McGuire and Freddie
Cork. Nothing was amiss or odd in his manner and now he was
coming home and packing up. Needless to say I was knocked
sideways and my world was reeling.
"Don't give me that look. Not that I'm so pitiful I need you to
stay look, it's not going to work. If you couldn't see how
unhappy I was then that's your own damn fault. Kathy's waiting
for me. You can keep the furniture, I just needed my clothes.
Oh, and I've taken my share from the checking and savings. You
can keep the rest and close the account. I'll leave the bank
book on the table with the new balance along with my key."
Without another word Michael James Caffee was gone from my life
like a plume of smoke on the wind. I stood there, in the bedroom
staring at the light blue comforter that was spread across the
bed as my world crumbled at my feet. Finally I spoke, to an
empty room. It was a searching, strangled weak question. It was
as if a complete stranger was asking it instead of myself.
"Who's Kathy?"
As soon as those two words left my mouth I crumpled into a heap
right there on the floor and sobbed myself into a stupor. I
didn't even realize that Mike had been so unhappy. Was I really
that pathetic as he'd said I was?
Well, lets see here. You're sobbing to yourself in the middle of
the bedroom floor in an empty apartment. He's gone and you're
still here. Maybe you really are dense.
A little venomous voice said to me in the dark whirling depths
of my mind. Tears welled up into my eyes again as I moved myself
out of the bedroom and into the living room and plopped down on
the couch. I ended up missing it completely and smacked my back
off the edge as I slid down onto the floor once again and sobbed
my eyes out. I'd have a nice mark tomorrow morning but that
pain along my back didn't hurt nearly half as much as the earth
shattering pain in my chest. I couldn't form a coherent thought
except for Mike being gone. I'd never even seen that he was
unhappy. It just came upon me like a wave. A giant rolling tidal
wave that swept me off my feet and left me floundering. I slowly
slipped into the exhausted state that happens so often after a
person's had a good long sobbing fit. The rest of the day had
slipped away and it was now well into the dusky portion of night
and then it was light again. I couldn't make heads or tails of
anything anymore, just sitting there on the floor of the
apartment sobbing or crawling to the bathroom to vomit. Back and
forth I went like some sort of person in a trance. There was a
knock at the door, then another, then a third. Voices were heard
and then the door was opened by the landlord.
"Magz, what the hell are you doing sitting here in the dark?
Sweetie...you okay? Brian and I haven't heard from you in three
days."
It was Lottie O'Dowd, my best friend since our Kindergarten days
down at St. Anne's on Clifton street.
The lights were switched on and I was nearly blinded. My head
felt heavy and spots appeared before my eyes. There stood Lottie
and Brian, along with Mr. Wallace the elderly landlord. I roamed
their faces totally unsure of what to say. I was sure I looked
a fright. My eyes were certainly bloodshot. To be completely
honest I thought I'd end up throwing up if I even opened my
mouth. I drew in a shaky breath and then managed to choke out a
sentence.
"Mike...llleft me. He came home Monday and was talking to
someone out in the hall. He came in didn't even look me in the
eye and packed his suitcase and...and...just...left. He said it
was my own damn fault if I didn't see that he was unhappy..."
I ended up sobbing all over again as Lottie sat down next to me
and wrapped her arms around me as I sobbed.
"If I find him I swear to God I'll kill him, Lottie. I really
will."
Brian said as he paced the apartment and stopped in the
kitchenette and looked down at the kitchen table.
"He's a dead man. What kind of jerk up and leaves a woman that
over the moon about him after seven years? Oh my good lord,
Lottie c'mere and look at this."
Lottie smoothed my hair and left me in the unsure hands of Mr.
Wallace the elderly Scotsman that had always been like a second
father to us.
"There there lass, you're going to be just fine."
"He only left her ten bucks?!?"
Lottie shrieked as Mr. Wallace patted my back.
"Ok, maybe fine's a bit of a stretch. But you'll bounce back.."
My once happy and carefree life hit the skids. In two weeks time
I ended up moving back in with my mother who was only one floor
up and full of I told you so's. I was now back in my childhood
bedroom and crammed on a twin bed I had to share with my
mother's dear feline companion Marmalade, a rather tufty chubby
orange tabby with mismatched eyes.
"Well, I don't see why you're crying over a right git like
Michael, Maggie. You're made of much tougher stuff than that.
You'll go out there and find yourself a good job and you'll do
just fine for yourself. You'll see, I have all the faith in you
my dear girl."
This sentiment was repeated nearly every morning for the next
two weeks until I ended up scouring the want ads and classified
section before being turned down for nearly every entry level
job that required a High School diploma and a mere two years
worth of college credits. In a town full of blue collar workers
there simply was no work to be found. Lottie said she knew of a
man, one of well to does that lived over on Chestnut Hill that
needed a live in maid. He was a novelist or something and he was
back int town due to the untimely death of his father or some
such thing. Evidently things were strained between the two of
them and now the son had inherited the old family homestead.
She'd given him my contact information and told me to call him
in about a week. If I got the job I was looking at free room and
board, and about six hundred a week before taxes. At the end of
the year I'd have a nice little nest egg saved up to make a
fresh start, providing that he didn't want to me to stay longer
than a year.
I ended up having to wait until my mother went to her weekly
bridge game only a floor down when I managed to make the call
back to a Mr. Wendell Goddard. As the phone rang my heart
pounded away in my throat. By the fifth ring I'd almost given up
hope when a smooth cool voice came over the line.
"Goddard residence how may I help you?"
I was left floundering for a second until my name and my
business came back to mind. Something about that voice knocked
me for a loop.
"Uh..hello, Mr. Goddard. This is Maggie Flannery, a friend of
mine told me about your looking for live in help. I sent you my
resume and contact information a week ago exactly. I was
wondering if I got the position?"
A slight pause and then the shuffle of papers.
"Ahh, yes, Ms. Flannery, it seems that you were the only one to
actually send me any information about the position. I was told
that you're quite the organizer, that's what I need in my life
right now. Yes, you have the job. I'll expect you here tomorrow
morning at ten sharp. Just make sure that you ring the bell when
you arrive. I also expect that you have the address?"
It was my turn to shuffle papers until I found it.
"225 Boylston Avenue last house on the right, yes?"
"Indeed, Ms. Flannery. Ten, sharp ,please. Goodbye."
The line went dead with a solid click and I was left with my
heart in my throat. I was well on my way to a new and improved
life. Michael Caffee was just a distant memory as I packed my
bags and gave Lottie and Brian a phone call.
"Well, this calls for a celebration then!"
Lottie hooted over the phone and was over to my mother's place
in a flash with a haggard looking Brian in tow.
"Oh Brian, you didn't have to come over if you didn't want too."
I said as I ushered them into the sitting room and got them each
a glass of iced tea. The box fans Ma had going did next to
nothing to drive out the humid air. It merely pushed it around
so that the room felt like a furnace.
