Goodnight Mr. Peebles

Mr. Peebles was an old man even by the standard of the day, at least he seemed to be to the three O'Mally children who lived in the apartment one flight below him in an old brownstone apartment building in the Bronx. He did not go out often, even in summer and rarely spoke, and never if not spoken to. The greatest notice of his existence happened every night, promptly at nine o'clock when Klezmer music could be heard coming from his apartment. The music would play and the scuffling of Mr. Peebles' shoes against the hardwood floor could be heard. It ended promptly at half-past nine when the apartment would go silent.

The music annoyed Mrs. O'Mally when they first moved into their apartment. On the second night they lived there Mrs. O'Mally was prompted to climb the extra flight of stairs and confront Mr. Peebles. Realizing that no one else in the building seemed to mind, she returned home without knocking. By the third night, with the baby teething, she resorted to a tried and true New York method of communicating in apartment buildings, pounding on her ceiling with the handle of a broom to let Mr. Peebles know he was bothering her and the family, but the music didn't stop. The next morning next to the milk bottles Mrs. O'Mally found five freshly baked chocolate chip cookies still hot from the oven, wrapped in what appeared to be reused Christmas paper.

It became a ritual of sorts for Mr. Peebles and Mrs. O'Mally, as odd as that might seem. It went from being a response to an annoying situation to a way of checking in on an elderly neighbor. Instead of pounding on the ceiling as soon as the music started she waited until twenty-eight minutes after nine and tapped only twice and announced in a loud voice, "Goodnight Mr. Peebles". Promptly the music would stop. The O'Mally children knew this was their signal that it was time for bed. Each morning the hot fresh cookies would magically appear next to milk bottles. And so it continued.

One evening the music did not play, an eerie silence pervaded from the apartment above. Mrs. O'Mally waited, perhaps his clock was off; five after, ten after. At a quarter past nine, Mrs. O'Mally could no longer contain her perturbation and for the first time in over a year climbed the darkened flight of steps to Mr. Peebles' apartment and knocked on the door.

"Mr. Peebles are you alright in there," asked Mrs. O'Mally in the commanding voice she used when the children were making too much noise in the bathtub.

Presently the door opened and Mr. Peebles, looking somewhat thinner than Mrs. O'Mally remembered him stood at the threshold. "Mrs. O'Mally, I am so sorry to have disturbed you. Yes I am fine, just lost track of time. I have a guest you see," said Mr. Peebles trying to fill the doorway as much as possible so that Mrs. O'Mally could not see inside, but failing. Beyond Mr. Peebles were a small sofa and a chair. On the sofa sat a tallish young woman with long blonde hair dressed in a rather smart lavender business suit and pink stiletto heels. At the corner of the sofa was a black pull-along travel case, the kind Mrs. O'Mally had seen people on television use. She looked at Mr. Peebles and began to grin. You sly old fox, Mr. Peebles, she thought. She gave him a wink and a tap on the shoulder. Mr. Peebles began to blush. Mrs. O'Mally turned to descend the flight of stairs to her home.

"Mrs. O'Mally," asked Mr. Peebles in a shaking voice.

She stopped and returned up the step. "Yes, Mr. Peebles?"

"May I ask a great favor of you," he said. His voice still shaking and his head bowed.

"Of course Mr. Peebles, anything I can do for you. That's what neighbors are for." Replied Mrs. O'Mally with a chirp in her voice.

Mr. Peebles produced a key with a stretch of faded and tattered red yarn attached to it from the pocket of his worn cardigan. "I am getting old Mrs. O'Mally. In case something happens to me, could you hold onto this key to my apartment. I trust you," said Mr. Peebles solemnly, his head still bowed, a tear meandering down the creases in his cheek. He reached out the key which was cupped between his two hands. Mrs. O'Mally wanted to give him a hug but did not know if that would be offensive, so she clasped her hands around his and give them a tender squeeze.

"Of course, Mr. Peebles, it would be a great honor," said Mrs. O'Mally quietly so that only the two of them could hear. The key dropped from Mr. Peebles' hands to Mrs. O'Mally's.

"I am sorry Mrs. O'Mally, but I must attend to my guest," signaled Mr. Peebles that this tender moment was over.

Mrs. O'Mally nodded, released Mr. Peebles' hands, and said, "Of course, I understand. Goodnight Mr. Peebles."

She put the key in the pocket of her apron and once again started down the stairs. At about the halfway point Mrs. O'Mally heard the voice of a church mouse, "Please call me Herschel."

She turned, smiled, and nodded to the demure gnome in the doorway above, "Goodnight Herschel."

