Carrying The Torch

As I walk down the snow-covered streets, deep in thought, I kick the fluffy white powder out of my path. My head hangs low staring at the ground with each step. My piercing green eyes fill with tears as my new reality sets in. I got denied the extension I desperately needed; my payment is coming due and the bank wants to collect. My dream home, the home I built with my beloved late-husband will belong to them in just a few short weeks and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

The tears stream down my face now, nearly blurring my vision. The crisp wind hits my frost-bitten nose with a fierce vengeance. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a small black rectangular shape sitting atop a snow pile up ahead. I sniffle back my tears and wipe my eyes. The wind catches the small object and blows it, hard. It flings open with a strong force and I see the bright white pages inside. As I get closer I pick up the beat-up, cold, wet book. My notebooks are a precious piece of my soul; I write down all my deepest secrets. I want to make sure this one doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. I begin to search for a clue as to where this notebook calls home and who’s hopes and dreams might be found inside.

Each page has a different name, address and strange list. I flip to the back page of the notebook and find a stuffed envelope sealed and stuck to the page. As I tear off the envelope and peer inside I can barely believe my eyes. Cash, a lot of cash. It has to be thousands of dollars in there.

For a moment, my heart rejoices. My home, this will surely get the bank off my back a little longer; it’s a miracle. Until my conscience has its turn. This is not my money, it belongs to the owner of this notebook.

I take a closer look at the pages inside and begin to piece together the rather-simple encryption. I think these are I.O.Us. They must be, and some old ones at that.

The first address is Parks Lane, which is just a few streets over from my perfect, victorian-style farmhouse; my stomach in knots as I think about it.

I take a deep breath trying desperately to pull myself together. Reuniting this book with its owner is the right thing to do, so that’s what I’ll do. The least I can do is knock on the door of 27 Parks Lane and see if Ms. Baker still lives there; she might know who this notebook really belongs to.

The gorgeous three-storey home in front of me looks abandoned. I walk up to the front door and clang the brass door-knocker three times.

After a long few minutes, I begin to descend back down the steps, I hear the creaky door open a peep.

The woman in front of me is barely five-foot-tall with long gray hair.

“Hello Dear, what can I do for you?”

“Oh hello, my name’s Jenny and I found this little black book today. I am trying to find the owner and I thought you might be able to help.”

Her eyes widen when she sees the book.

“It can’t be…” she says, opening the door wider. “Well, I haven’t seen that book in years. But I know it anywhere.”

“Oh great, do you know who it belongs to? I’d like to return it.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Would you like to come inside dear? You look awfully cold. I just put on a pot of hot tea.”

I pause for a second and look down at the notebook again.

“Sure,”

The outside of this house does not do it justice. It looks like a time-capsule, untouched in years with a gorgeous grand entryway, and a wood-burning fireplace.

“Have a seat dear,” she says pointing to the floral-patterned couch as she makes her way to the kitchen.

The little pink flowers and delicate glass china Ms. Baker rolls out on the tea-cart remind me of tea-parties with my own grandmother. The memory makes me smile.

“You know dear. That notebook, I don’t know how it came into your possession but, it belonged to such a fine gentleman. Cliff was his name. I met him back in the 60s, oh we had such fun in those days. He was in the army and had just returned from a tour of duty. He was a kind man, gentle, good.”

We both smile as she reminisces about days long past.

Lacey tells me the tales of an honorable man, her long days as a nurse serving injured men in the army and the simpler times of the 60s. We laughed, cried and enjoyed each other’s company. I shared with her the stories of my past; the passing of my dear husband, losing our family home and the happiness we shared over our short but beautiful marriage.

“This might sound strange, but did Cliff lend you money at some point?”

“Oh dear, your right. He did. That must have been about 30 years ago now. But, how did you know?”

“Well, I think he used this book to keep track. I found some money inside that I think belongs to you.” I reach into the envelope and retrieve her share of the money.

“Oh no, dear. Keep that, surely you will put it to better use than I.”

“I can’t… It belongs to you,” I insist, stretching my arm toward her once more.