"Oh I wanted to so don't even think that, Magz. It's just this
new night course schedule has me all out of whack. A toast to
you then my dear."
Brian held up his glass as Lottie held up hers and grinned.
"To the best damn chief cook and bottle washer in all of Boston.
Hell, in all of New England! May she reign over that kitchen
with an iron fist and still make it to mass on time on Sunday.
May she never run out of recipes or sugar for Soda Bread and may
her bed corners always be crisp. Here's to ya, Maggie. A fresh
start."
"Slainte!"
Lottie and Brian chorused as I felt myself turn beet red. Brian
then retired an hour later back to the apartment Lottie and he
shared bidding us farewell and me good luck.
"So, Goddard told me that I was the only one to actually send in
information. Word of mouth really doesn't spread all that fast
up on that hill does it? By the way, how do you know him?"
I asked as Lottie as I lounged in the sitting room.
"Well, I told him about you the day he was writing up the add. I
met him at the Farmer's market a few weeks ago. He's actually
really very nice once you get past the fast that his family has
more money than God. His father was some sort of well to do
professor over at Yale and his mother was a house wife. It's
just him up in that house so you won't see much of him. It's
probably the easiest job on the face of the earth and hell for
the money he's paying why not? You've earned this, he sounded
enthralled when I told him about you. He said something about
his father having an Irish nanny when he was growing up. At
least we know he likes us Micks, huh?"
I let out a laugh as I poured out a second glass of iced tea for
Lottie.
"I'm going to hold you to that, Lottie. If not you'll be getting
a phone call."
Lottie shook her head as she pulled me in for a hug and sighed.
"I'm going to be lost without you, you know? We've lived next
door to one another our entire lives. I've already told Wendell
that I'll be stopping by for weekly visits and there's not a
damn thing he can do about it."
"What did he say to that?"
"He just told me to bring some Irish Soda bread and he didn't
care."
For some reason I was comforted by that sentiment. I mean, how
much trouble could one grown man be? I was about to find out.
#Post#: 2711--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Year On Chestnut Hill
DIR By: Wolfy
Date: June 28, 2013, 8:09 am
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I am absolutely fuming over what Mike has done to poor Maggie,
how dare he do such a horrible thing! I remember your last fic
featuring Caffee and this just makes me loathe him, aha. You're
really good at making him look like a right git ;) I do hope he
gets his comeuppance sooner rather than later, that is such a
wicked thing to do to somebody. Glad that Lottie and Brian are
there for her, though. And very happy that she's now starting
work! I can't wait to find out what goes on with her boss ;)
#Post#: 2712--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Year On Chestnut Hill
DIR By: Maggie Flannery
Date: June 29, 2013, 9:10 am
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Aww why thank you! Although, I do feel a bit bad at making Mike
the baddie in this one, haha. I don't think I've ever wanted to
actually strangle a fictional character but after I went back
and read what I'd written I wanted to string him up in the worst
possible way. I have to agree, Lottie and Brian are those dear
friends that I think Maggie would be lost without so at least
she's got a support system. Her Ma's quite the character as well
but more about Mrs. Flannery later. So sorry for the info
overload below.
HTML http://www.polyvore.com/maggies_first_day/set?id=87470535<br
/>(Maggie's traveling outfit for a whole whopping eight miles)
HTML http://www.wearysloth.com/Gallery/ActorsF/5771-26787.gif<br
/>(Maggie's dear old Ma)
HTML http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U8S1aXNqW4k
The Following Morning (Dorchester Ave. Apartment 23 A) 7 AM
My mother was both overjoyed and terrified for me. We sat in the
tiny sweltering kitchen each at an end to the table my father
had made many years ago before he'd passed away. My mother, in
her house dress and hair in rollers, her hands clamped around
her china tea cup. Her normally dancing green eyes were red
rimmed and welling up with some fresh tears.
"When I said you were going to go out there and get a good job I
didn't think it'd mean you'd have to actually live with your
employer, Maggie. My Lord, you're the first Flannery to leave
Dorchester since the Flannery family landed here during the
famine. If that WASP Goddard gives you any problems you give him
a piece of your mind and for God's sake don't let him get all
acquainted with you. You're there to clean and cook not be a bed
warmer."
I was in shock, here my own mother thought I was going to be
something more than live in help. I let out a sound snort and
then burst out laughing.
"Ma! I'm just the live in for lands sakes. It's not like I'm
going to end up in bed with the poor man. Where on earth did you
get that idea? Wait...no...no. I don't want to know."
I said as I finished my morning tea and went over to the sink to
rinse my mug out. This would the last time I would be standing
at the sink, looking out at the view of a sliver of The Common
and sighed.
"You don't have to take that job you know. You can stay and live
here rent free, you could baby sit for the Rafferty family over
on Clifton square. I don't see why you're going all the way up
to that house anyway to work for a man you've never met. He
could be some sort of loony or something."
Now, to look at her you wouldn't think my mother the guilt
tripping kind of person but oh quite the contrary. Fionnula
Nolan-Flannery, was in fact the crowned queen and patron saint
of the all mighty guilt trip and she was about to lay it on me,
big time. Her mouth perused a bit, then it was sideways glance
down at the ground. A turn toward me with a right sorrowful
sigh. Then bam! That lace hanky came out of nowhere. I always
thought it was superimposed on her somewhere because it was
always ever present. I once thought that when God was making
Irish mothers he always went down a checklist of parts that were
essential. The ability to put the fear of the Holy Trinity
itself into you with a single look. Check. An endless supply of
tears for all occasions. Check. The ability to use said tears at
the drop of a hat. Check. Spend thriftiness that could rival a
hermit. Check. The ability to make a feast out of virtually
nothing but bread, water, and a potato. Check. A lacy
handkerchief for the all mighty guilt trip of her son or
daughter. Check. The ability to mentally guilt trip her child at
any given time by making them envision her disappointed face at
the most inopportune time (Complete with tears and hanky) Check.
"Mother, I need to do this. I need a fresh start, there are too
many ghosts traipsing around Dorchester Ave for me right now.
Besides, he's offering free room and board, six hundred a week
before taxes, and it's not like you'll never see me, I'm only
eight minutes away. I'll stop in and I'll get the chance to call
you."
My mother stiffened at the word call. My mother was from a long
line of spendthrifts, something she'd passed on to me no doubt.
It was something I'd learned to tone down over the years. But my
mother Lord love her, hadn't. She'd been at war with Ma Bell for
the better part of thirty years now. Her and Da's calls home
back to family in Ireland were carefully calculated right down
to the wire. For the longest time as a kid I always thought
every family had a stop watch and call log by their phone.
Lottie and Brian's parents did the same thing but we vowed to
never partake in such a mark of Irishness. Instead, since we
lived so close we just stuck our heads out either the living
room or bedroom window and shouted to one another.
"Call me?! I'm your mother for Pete’s sake, Maggie! You know
darn well that Ma Bell's got it out for me. You'll either visit,
send a letter, or send word with Lottie. I've been meaning to
give you something for your travels. Go on into my bedroom and
go into the top drawer of the cedar chest would you?"