Mrs. O'Mally hung the key on a hook over the kitchen sink with the other family keys and told the children not to touch it. The next morning, there were ten cookies on Mrs. O'Mally's doorstep with a note written in a very shaky hand, "Thank you". The next night the music returned and the ritual resumed. The quota of cookies returned to five.

Approximately a month later the music stopped again. Mrs. O'Mally, though concerned managed to contain her urge to climb the steps assuming that Mr. Peebles had another "guest" and did not want to disturb him as she had the month before. The next morning, there were no cookies on her doorstep. Perhaps, she thought, Mr. Peebles had a late night and his guest had tired him. No reason for alarm. When nine o'clock that evening came and once again the apartment above was silent Mrs. O'Mally could no longer contain her anxiety. She snatched the key with the worn red yarn from the hook in the kitchen and her teenaged son's cell phone and nervously headed up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, Mrs. O'Mally knocked insistently on Mr. Peebles' door. "Mr. Peebles are you alright! Herschel!!" Mrs. O'Mally's voice grew louder and more commanding.

The door of the apartment across the landing opened to a crack, restrained by a brass chain. A pair of inquisitive eyes stared at Mrs. O'Mally. Then the door closed and the latching of bolts could be heard. Mrs. O'Mally returned her attention to Mr. Peebles' door, with growing dread she unlocked his door and turned the knob.

"I'm coming in Hershel!" announced Mrs. O'Mally as she crossed the threshold.

The apartment was dark save for a dim warm glow that Mrs. O'Mally recognized from her apartment layout as the master bedroom. She knew perfectly where the switch to the living room was as well. It too produced a dim warm glow but enough for her to navigate past the furniture and other obstacles on the floor. She inched her way hesitantly to the light from the far bedroom. Upon reaching the door her worst fears were realized. The late Mr. Hershel Peebles laid on top of his bedsheets, clutching a photograph of his late wife in an old leather frame to his chest. On his nightstand sat the Tiffany lamp that produced the dim light that guided Mrs. O'Mally, a bottle of pills, and a half-consumed cup of tea.

Mrs. O'Mally covered her mouth to help muffle her scream. Tears rolled down her face as she slowly approached Mr. Peebles and touched the back of her hand to his forehead to find he was the same temperature as the room. The paramedics and police arrived approximately 15 minutes after her call. She had thought to throw the bottle of pills away to save his family any embarrassment but thought better of it, in case his "guest" had anything to do with his passing.

The police found Mr. Peebles' Will laying on the coffee table in front of the sofa. It contained the usual language of paying all debts and burial next to his wife. Unusually the second page said that unless his children contacted his lawyer within 24 hours of his passing, all his worldly possessions were to go to the O'Mally family. Paper clipped to the back of the Will was a recipe for Mr. Peebles Magical Chocolate Chip Cookies. At the bottom, it read "The secret is the cognac."

The next day a very small service was held for Mr. Peebles. Only Mrs. O'Mally attended. After the service she turned to walk back the 10 blocks to the apartment, clutching a handkerchief and dabbing at her nose. There in the crisp autumn sunlight stood the tall blonde woman she had seen a month or so ago in Mr. Peebles' apartment.

"Mrs. O'Mally isn't it," said the tall woman.

Mrs. O'Mally stopped to give her an evil glare and said, "I know you."

The tall woman reached out her hand, "Yes, I was at Mr. Peebles' apartment last month. I'm Doctor Susan Taylor from the Five Burroughs Hospice Society," she said cheerfully in hopes to break the anger on Mrs. O'Mally's face.

"So you were the one who gave him the pills that killed him," Mrs. O'Mally said accusatorially.

"Oh, yes, the pills. The police came by asking about them this morning," Dr. Taylor said almost laughingly. "Those were his arthritis medication. Based on the refill date and number of pills in the bottle he was taking them correctly," her voice was warm and compassionate.

Mrs. O'Mally began to cry harder, then laughed through her tears as relief settled into her heart. She reached out to hug Dr. Taylor, who responded in kind.

"No, no, Mrs. O'Mally. Hershel was a very frail man, and he died of natural causes, I assure you," Dr. Taylor said reassuringly.

The two women embraced another moment then parted and walked in opposite directions saying their goodbyes.

Of all the things the O'Mally's inherited from Mr. Peebles, they only kept two items. The rest of his antiques were sold and established a college fund for the three children. The two items retained were the cookie recipe and the record player, with the only record Mr. Peebles owned, "Klezmer Kings of New York 1939". Once a year, on the day of his passing, Mrs. O'Mally played the record, starting promptly at nine o'clock and stopping promptly thirty minutes later. She concluded the anniversary observance with "Goodnight Herschel Peebles" in a quiet reserved tone. She then baked a batch of his chocolate chip cookies, with double the cognac.