it fascinating.”
Granny coughed into the phone and then struggled to speak. “The letter… the same name. You have the same name…Evelyn.”
Eve waited, surprised. “Yes, Granny. Yes. We have the same name.”
“Read it...” Granny said in a hoarse whisper.
Eve started reading, slowly and carefully pronouncing each word. At this reading, Eve felt the power of the letter even more keenly, felt the sentiment and emotion more intensely. When she was finished, she was quiet for a moment.
“What do you think, Granny?”
Eve waited. “Are you there?”
April came back on the line. “Yes, she’s here, Eve. She had tears in her eyes. Hang on a minute, she’s trying to tell me something.”
Eve adjusted her position in the chair and switched the phone to her other ear.
“Eve… my mother just said, thank you. She said she wished they had had their chance. She said they deserved their chance at love.”
“Yes,” Eve said. “Tell her I feel the same way. And tell her how much I loved her shop and how much I love the heart pendant watch.”
April said, “Granny wants you to find a good man and get married.”
Eve laughed a little. “Okay. Tell her I’ll work on it.”
After Eve hung up, she took in a deep breath, closed her eyes and whispered a little prayer that Granny Gilbert would be returned to health.
Later, after a glass of white wine, Eve sat in her chair, glancing about the living room, smiling with satisfaction. Everything was neat and clean, the bookshelves perfectly arranged, the floors glossy, and the sense of order and tidiness giving her a sense of well-being. Georgy Boy lay sound asleep, his nose twitching. He was probably having a dream, chasing a squirrel or a rabbit. She had a good home, a pleasant and comfortable home. There was only one problem: she was alone. For a while, after the divorce, she’d been content to be alone. Now, it was getting old. Now, the nights seemed longer and emptier. Now, she seemed too secluded and tucked away in some back closet, away from the close touch and intimate whisper of a friend and lover.
Eve finished her wine and drifted into a sinking melancholy, feeling a familiar tug of isolation. The radiators hissed, her mantel clock ticked, Georgy slept and the apartment seemed an island surrounded by a vast dark sea. She looked down at the letter that lay in her lap and gave it a sweet, dejected smile. Granny was right. It was too bad that Evelyn and John Allister never had their chance at love.
She nodded off to sleep. Minutes later she was jolted awake by an idea. It was one of those dreamy ideas, vague and shadowy.
Why didn’t Eve do what Evelyn had not done? Why couldn’t Eve light the lantern? Why couldn’t she open the letter and remember John Allister with kindness and forgiveness? Why couldn’t Eve wish the doomed lovers the happiness and reunion they’d so longed for but were denied in life? After all, weren’t Eve and Evelyn related? Yes, of course. It was a splendid idea!
That morning, Eve had been excited by the prospect of lighting the lantern, and so she’d taken it to a local hardware store to buy oil and new wicks. She knew the owner and he was happy to replace the wick for her, showing her how to make sure the wick fit snuggly in the burner sleeve. Then he trimmed it with scissors. Finally, he showed her how to load the oil, which was easy enough, but something she’d never done before. She’d never been on a camping trip in her life and, besides, this was an antique lamp.
On hands and knees at the hearth, Eve carefully filled the oil lamp font to seven-eighths capacity, as instructed. Georgy stirred, watching her sleepily as she put the burner with wick in the lamp and allowed the wick to soak for ten minutes, while she read the letter again. Then she placed the lantern back on the hearth and opened one of the four, now cleaned, panes
Granny coughed into the phone and then struggled to speak. “The letter… the same name. You have the same name…Evelyn.”
Eve waited, surprised. “Yes, Granny. Yes. We have the same name.”
“Read it...” Granny said in a hoarse whisper.
Eve started reading, slowly and carefully pronouncing each word. At this reading, Eve felt the power of the letter even more keenly, felt the sentiment and emotion more intensely. When she was finished, she was quiet for a moment.
“What do you think, Granny?”
Eve waited. “Are you there?”
April came back on the line. “Yes, she’s here, Eve. She had tears in her eyes. Hang on a minute, she’s trying to tell me something.”
Eve adjusted her position in the chair and switched the phone to her other ear.
“Eve… my mother just said, thank you. She said she wished they had had their chance. She said they deserved their chance at love.”
“Yes,” Eve said. “Tell her I feel the same way. And tell her how much I loved her shop and how much I love the heart pendant watch.”
April said, “Granny wants you to find a good man and get married.”
Eve laughed a little. “Okay. Tell her I’ll work on it.”
After Eve hung up, she took in a deep breath, closed her eyes and whispered a little prayer that Granny Gilbert would be returned to health.
Later, after a glass of white wine, Eve sat in her chair, glancing about the living room, smiling with satisfaction. Everything was neat and clean, the bookshelves perfectly arranged, the floors glossy, and the sense of order and tidiness giving her a sense of well-being. Georgy Boy lay sound asleep, his nose twitching. He was probably having a dream, chasing a squirrel or a rabbit. She had a good home, a pleasant and comfortable home. There was only one problem: she was alone. For a while, after the divorce, she’d been content to be alone. Now, it was getting old. Now, the nights seemed longer and emptier. Now, she seemed too secluded and tucked away in some back closet, away from the close touch and intimate whisper of a friend and lover.
Eve finished her wine and drifted into a sinking melancholy, feeling a familiar tug of isolation. The radiators hissed, her mantel clock ticked, Georgy slept and the apartment seemed an island surrounded by a vast dark sea. She looked down at the letter that lay in her lap and gave it a sweet, dejected smile. Granny was right. It was too bad that Evelyn and John Allister never had their chance at love.
She nodded off to sleep. Minutes later she was jolted awake by an idea. It was one of those dreamy ideas, vague and shadowy.
Why didn’t Eve do what Evelyn had not done? Why couldn’t Eve light the lantern? Why couldn’t she open the letter and remember John Allister with kindness and forgiveness? Why couldn’t Eve wish the doomed lovers the happiness and reunion they’d so longed for but were denied in life? After all, weren’t Eve and Evelyn related? Yes, of course. It was a splendid idea!
That morning, Eve had been excited by the prospect of lighting the lantern, and so she’d taken it to a local hardware store to buy oil and new wicks. She knew the owner and he was happy to replace the wick for her, showing her how to make sure the wick fit snuggly in the burner sleeve. Then he trimmed it with scissors. Finally, he showed her how to load the oil, which was easy enough, but something she’d never done before. She’d never been on a camping trip in her life and, besides, this was an antique lamp.
On hands and knees at the hearth, Eve carefully filled the oil lamp font to seven-eighths capacity, as instructed. Georgy stirred, watching her sleepily as she put the burner with wick in the lamp and allowed the wick to soak for ten minutes, while she read the letter again. Then she placed the lantern back on the hearth and opened one of the four, now cleaned, panes
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