I almost laughed outright at writing a letter when I could
easily just pick up the phone or stop in but Ma was a
traditionalist. Lottie was going to get a kick out of that one.
I dutifully did as I was told and walked down the tiny front
hall past many black and white portraits of long dead ancestors
and other assorted family members, and not to mention the Lord
himself. The Flannery family cedar chest was something of a
coveted family heirloom. My Grandfather, Patrick, had built as a
gift for his wife, My Granny, Rose to celebrate their first year
of marriage and a new start in America. Over the years it held
many precious things. The christening gown made by my thrice
great grandmother Nolan had made before the Famine and both my
mother and I had worn to our christenings. The combined family
bible that chronicled the births and deaths of the Nolan and
Flannery clans, the doilies and bits of fine Irish lace my
Granny Nolan had been skilled at and taught me how to make. My
Father's baby boots and his first baby portrait. My own baby
book and baby photos as well as my graduation and conformation
photos. Lottie and Brian present in both. I knelt in front of
this heavy scented tomb of memories and found something new at
the top, a velvet bag laying on top and brought it back out to
the kitchen to my mother.
"Well, go on, open it."
Ma said as she gave me a small smile and watched me handle the
pouch with great care. Out slipped an intricate looking crystal
quartz rosary.
"Your Great Aunt Peg sent it over, it was your Granny's before
she came over. Been locked away in that trunk for years now. I
thought you could use a bit of family with you, even if you're
only going but eight miles away."
A soft, rare smile crossed my mother's face as I pulled her in
for a hug before going into my room to double check my bags once
more. I double checked the clock on the bedside once I'd
finished the check, my life had been reduced to three suit cases
and a satchel. My mother had been quite adamant that I was to
pack my undergarments and socks in one suitcase separate from my
everyday clothing. Then a third suitcase went to sweaters and
heavier pants. The satchels were a catch all for various things,
newly acquired rosary, books, stationary, excreta. I had taken
the liberty of stopping over to Lottie and Brian's at about
eight but found that both of them were at work so I ended up
slipping a note before going back to say one last goodbye to
dear old Ma before the cab pulled up.
"Now, you remember what I told you, he gets fresh with you give
him a good lashing and come on back home."
Another breath stealing hug was exchanged before I told her I
loved her and not to worry. The poor cab driver nearly got the
patented Fiona Flannery tongue lashing as she critqued his
handling of my bags.
"Ma. Ma. Ma! It's okay, he's just putting them into the trunk.
He's not tossing them around and besides, they're locked tight.
I've got the keys right here."
I said as I tried to diffuse the situation and showed her the
glittering luggage keys that were now around my neck, added to
my crucifix. I steeled myself as I got into the cab and started
my life anew, eight miles away.
A little over eight minutes later, thanks in part to speedy
driving and virtually no traffic, I found myself in front of a
large, sprawling colonial with an immaculate lawn and front
walk.
"Oh, so you're the new maid for the Goddard place. It's a shame
how the old man went, heard his son's back. We'll see how long
it takes for him to crack and go back west. That'll be twenty
even, little lady."
I handed over the fare and told him to keep the change as a tip,
he was genuinely shocked and offered to take my bags up to the
front door for me. I declined and told him to have a lovely day.
I lugged my various suitcases and satchel up the front walk and
clambered up to the door and glanced down at my watch. I was ten
minutes early, now what? Well, I suppose Ma was right, it was
always good to be early rather than late. My heart was already
in my throat again, just as it had been when I'd spoken to Mr.
Goddard over the phone the previous day. I said a silent prayer
as I spied the doorbell and gave it a push, nothing happened. So
I pressed a bit harder, still nothing. Perhaps it was a silent
doorbell? Well, the third time was the charm and I gave it a
good press and with a quick whiff of ozone and a crackle I was
given quite the jolt from a rather nasty charge set off by the
bell. Thankfully, my screams of pain and surprise ( and not to
mention a few not so Catholic words) were covered by the first
few notes of Beethoven's Fur Elise as it rang throughout the
house. The door flew open and I was struck under a barrage of
seething insults.
"What in God's name do you think you're doing?!? Or don't you
think at all? You look the dense type. I'm a very busy man what
in the hell do you want, lady?"
A lanky sandy haired man clad in a worn pair of jeans and an old
faded blue Yale t-shirt snapped at me.
"Yes, Mr. Goddard, I'm very capable of thought, rest assured.
I'm sorry to have disturbed you but you stated over the phone
yesterday when we spoke that you wished me to be here at ten
sharp."
That's what I would have said hadn't I been so rightly ticked at
being called dense. Now, here's how it really went down.
"Who the hell are you calling dense you pompous snot? You hired
me for the live in position."
I held up my hand as I checked my watch as it ticked right at
ten on the dot. I'd noticed that he'd flinched a bit. Surly he
didn't expect me to hit him?
"And here I am. I'm Margaret Rose Flannery, your new live in.
Please, if you'll call me Maggie, being referred to as Ms.
Flannery makes me feel so...old, sir."
I held out my hand and gave him a smile which seemed to unnerve
him a bit. To his credit he shook my hand and showed me into the
front hall. The place was certainly something, solid mahogany
paneling complete with hand tooled entry ways and a veritable
treasure trove of antique furniture. Good grief this was going
to be fun to dust and the looks of it it was going to be a two
day project.
Please tell me he's got Lemon Glo somewhere around here.
I thought to myself as I hauled my bags in and set them down for
a moment on the rather faded looking Oriental rug. I was already
mapping out where to start cleaning as Mr. Goddard merely stared
at me, almost appraising me.
"Please, uh, call me Wendell. Mr. Goddard was my father and Sir
just isn't me. I imagined you to be much older. What with the
name like Margaret Rose. I suppose you were named after
someone?"
I nodded as I was I studied my new employer. He was much younger
than I'd initially pictured him. Perhaps twenty-eight if not
thirty. About five nine, strong shoulders, very nice face with
well sculpted features and eyes that were a mix of both blue and
green. Sandy colored uncombed hair gave him a bit of a studious
scholar type of appeal. I also noticed a boyish smile playing at
his lips, ahh, a mischief maker. If I didn't know any better I'd
have told you that he looked like the human equivalent of Tramp
from that Disney film.
"It's a combination of my Grandmothers first names. Is Wendell a
family name by any chance?"
Wendell seemed almost shocked that I was interested in knowing a
bit about him and stammered for a second, shifting from foot to
foot.
"Yes, it was my great grandfather's name on my mother's side.
Now, if you'll follow me I'll show you to your kitchen and up to
your room. You'll have to forgive the state of the house. It
hasn't had a proper cleaning since well before Richard kicked
it. I'm not much of a cook so the kitchen's not that horrible
but it could use a little elbow grease."
I followed quietly behind and nearly fainted dead away at the
sight of such a large kitchen. Granted, it was a little dusty,
much like everything else in the house but it wasn't that bad.