She shakes her head. “This has been one of the most pleasant afternoons I have had in a while. Sharing those memories is worth more than that money to me.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” I say excitedly. This will not pay down all my debt, but it surely will allow me another month in my beloved home.

I thank Lacey for the tea and conversation before I head out on my way. After learning his story, I owe it to Cliff to continue his path to settle his debts. I don’t know how this notebook came into my possession, but it is now my duty to Cliff to see this through.

As I embark across the city, knocking on strangers’ doors and explaining the rather strange circumstance, there is one thing consistent with each visit. That Cliff, the honorable and the brave led a life worthy of a history book of his own. I learned about his children, his darling wife and their amazing and long life together. Each visitor shining a new light on who this man was when he was alive. The stories of hope and love warm my heart on this cold winter's day.

Each visitor welcomed me with open arms and invited me on a trip down the long, windy path of memory lane. Many of the visitors even insisting the money is no good to them and offering it to me as a simple finders fee. With only one stop left, I now have enough to cover all of my delinquent bills. Knowing that all of these strangers, with hearts of gold, will help keep the memory of my husband alive and a roof over my head is incredible. The gratitude I have for Cliff and this notebook are undeniable.

I ring the door-bell of the final name in the book and hear the patter of steps inside.

“Coming,” a woman’s voice mutters from behind the heavy oak door.

A young woman emerges from inside. Most of the people I have met today have been older, the youngest in her mid-50s. The tall brunette in front of me can’t be more than 30-years-old. Her dark brown eyes stare back at me before she breaks the silence.

“Can I help you?” she says timidly.

“Yes, I.. Uhm well. I found this notebook…” I say pulling it from my bag. At the sight of it she immediately bursts into tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” I try my best to console her.

“That’s… my Dads. I have been looking everywhere for it. Where did you find it?”

“I found it today. It had fallen into a snowbank. I’m sorry the pages got a little wet. But, I’m glad I found you. I visited everyone in his book and well… your Dad was an amazing man.”

“You did? Really? I don’t even know what’s inside. This book was like a part of him, he took it everywhere. I have been heartbroken thinking I lost it.”

“This might sound a little forward. But having spent all day meeting friends of your father. I feel… connected to him somehow. And, I think it led me here to you today.”

She sniffles, holding back tears.

“I lost someone close to me recently too. And I know what you’re going through.”

“Would you like to come in?” She says between sniffles.

I nod.

Clara, the first and only daughter of Cliff is his only surviving family. When he was diagnosed with his illness two years ago, she moved back to their family home to take care of him. Her heart-wrenching story struck a chord with me.

This young woman has experienced heartbreak and devastating loss and so had I. We shared our stories and opened our hearts to each other despite being complete strangers. I wonder if Cliff knew how lucky he was to have such amazing people in his life? Every soul I have met today has been so genuine.

As my last farewell to Cliff and this notebook that has changed my life forever, Clara and I have decided to go lay flowers on his grave. It’s the least I can do for a man I only wish I could have had the pleasure to meet.

We stop at a local flower shop on the way and I purchase the largest bouquet of daisies. Clara said those were his favorite. The ride to the graveyard is long, but Clara feels like a friend, our conversation is effortless. Her laughter and smile are contagious, and I feel like I am getting to know the wonderful man I have heard all about through her.

As we pull up to the familiar gates, tears start to flood down my face. I should have known as we drove down the long desolate road but I had not put the pieces together. We drive through the grassy path to a small patch of land with freshly buried grave-sites. The unstoppable flood of emotions consumes me.

Clara steps out of the car as I collect myself and take a deep breath. I give her a moment alone to speak to her loved-one while I do the same.

I look straight up in the air, “Roger, is that you? Did you send me that notebook? I know it was you. I want you to know, I am going to be okay and I love you.” I say into the sky.

When I step out of the car and walk to Clara’s side I pass the heart-shaped gravestone I know all too well. The one I picked out just a few short months ago.

The next few months were trying but I had a new friend to help me through it. As I sit in my late-husband’s favorite reclining chair in the home we built together I say a little thank you to the sky. To the love of my life, Roger and his new friend may your final resting place be as beautiful as your souls until we meet again.