FanStory.com - Unfinished Brushstrokes Chap 13by Begin Again

Jenna stood at the window, something she'd shared with Eleanor for the past year, and watched the sun come over the horizon. Deep inside her thoughts, she could hear Eleanor telling her each new sunrise was a fresh beginning —"A time to stand straight, move forward, and share a little something with someone — a smile, a touch, a kind word."

The doorbell shattered her thoughts. Jenna scowled, wondering who would ring her doorbell—technically Eleanor's—at this hour. Since Eleanor's death, Jenna had stayed here, hoping for another visit from her friend.

She wiped her hands on the dish towel and headed toward the front door. An elderly lady with a tiny pillbox hat was standing on the porch. She wore a light coat to match and had her hair pulled back like Eleanor. Jenna's first thought was that the poor woman must be in trouble because she looked so nervous.

Jenna opened the door and saw that the woman was holding a box. "Can I help you?"

The woman's smile was a warm embrace, instantly putting Jenna at ease.

"I know it's very early, but I remembered Eleanor always watched the sunrise in the morning — with you." She gazed for a moment at Jenna and added, "Forgive me. You are Jenna, right? My name is Helen. Eleanor and I are —" She paused and glanced away, regaining her composure. "Eleanor and I were very dear friends."

"Of course! She mentioned you many times. Please come in."

Jenna stepped aside to let Helen enter the foyer. Her eyes traveled to the paintings on the wall. "That doesn't look like Eleanor's work. I'm surprised she didn't have her beautiful artwork displayed everywhere."

"Unfortunately, Eleanor kept that side of her a secret. She shared her work, but under an alias. Those who knew, which were few, never revealed it."

Helen nodded. "Hmm — Eleanor was a lady of mystery. I'm not quite sure why. I thought I knew her well, but she had some things she held close to her heart."

"Please come in. We can sit in the front room."

"Would you mind if we went into the kitchen? It's where Eleanor and I always shared a cup and our memories."

"Of course not. I've got a pot of coffee brewing, or would you prefer tea?"

"Tea would be wonderful if it's not a problem."

Jenna turned and headed to the kitchen, with Helen close behind. "Of course not. Eleanor loved her tea."

While Jenna took Eleanor's favorite cups and saucers from the cupboard, Helen stood by the window, looking across the yard. "I see her roses are in full bloom. I never could get mine to look like hers. She had a green thumb with everything she touched."

Jenna set the teacups on the table. "I'm sorry I don't have any pastries to offer you."

"Nonsense, child. The tea is fine." Helen sat the box on the kitchen chair and sat in another one.

Jenna opened the cupboard, searching for the small sugar bowl. Eleanor always used a scoop of sugar in her tea. A sudden chill swept through the room and Jenna felt something knock the bowl from her hand. Instantly, she knew it was Eleanor.

She stammered, unsure if Helen was privy to Eleanor's new state as a ghost. "Oh, dear. Look what I've done. I splattered the sugar all over the counter."

"Not a problem. That would be one of Eleanor's vices, not mine." Helen chuckled. "I always told her she wouldn't need the sugar when she was as sweet as me."

Jenna glanced around the room but didn't see any sign of Eleanor, so she quickly cleaned the counter and joined Helen at the table.

Helen sipped the warm, comforting brew and smiled at Jenna. "I hope I'm not intruding. I just wanted to bring a few of Eleanor's things that I thought you might want to have."

"That's kind of you."

"Eleanor and I were quite close, especially when she was a nurse during the war. Every night before retiring, she would write to me about what had happened that day. Some of it was frightening, and some of it — well, she shared her most intimate thoughts, and I was honored."

"I didn't have the pleasure of knowing Eleanor that long. I wish I had, but I am blessed to have been her friend."

"She spoke very fondly of you."

Jenna picked up her cup and stared into the dark brew. "Things will never be the same. I miss her so much."

Helen sipped her tea, giving Jenna a moment to collect herself. Then she took the box from the chair and placed it on the table. She carefully opened it and took out a stack of letters tied with a ribbon. "These are the letters Eleanor wrote me."

"Those are your memories and thoughts she wanted to share with you and only you." Jenna shook her head. "I can't take those."

"Eleanor and I discussed this. She thought the letters would help you get to know her better. After you read them, you can return them to me if you insist. But I'm giving them to you as a gift, knowing my friend wanted me to do that."

Helen reached inside the box and brought out a smaller stack of letters and an ornate jewelry box. "These letters — some she wrote and — well, you'll see as you read them. The jewelry box contains a few of her favorite pieces. She wanted you to have them."

With trembling hands, Jenna touched the envelopes and ran her fingers across the carvings on the jewelry box. "Thank you, Helen. This means so much to me. Eleanor was my family."

Helen placed a comforting hand on Jenna's hand. "I know, dear. She felt the same about you."