Although I could tell the floor needed a good scrubbing and the
spice rack among other things a good dusting.
"I'd like you to know that I work from home and I have a bit of
an odd schedule. I write when the muse is at it's peak. I can
either be found in my room at the top of the second floor
landing, it's the first door on the left , the study that's here
on the ground floor, third door on the right of the front door,
or in Richard's old study on the third floor, it's the second
door to the right."
We'd retraced our steps and were back into the large front hall
by my mismatched luggage set. I was somewhat self conscious now
and half wishing I'd staked claim to the Samsonite luggage that
I'd been so foolish to give Mike. Here I stood before this
obviously well bred man looking like a bit of a sad sack. I was
clad in my best church clothes, a twill skirt, white shirt, Mary
Jane's, and a blue summer cardigan. Maybe I should have taken
Ma's advice and worn the longer dress I'd worn to Da's funeral.
It was a simple black shift, perhaps that would have made a
better impression.
"Well, come along, I'll show you to your room then. I hope you
don't mind but you're all the way up on the fourth floor. Before
he passed, the lovely Richard had most of the rooms converted
into storage and I'm still going through half of the crap in the
boxes. I've only made it half way through the second room on the
second floor but once I clear everything out I'll let you have
your pick since it's just the two of us here. Oh, I'm not sure
if I told you this over the phone but I've given you Fridays off
so you'll have a long weekend. You'll have the house to yourself
then, I usually go up to the house in New Haven to visit a few
friends from college. My mother's car is at your disposal,
Charlotte's told me that you're a very careful driver, so I'll
take her word."
We'd made it up half way the third floor stairwell when we
stopped for a moment to catch our breath, or rather Wendell did.
Now it was my turn to ask a few questions.
"So, I've got to ask is there any particular room you don't want
me in? Anything you won't eat? Any one way that you want the
beds made? I know sometimes people are particular about those
kinds of things."
I thought back to how Mike would throw a fit if the bed wasn't
made with "hospital corners" or how he wouldn't even touch green
beans, mushrooms, or anything made with pepper. I still had a
bit of numbness in the side of my face where he'd smacked me
last year after I'd accidentally put a sprinkling of pepper onto
his fried eggs one morning. I shivered at that particular
memory. Thankfully Wendell's voice brought me out of that
hellish revery.
"Well, there's my study on the ground floor. I spend a vast
majority of my time there so please don't go in there. Anywhere
else in the house is fair game for cleaning or otherwise.
Charlotte told me that you were quite the bookworm, my mother's
private library might hold some interest for you, I'll give you
the keys this evening over dinner. As for my aversions to
different foods go, I'm not a fan of shellfish I'm sorry to
say, I once got a very bad case of food poisoning from clam
chowder that had gone a bit off. I also cannot stand creamed
corn, cottage cheese, avocado, Harvard beets, or anything made
with brie cheese. It must be a texture issue. I do however enjoy
fish from time to time. I usually take a dinner break at about
five each evening so please try to have dinner prepared around
then. I wasn't aware that a person could be particular as to how
their bed is made, that's quite odd indeed. I hope you don't
mind me using that in one of my short stories sometime."
Given how odd Mike was over the time that I'd known him I could
give Wendell enough oddness to fill a phone book. We'd finally
made it to what was at one time the servants quarters.
"I'm sorry to inform you that you'll have to go down a floor for
the bathroom, it's in my mother's old room. It seems that
Richard wasn't one for maintenance and upkeep with the pipes so
that's the closest one that works. I've left you some fresh
sheets and towels at the foot of your bed. Now, if you'll excuse
me I've got some writing to do, I'm sure you'll want to settle
in."
With that he pointed me toward one of the larger rooms and left
me on my own to take in the view. It was a lovely little sunny
room with a view of the back yard and garden. An ivy sprig
border had been put up many years before and had faded a bit
give the room a lovely charm to it. A writing desk was in one
corner next to a bookshelf with a few editions of old poetry by
the month sat collecting dust. In the opposite corner right
under the sloping roof sat an inviting old full size bed with a
fresh bed linens and towels. A dresser was next to it against
the one wall and atop sat a tarnished vanity set with a few
pieces of Belleek china, mostly figurines like the ones my
Granny Flannery had, the place was feeling a bit more like home
as each moment passed. I quickly changed out of my good clothes
and into an old Red Sox t-shirt and jeans after a bit of digging
I finally found my oldest pair of tennis shoes I usually wore
when I was cleaning. I had some major cleaning to do in the
kitchen, not to mention an inventory to take of the cabinets and
fridge. I hadn't even bothered to take a look at the dining room
which must have been off from the kitchen. My unpacking and
settling could wait until later on tonight.
#Post#: 2713--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Year On Chestnut Hill
DIR By: Maggie Flannery
Date: June 29, 2013, 9:17 am
---------------------------------------------------------
(Update continued: sorry it's a bit short)
Two hours and many passes with a mop and a good scrub brush
later the kitchen's tiled floor was back to it's former glory.
I'd poked around the fridge to find a hunk of cheese, probably
cheddar, some lunch meat, a few carrots, some celery, a few
onions and potatoes, and some stew beef along with eggs and
milk. After a closer look in the cabinets it was apparent that
Wendell wasn't one to shop for himself. I was sure I could come
up with something, I'd done more with less in my time so this
wasn't going to be a problem. I checked my watch and found that
it was only a little after twelve. I hadn't asked him if he'd
eaten breakfast, perhaps he had. Either way I'd make him a
sandwich that way if he was hungry he'd have something to tide
him over until dinner. I slapped together a sandwich with the
cold cuts, a bit of the cheese and the last of the bread and
left it in the fridge with a note held under one of the various
fruit magnets. I scoured the sink and the range before going
about organizing the spice rack and clearing out the butler's
pantry of dust and cobwebs. I then turned my attentions to
dinner prep, which took all of maybe ten minutes and then went
off in search of another bottle of Lemon Glo and some dust rags
so I could start working in the front entryway. It only took me
about four passes with nearly every dust rag in the house but
the entryway was now shined up quite nicely and by the time I'd
started on the baseboards it was already ten after four. That
stew was probably still bubbling away but it still had an hour
to go before it was even as remotely as palatable as my
mother's.
"What is that tune you're humming?"
Came from behind me and I shot up from beneath the solid cherry
table I'd been under to clean the baseboards. I smacked the back
of my head on the underside with a solid thunk and let out a
yelp of pain.
"I wasn't humming."
I muttered as I got to my feet still a bit dazed and seeing
spots.
"You were. You've been humming that same song for the past four
hours, it's nice but it's repetitive. Some folk song perhaps?"
I didn't quite like Wendell's tone but I decided to let it
slide.
"I didn't realize I was humming, I'm sorry. Hum it back and I
can probably tell you what it was."
Wendell hummed it back to me and then gave me a peculiar look as
I felt the blood drain from my face.
I was humming Raglan Road. Had I hummed it all along back home
too? My stomach flopped a bit as I mumbled about going in to
check dinner.
"You didn't tell me the name of that song though. I've got to
know it's all I've heard for the past four hours."
I rolled my eyes as he followed me into the kitchen and hoisted
himself up onto the butcher's block I'd just scrubbed down a few
hours ago.
"It's a song called Raglan Road, rest assured you won't be
hearing it anymore around this place. I hope you like stew for
dinner. Now, kindly get down from the block. Tables are for
glasses, not asses."
Wendell gave me that boyish smile with a gleam in his eye as he
got down and seated him at the tiny oaken breakfast table.
"Only if you'll do me the pleasure of sharing a table with me. I
hate eating alone, makes me think of my childhood. I've got to
hand it to you, you're not afraid to put your back into it. I'll
have to thank Charlotte for recommending you."
I busied myself getting bowls down from the cabinet only to find
that I couldn't reach them without help.
"If you'd be more comfortable moving things around you do have
my permission to. You have to live here too, you know."
Wendell said as he watched my climb up onto the counter and
didn't offer to help me.
"Well thank you, Wendell. I might just do that and yes, I'll be
joining you for dinner, thank you for the invite."
An hour later we sat down at a rather massive looking table that
could have easily seated six to eight people comfortably. I
looked around the room to find that it looked tired. The huge
bay windows encased in lace curtains looked about ready to fall
apart from dry rot, the windows needed a good cleaning and I
spied a highboy over along the far wall that no doubt held
tarnished silver. A rainy day project if ever there was one.
"So, Maggie, tell me about yourself and please tell me more
about that song, would you?"
Wendell asked as sat at opposite ends of the table from one
another. The only sounds in the house were the quiet creaks and
groans that many old homes had, and the ticking of the newly
polished and wound Grandfather clock out in the hallway.
Something from the look on his face told me he knew more than he
was letting on. Perhaps I was being paranoid but I couldn't
stand being strung along.
"Only if you tell me about yourself, Wendell. It's only fair."
Without missing a beat Wendell took a rather proper sip of water
from the cut crystal glass I'd set out and gave me a small
polite grin that concealed something I couldn't put my finger on
just yet.
"Oh my dear girl, nothing in life is ever fair. Remember that."
"Oh trust me, I was born believing it, Wendell. Now, if you'll
excuse me I'd like to clear the table and turn in for the night.
Is there anything else you'll be needing?"
I shot back I as I got up to start gathering the dirty china
from the table. Wendell sat there looking at me with a wolf like
grin.
"Perhaps company in my bed would be nice but I'm afraid I'd be
imposing upon you, given your present situation. Contrary to
popular belief word does travel fast up here my dear."
#Post#: 2714--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Year On Chestnut Hill
DIR By: Wolfy
Date: June 29, 2013, 3:29 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Eep.. I don't quite know where to begin with this review..
pretty much blown away over here. I adore how you describe every
last detail and how it's so very well worded. As you often tell
me, I actually felt as though I was right there in his house,
with your descriptions of the interior. I love that very much :)
also not sure where to place my thoughts on Wendell.. he seems
to be a little devil and more than a bit cheeky. Maggie's
mother, god bless her! I don't know if I could ever cope with
comments like that, it'd make me pretty uneasy. Glad to see that
Maggie's actually telling her what for though ;) can't wait to
find out what happens the following morning :D
#Post#: 2721--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Year On Chestnut Hill
DIR By: Maggie Flannery
Date: July 16, 2013, 11:36 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Wendell's still hanging around, bless him and treating me quite
well. Still working on this bit by bit. I do hope you enjoy! :)
The Following Morning
I had settled in quite nicely to my new bedroom, although the
creaks and groans of the house were something to get used to.
Out here it certainly was quiet. I was used to the bustle of the
streets and loud shouts just outside my window. This lovely old
neighborhood certainly was something. Half the street was gone
for the summer holiday, with the exception of Wendell, myself,
and the Winthrop’s, an elderly housebound couple from across the
street. It was a little past seven the previous evening when I
was finally able to clean up my bedroom and well past nine when
I slipped beneath the quilt Ma had sent me off with.
"To remind you of me while you're there. I washed it yesterday
so it'll still smell of home."
She'd said as she carefully folded the Star Burst patterned
quilt with it's varying shades of green and blue and tucked it
on the bottom of my sweater suitcase so it wouldn't be
disturbed. Ma always took great pains when it came to the
laundry and was a staunch believer in the washing of sheets and
blankets once a week with her own homemade laundry detergent. (
It was just a mixture of Borax, Washing Soda, and finely ground
Lux bar soap.) Over the years those ingredients had become
almost impossible to find so she switched to Purex detergent and
that was the end of it. Every now and then I can still catch a
whiff of it somewhere or somehow and all those happy memories of
helping Ma on laundry day came back.
So, here I lay wrapped up in the warm cocoon that is the quilt
and all but broil myself. You'd think after living almost all
twenty-five years of my life on the third floor of an apartment
building I would know that heat rises. Sadly, it wasn't so and I
ended up having to grab my bathrobe, towel, and toiletry bag and
headed down a floor to take my morning shower. The forecast had
said something about humid weather rolling in because of a small
storm coming inland. Nothing major, just rain, a bit of thunder,
high wind. We'd seen it all before and nothing too horrid ever
happened. It was extremely odd to have utter peace and quiet, I
was almost unnerved as I came down to the third floor landing
and walked past all those empty rooms. Ma always used to say
that these old homes were rife with ghosts. Given the fact that
it was barely after five in the morning and the windows were so
dirty they let in very little light I was a touch unnerved. It
seemed as I walked down the never ending hallway there were too
many shadows for my liking.
Just let me take my shower and get back to my room in peace and
I swear I'll let the ghosts of past Goddards rest in peace.
I thought to myself as I came to Wendell's mother's room and
ended up having to go all the way across her expansive suite to
get into the bathroom. I had to say that this room was certainly
a surprise. It was quite nicely decorated in pale pinks and
dusty rose with a touch of cream for contrast. Wendell's mother
seemed very fond of chintz fabrics and lace ruffles, those
touches made this room oddly welcoming. The late Mrs. Goddard
certainly had a refined taste, it was almost rococo or baroque
in design. A massive carved four post bed was set up in the
middle of the room in between two large picture windows that
overlooked the right side the backyard, I'd imagine when the
windows were properly cleaned and the room itself had a good
scrub down it would be even more magnificent. My jaw dropped
when I finally made it into the adjoining bathroom.
"Saints preserve us, my entire apartment could fit in here."
I muttered aloud as I shut the door and went about marveling at
the soft cream and gold decor that was throughout the bathroom.