Tears filled Jenna's eyes. She stood and moved to Helen's side. "May I hug you?"

Helen stood, too. "Of course you can. I'd like us to be family, too."

Hugging Helen, Jenna murmured, "Thank you for bringing these gifts. It means more than I can say."

"It was the least I could do. If you ever need someone to talk to or share memories with, my number is in Eleanor's book. Don't hesitate. I would enjoy sharing a cup of tea."

"And I'll try to have pastries, too. Eleanor always wanted her pastries."

Helen moved toward the doorway. "I should go now. My Henry is probably prancing at the door wondering why his mama left him so early, even before their walk."

Jenna walked her to the door, thanked her again, and then they said their goodbyes.

*****

Helen stepped outside and took a deep breath before heading for her car. With one last glance at the house, she opened the car door and slid inside.

She leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. "Jenna's a wonderful person."

"I know."

Helen shifted her eyes toward her dear friend. "She's hurting very much."

Eleanor smiled. "That's why I sent you. You're the best healing medicine I ever knew."

Tears filled Helen's eyes. "I'll be there if she asks."

"I have no doubt. You were there when I needed you. Thank you for everything."

"I miss you, Eleanor. I promise to look after Jenna."

"I know you will. And I promise, somehow, to always be nearby. You can think of me whenever you see a butterfly or a bright red cardinal."

Eleanor's figure began to fade. Helen reached out her hand, but she was gone. She whispered, "Goodbye, Eleanor. I love you."

A faint whisper came back. "I love you, too."

*****

Donatelli pulled up to Lydia's house, a charming home just a few doors from Margaret's. With very little sleep, he swallowed gulps of black coffee he'd picked up in Starbuck's drive-thru. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned and opened the car door. He hoped Lydia would shine some light on Margaret's story.

Dressed in pajamas and a robe, Lydia answered the door, looking flustered and nervous.

"Good morning, ma'am. I'm Detective Donatelli, and I'm —"

"I know who you are. Margaret told me." She glanced over his shoulder. "Come in. I don't need the nosy neighbors talking about me having some man at my door before breakfast."

Donatelli nodded. "Yes, ma'am. We don't need any rumors, now do we?" He followed her into her living room. "Can you tell me where you were last night, around midnight?"

Lydia hesitated, her eyes moving to the side table and the TV and back to the detective. "I was here, at home."

"Alone?"

"No! Margaret was here."

"Were you with Margaret Ashley here in your home at midnight?" he scribbled something in his notebook.

"Yes," Lydia replied quickly. "She came over at about eleven, and we talked awhile."

"What were you talking about?" Donatelli could see how nervous she was. "Neighborhood gossip?"

"Heavens, no! It was just — you know, catching up. She'd been in court with her son, Trevor. She was upset."

He leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "And this chat — was it on the patio, in the kitchen, or where?"

Lydia blinked. "I can't imagine why that matters, but we were right here in my living room. Having a glass of wine."

"And what time did you say it was again?"

Lydia clasped her hands in front of her mouth in prayer fashion. "Oh dear, I'm not sure. It might have been midnight."

That's when he sprang it on her. "Margaret said she was in bed." He waited for her response.

Lydia's face paled, and she stammered, "Oh, right, I forgot. She said she was tired and was going home to bed. I must have been mistaken about the time."

"So Margaret left your house before midnight?" Donatelli pressed.

"Yes, that's what happened." Lydia's voice was strained.

"And you two were chatting and drinking wine in your living room until just before midnight?"

Lydia nodded.

Donatelli took a deep breath and moved toward the door. "Thank you for your time. I'll be in touch if I have any more questions."

Lydia sighed, eager to see him leave. "Of course, Detective." She started to close the door when Donatelli's shoe blocked it.

He pushed the door open and asked, "While you and Margaret were chatting, did the mention of her boyfriend come up?"

Lydia's eyes widened, and she gulped. "Her boyfriend?"

"You being her best friend and all, I felt you might have the scoop." Donatelli lied and added, "I'm not at liberty to give out my sources, but I was told she might receive a certain gentleman caller late at night. Would you know anything about that?"

Lydia stammered, totally flustered, "I don't know what busy-body told you that, but they should mind their own business."

"So, you're saying Margaret didn't — I mean, doesn't — have a gentleman caller?"

"If she does or doesn't, what does it have to do with Megan's disappearance?" Lydia bit her lip. "Shouldn't you be looking for her instead of snooping around Margaret's sex life?"

Donatelli smiled. "You're right, ma'am. I'm sorry to have bothered you so early in the morning. Have a good day."

As he headed for his car, he heard Lydia's door slam. He chuckled, knowing he'd ruffled her feathers. The inconsistencies in Lydia's and Margaret's stories made him wonder what they weren't telling him.