I was amazed that this place even had marble flooring and very
deep claw foot tub below two heavily frosted windows and a glass
encased walk in shower on the opposite side of the vast marble
countered sink. I made a mental note of picking up some bubble
bath and giving that tub a whirl later on in the week. I ended
up rummaging through my toiletry kit to find that Ma had slipped
in one of her best guest soaps, a bar of Yardley's Lavender and
I smiled. Ma was always thinking of me, even if she had a
tendency to overstep her bounds from time to time. I figured
Wendell wasn't even awake yet so I gave myself a thorough scrub
down and stepped out of the shower renewed and ready to take on
the day. I dried myself and wrapped up in my worn cotton robe
before meandering into the bedroom to get a good look around. I
was starting to wonder why Wendell's father hadn't bothered to
have someone come in and clean but I suppose some things just
slip your mind when you've got a house this size. I walked past
a very well nicely carved marble topped ladies vanity table and
noticed that there were photographs in rather ornate silver
frames sitting amidst various decanted bottles of perfume, pots
of cold cream and lotion, and various monogrammed cases probably
containing Mrs. Goddard's lipsticks of choice. In these photos
stood a woman dressed in ruffles and bows of the softest hues
holding a very pudgy and obscenely happy fair haired infant with
big blue eyes, rosy cheeks and a cherubs halo of baby curls. I
noticed that these photos went in something of a chronological
order. Wendell and his mother through Wendell's infancy, toddler
years, childhood, and what must have been high school and well
into college. It seemed that his mother was fading more and more
with each photograph as time went on until finally it was just
Wendell dressed in his cap and gown holding his Masters from
Yale with a rather sullen look etched into his face. I was
overcome with this sudden feeling of sadness until it was almost
unbearable.
What happened to you? To your family?
I wondered as I gently set down the photograph I was holding and
collected my things from the vanity seat and went back up to my
room to change for the day. I gathered my still damp hair into a
loose braid and changed into a pair of jean shorts and an old
tank top before padding downstairs barefoot to start the day. I
still wasn't sure when Wendell would be gracing me with his
first appearance of the morning so I made a fresh pot of coffee
and rummaged through the cupboard under the sink and found my
dwindling cleaning supplies and picked up where I left off
yesterday. Once I'd finished in the rest of the entryway I moved
into the living room, a rather cozy room with wall to wall built
in shelves and two antique couches that had a well loved quality
about them. An older Zenith television stood to the side of one
wall. Across the other end of the room was a rather large red
brick fireplace with a portrait of some ancient ancestor. It was
nice to know that my family wasn't the only one that kept photos
of long dead relations around the house. I had to give the
Goddard family credit though, instead of saving up their meager
pennies for a slipshod grainy brown and white photo they went
all out and commissioned a work of art in oil. I switched on the
television only to find snow coming in. Well, so much for the
morning news. I spied a rather nice looking stereo step up and
switched it on, turning it on low so as to not disturb Wendell
who must have been upstairs still asleep. Handel's Water Music
Suite quietly played while I went about my dusting and tidying
and came across many a missing sock and t shirt strewn about the
living room, not to mention the stash of stale Cheetos that were
tucked into the farthest corner of one of the couches. I sighed
as I collected what was there and carried it off to the laundry
room that was off from the butler's pantry. As I came out and
crossed into the kitchen I heard the stairs creak as a weight
shifted upon them. I grabbed a frying pan from the pot and pan
rack above the butcher's block and grabbed the eggs from the
fridge. He may not have eaten breakfast yesterday but by damn
today he was going to if it killed me. He'd hired me to look
after the house and I counted him as part of it and my duty.
"Good morning, Star shine. Take a seat and I'll get your coffee
for you how do you like your eggs?"
Wendell looked a little startled and not to mention sleep addled
as he came stumbling into the kitchen wearing the same clothes
from yesterday, something told me he'd fallen asleep in them.
His hair was standing on end and he looked like a man that had
just been fried within and inch of his life. I was half tempted
to ask him if he'd been outside to test the doorbell but thought
better of it. He stifled a yawn and I smiled as I poured him a
cup of fresh coffee.
"Oh...uh scrambled if you don't mind. I'm certainly not used to
having the smell of coffee wafting through the house or anyone
making me breakfast.."
Wendell muttered as I set down his coffee and went to get him
the sugar bowl and creamer before starting on his breakfast.
"Well, I do hope you'll start. You've hired me to organize and
look after the place and that job also includes looking after
you, you know."
I said as I cracked the remaining eggs from the cardboard carton
into the pan and felt him looking at me.
"You know you don't have to bend over backward for me, Maggie."
I hurriedly scraped the spatula back and forth watching the eggs
congeal and I sighed.
"I'm doing my job, Wendell. Do you take salt and pepper or no?"
"I know you are but it's going to take some time for me to
adjust to having another person in the house. Since Richard
kicked it I've shut myself out from the world for a bit. Yes, I
take both."
I wonder why he shut himself off from the world like that? Surly
he had someone he could turn to, friends, girlfriend, cousins.
But one look into those eyes told me he didn't. My heart nearly
broke for him, I say nearly because for some reason I had a
feeling he knew more about me than I'd planned to share with
him. I wasn't sure how he'd found out but it was driving me
crazy.
"I take it that you slept well last night?"
Wendell asked as he sipped his coffee and I plated up his
breakfast and set it down in front of him before sitting down
across from him with a pad and pen in front of me to take down a
grocery list.
"I did indeed, thank you. The room's lovely."
I jotted down what was needed and I stopped, I felt as if I were
being watched. I glanced up and sure enough, Wendell was looking
at with a small devilish smile playing at his lips.
"Is there something you need?"
I asked as I jotted down a note to pick up more cleaning
supplies and detergent. Wendell merely titled his head to the
right as he all but studied me.
"You still haven't told me about yourself, Maggie."
"There's not much to tell, Wendell."
"Well, surely there is. You're young and quite fetching and yet
one has to wonder why you'd take a job as a live in domestic
away from everything she's ever known. I can look into your eyes
and see that something's boiling underneath. Anger, sadness,
regret, loneliness. You my dear, Miss Flannery, are well on your
way to becoming a bitter jaded woman and you're only 24. So,
tell me, what's the name of your reason that brought you into my
home?"
I set down the pen and looked him squarely in the eye, something
Ma would have been proud of. I could just hear her rousing me
on.
"You, Mr. Goddard may wonder all you like. I never plan on
speaking of my reason, to you or anyone else, for that matter.
While we're on the subject of looking into a person's eyes would
you like to know what I see when I look into yours?"
Wendell's smirk widened and his eyes gleamed a bit, those wheels
and cogs that composed his writer's mind were surely turning by
now.
"Your unborn children?"
My face colored at the absurdity of his statement and I faltered
for a split second. The cheeky smirk was firmly in place and it
was much too early to be playing these kinds of games.
"What?! No! I see a lonely man who's running from his past
because he's tormented by it. He's not sure which way to turn
because for the first time in his life he's alone and he hates
it. He covers his loneliness and isolation with flirts and
daring questions."
I sat back and studied him for a moment, for a split second
there was a bit of a staring contest going on between the two of
us.
"So her scathing wit and agile mind shine through. You're
correct, Maggie. But at least I can talk about my skeletons.
Whomever did you wrong certainly cut you to the bone. If I were
him I never would have let you go."
"If you were him you'd be even more miserable than you already
are and half crazy to boot. Now, can we please change the topic?
Old wounds don't need to be reopened."
"I'd probably only be marginally crazier than I already am but
at the very least I'd have you to help me find my sanity."
"His sanity couldn't be found with me, that's why he went to her
instead."
Wendell's face turned serious as he leaned in.
"Ooh, so there's a her.."
"Yes, there's a her and you won't know anything more about the
subject. I'm going to the market I shouldn't be gone long."
I pushed myself away from the table and walked out of the
kitchen shopping list in hand and out to the front entryway
grabbed the keys to the car and the envelope that had been
placed next to them the night before and out the front door. By
the time I got out to the car I came to the startling
realization that I'd all but forgotten my purse. I was still
seething as I prepared to get out and go back in when the
passenger side door swung open and Wendell plopped down in
holding my purse with that smirk I so desperately wanted to slap
off his face.
"You forgot this. What the hell do you carry in here anyway?
It's like ten pounds of rocks in here."
I calmly took my worn leather bag and heaved it into the
backseat before starting the car again. I expected him to get
out and go back into the house but he didn't. He merely gave me
a grin and a pat on the hand, little did he know that that
simple touch felt like a shock.
"Well, are we going to just sit here or are we going to go? I
saw that chore schedule you put up for yourself on the fridge
last night and I must say you pack your days."
I looked over at him eyebrows raised and then nodded to his seat
belt.
"Well, I try. Now, seat belt please or we're not going
anywhere."
"Good grief, you're no fun at all. I thought you Irish were
supposed to be thrill seekers."
"Only the ones with a death wish, Wendell. Now, since I told you
about myself it's your turn."
"You only told me key factors about yourself. I wanted the
really nitty gritty stuff."
I managed to cut him off mid sentence.
"Favorite color? Favorite food? Favorite poet or novelist."
I said as I put the car into the reverse and back out of the
driveway biting back the urge to laugh at Wendell's grumblings
of how I was being unfair.
"Green. I'm quite fond of a good Stilton and pear crostini.
Berryman and Hawthorne are my go to fellows when I'm reading for
pleasure. How about you?"
"Blue and Green, I never could decide. If I had to pick a
favorite food I'd have to go with my mother's cherry turn overs.
I love Oliver Homes and Ralph Waldo Emerson."
"I would have thought you were an F. Scott Fitzgerald and Dylan
Thomas fan. Hmm, you're just full of surprises aren't you?"
"Oh clam up, Wendell."
#Post#: 2722--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Year On Chestnut Hill
DIR By: Maggie Flannery
Date: July 16, 2013, 11:39 am
---------------------------------------------------------
*continued*
After a twenty minute drive to the nearest supermarket, which
happened to be one I knew very very well from living down in
what was called Little Ireland Wendell was stuck to me like glue
and reading the list over my shoulder. I reached for a box of
tea and he let out a snort.
"I wouldn't peg you as a tea drinker, Maggie. Perhaps a coffee
drinker but never tea. First no Irish writers or poets and now
tea? My my, Miss Flannery if I didn't know any better you could
be a WASP."
I threw the box of tea into the cart and shot Wendell a deadly
look.
"Remember that I handle your food. Alright, now on to...could
you back up a bit?"
Wendell's chin had found a resting spot on my shoulder as he
stooped over behind me, his hands resting lightly on my hips. My
face colored brightly as one of the regulars came around the
corner of the aisle and all but stared at us. It was Deidre
Cork, Freddie's wife and she gave me a grin.
"Hello there, Maggie. I see you bounce back quick, he ain't
Irish but he's a right looker. Whatever will Mike say?"
I set my jaw and stared her down as she pushed her cart up along
us and continued to gawk.
"You can tell Michael Caffee to go to hell, Deidre. Right along
with his two bit slag Cathy. Oh, that's right she's your sister.
Must be a family thing? Have a good one."
Deidre stood there staring, shell shocked with her mouth hanging
slightly open giving her the look of a dying fish. Wendell gave
her a curt nod and followed right behind me trying not to laugh.
"My, you do have a feisty temper on you, don't you? Now where
off to?"
I glanced down at the list and sighed.
"Produce and then to the meat department. I'm sorry about that
back there, it was rather uncalled for but I had to say it. I
inherited it from my Ma...Mother."
I blushed again at my stronger accent coming through in front of
Wendell. I had been raised in a working class environment and
had struggled to lose that damn a's for r's thing I'd been
blessed with straight out of the womb.
"So the lady's true accent appears!"
Wendell crowed as we circled around to the meat counter. It must
have been a make Maggie run into virtually everyone she knows
day because I saw the familiar face of Bobby Riley behind the
counter as he gave me a grin before giving Wendell a look that
wasn't short of a glower. I cleared my throat and looked at
Bobby with challenging look, daring him to say a word. I'm sure
Ma had told him all about my new employer, but perhaps she
hadn't quite told him that it was strictly a work based
relationship. Ahh, Ma and her best intentions struck again.
"Hey there stranger! Long time no see, what can I get you?"
Bobby's mask of charm was back into place and I gave him a false
smile right back.
"How are the steak's looking? If they're fresh I'll take two,
two pounds of hamburger, and some of that lamb mince."
Bobby gave me a cheery nod as Wendell stood watching us. I could
tell by the look on his face that he'd either never shopped very
much or the wheels and cogs in his creative mind were turning.
Bobby gave me a grin as he grabbed two steaks and held them up
for my appraisal. I nodded for him to wrap them up and then move
on to the lamb mince and ground beef.
"So, I hear Mike left ya, listen I'm really sorry, Maggie.
Nobody knew, honest."
Bobby said as he wrapped the steaks and moved on to the mince. I
let out a sigh as Wendell looked oddly uncomfortable. I gave him
a reassuring look as Bobby's back was turned to us as he went to
tear off two more sheets of butcher's paper.
"Look, it's fine. I just don't want to talk about him, ok? We're
over and I'm starting to accept it. Now, do me a favor Bobby?"
Bobby nodded with a smile.
"Don't you dare put your thumb on that scale or so help me God
I'll come back there and brain you."
Bobby just shook his head and passed the parcels over the
counter to me before turning to Wendell.
"You take good care of this girl here, Sir. She's a keeper,
Michael didn't have a brain in his head but something about you
tells me that you do. Now, go on and have a nice day will ya?"
We ended up circling in silence to the produce department and in
silence. Wendell, being his usual nosey self was first to break
the ice.
"I take it you and that Mike guy were together for a while. At
least I'm not the only one to think he's an idiot. Are you
really over him?"
Wendell asked as he perused the selection of summer fruits and
looked at them scathingly. Nothing seemed to be up to his
standards. I couldn't blame him, half the strawberries had dark
spots and the raspberries looked too soft. My heart raced a
mile a minute and my stomach turned. I was sure I was breaking
out into the a cold sweat as I tried to nod.
"Yeah...every day he becomes more and more of a memory, you
know?"
I asked as I picked up a head of red leaf lettuce and inspected
it before putting it into a plastic produce bag and tossing it
into the cart.
"Indeed I do, Maggie."
We turned toward the check out and made our way up before I sent
Wendell in search of a short list of cleaning products. Five
minutes and six grocery bags later we were sitting in the
parking lot preparing to leave when I had to the urge to ask
Wendell about himself.
"So, tell me what's your bane, Wendell? You know mine was Mike
but you've told me nothing about yours."
Wendell stared down for a moment, examining his sneakers before
finally looking at me for a moment. I think he half expected me
to judge him but once he looked at my face he all but breathed a
sigh of relief.
"Richard Philip Goddard was the bane of my existence for all of
my twenty-nine years. I thought I'd be free of his hold when he
kicked it but sadly even in death he can't leave me be. He
plotted out everything that he felt I should be doing with my
life. Even went so far as to try and set up a marriage to some
blue blood in New Haven until I put my foot down and told him to
screw himself. When he found out I was only going to Yale to
become a Lit. major he threw a fit and barred me from the house
for two years. He was finally able to cool down and he wrote me
a letter saying that he once had these great aspirations of
being the next Shelley but his father only passed it off as a
hobby. Then, as if it was an after thought to this huge long
letter lamenting himself to me he included a post script telling
me that he'd had my mother, Marion, committed to Silver Hills."
I'd heard of Silver Hills before and knew it was sanitarium for
the wealthier mentally unstable of New England. I looked at
Wendell as his eyes welled up with tears. I hadn't worked a full
twenty-four hours for this man and here he was crying in front
of me. My heart broke for him, for the second time that day and
he didn't even know it.
"I never even got to say...goodbye..."
He whimpered as I leaned a little closer and wrapped an arm
around him and gave him a pat on the back, much like you'd
soothe a crying child.
"Oh Wendell, I'm so sorry. I'm sure she knew that you loved her
very very much. She'd be very proud to know that her son's a
renowned author and a poet."
I gave him one more gentle pat on the back and brushed the hair
away from his eyes before giving him a smile.
"I've only been published once and that was in a literary
magazine in college...I'm a failure! It wasn't even a well know
publication, The Quick Fiction. I'm a ghost writer for other
people, Maggie. I'm a flop. I might as well just give up."
I gently turned his face to meet my gaze and looked him square
in the eye for what surly wouldn't be the last time.
"Now listen here, Mr. Goddard. I've read that particular
publication and I found your work quite soul stirring. You're
not a flop, you never will be. It's not in you to write a bad
piece of written material, you'll get published, if it kills me
you'll become a bound copy published author. You most certainly
will not be giving up and throwing in the towel so soon, I won't
let you."
Wendell gave me a smile and muttered a thank you as I nodded and
told him he was most welcome. I gave him a look and nodded
toward the seat belt that he still hadn't put on.
"Buckle up, buttercup. We're not leaving until you're buckled
in."
Wendell raised an eyebrow my way as he cinched the belt and it
clicked into place.
"I can assuredly tell you, Miss Flannery, that in all my
twenty-nine years I've been called many many things and
buttercup certainly was never one of them."
I gave him a grin as I slipped my sunglasses on and pulled out
of the parking lot and onto the main road once more that lead
back to the sprawling house on Chestnut Hill.
"Well, consider yourself honored. Get used to weird nicknames,
if my mother ever stops by, which she will, you're in for a
barrage of them."
The rest of the day passed slowly as the winds picked up and
clouds darkened in the distant sky. Wendell had retreated to his
study to finish some manuscript piece or something and I had
gone about tidying the dining room. The constant presence of
cobwebs and dead ferns had driven me to distraction only
yesterday and now was the time to get rid of them. The local
classical station filtered in through the open entry ways softly
as I went about giving the table a wipe down and then moved on
to the high boy over in the corner. I noticed in the corner
there was a china cabinet displaying yet another fine set of
imported bone china, the third I'd found in the house while
cleaning. There was full service that was to be used for every
day, a second service with complimentary cut crystal in the
butler's pantry that sat collecting dust, and here sat a third.
I assumed it was handed down from generation to generation and
by the looks of it I wouldn't even be brave enough to handle it
to give it a good cleaning let alone present food on it.
As I maneuvered myself around the heavy mahogany highboy as the
lights flickered over head and thunder sounded in the distance.
A chill went up my spine as I hurried out of the dining room and
into the kitchen just in time to be left in total darkness.
Panic hit me as I felt the darkness close in around me. I'd
always hated power outages and here in this huge house just made
me even more unnerved.
"Oh for God's sake this is...this is horrible..."
I muttered to myself as I groped around for the utility drawer,
found it and went about rummaging for a candle or a flashlight.
Groaning that I'd found neither I eased my way along the wall
and out into the front hall just as a flash of lightning lit up
the room. Shadows wrapped themselves around the room and I was
fighting back the urge to scream and when the latest thunder
clap all but shook the house I sprinted up the staircase and ran
straight into a solid mass and let out shriek that could crack
glass.
"It's me! Maggie, it's me! Calm down. I was just coming down to
see if everything was okay. I forgot to tell you that the house
is prone to power outages during the summer, especially during a
storm like this. My God, you're shaking like a leaf."
If Wendell could have seen my face he most likely would have
mistaken me for a tomato. I'd never felt so much like a fool in
my entire life until this very second.
"Oh, well, now I know. If you'll excuse me I've got a hole to
dig for myself so I can curl up and die in it. Dinner might be a
little late."
"Even in the face of an internal crisis she keeps her sense of
humor. You might just become the newest character in my novella,
Maggie. That is if I have your permission."
Wendell called down to me as I attempted to make a hasty retreat
in the envelope of darkness.
"Wendell, at this very moment you can have anything you want. I
just want to get down the stairs in the one piece."
I felt Wendell bump into me at the base of the stairs and rest
his hand on my shoulder.
"Anything?"
"Anything except what involves me ending up in your bed."
I shrugged his hand off and groped my way back into the kitchen
just in time for the power to flicker to life and go out again.
I was certainly in for an interesting night if Wendell was in
this sort of mood. I had to wonder what type of novella that man
was writing, especially if he wanted to put me in it.
#Post#: 2724--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Year On Chestnut Hill
DIR By: Wolfy
Date: July 16, 2013, 5:38 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
I love your descriptions of absolutely everything and as you
often say to me, I feel as though I am experiencing everything
that Maggie is. You're such a gifted writer and this dear
Wendell is really adding sparks to the story. I'm in love with
this one and the relationship between the two goes way beyond
interesting now. He is quite a little torment, isn't he? and
poor Maggie having to be reminded of those memories by near
enough everyone :( but good on her for firing back at an old
frenemy! the latter part of that update had me in stitches, but
I do feel bad for her, having to deal with the darkness and his
rather raunchy mood!
*****************************************************
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