The Enigma of Higham Hill Road

The snow fell relentlessly - winds were blowing at fierce speeds. Drifts piled high above my head and the biting cold stung my eyes. It was a wondrous thing to behold! Finally, silence. All was still. I felt completely peaceful. The noise of modern life had come to a halt - but only for a short while. I breathed deeply, and relaxed into that stillness. The only sound was the faint thump of my beating heart, the breath that escaped from my lungs and the crunch of snow beneath my feet. I walked in a bubble of down. The cold didn't touch me. Time evaporated and all thought quieted down to barely a whisper.

I can’t say how much time passed before I was snapped back into awareness, having heard a faint voice mixed in with the rustle of trees and wind. My peaceful cocoon vanished in an instant, and all I could think of now was how the plans I had to build a free health clinic, had been dashed over money – or rather, the lack of it.

The cold held at bay the despondence that ran through me these past several days. So many people could be helped, if only I could come up with the remaining $20,000. But how with the deadline just 3 days away? I was heart-sick at finding no way to come through for such a good cause. I feared that I had run out of ideas, and time. Tipping my head back, a spray of ice mist swept across my face. I opened my eyes and took in the unbounded splendor of the stars set against a deep indigo curtain and hoped my wish to find a solution was heard.

Laughing at my own silly, magical thinking, I turned to make my way back to the house.

***

The sun reflected morning light on the snow, which filled my bedroom with the brightest golden light. It was 8 a.m.. The sheer curtains cast a silhouette on the wall that played with the shadows of swaying tree limbs; dancing a pas de deux to perfection.

I lay there enjoying the shadow dance for a long time, glad to have slept away the discouragement of the previous day. Once again, I hear a faint voice. Straining to listen, I can’t quite make out the words. Never mind – it’s 8:30. Time to get up and coffee beckons!

As I unscrewed the lid to the coffee, I saw a note stuffed inside the container. “If you need $20k for your project, go look at the flat on Higham Hill Road that is for rent.”

I didn’t know what to make of it! How on earth did this note find it’s way into my coffee canister?

All morning, I couldn’t get the note out of my mind. So, I finally succumbed, got in my car, and drove to Higham Hill Rd.

The road was long and empty. Cars that usually lined the curb were buried under huge piles of snow from the plows that came through after the storm. I came to a house on the bend where a big sign had been stuck into the snow on the front lawn, “For Rent – Open House”. This was the only house on the block with such a sign, and the driveway had been shoveled, so I pulled in and walked up the path that had been cleared to the house.

The door was open, so I called out, “Hello? Anyone here??”

“Yes, dear, I am here, just make your way upstairs, and have a look around. I’ll be with you in a moment!” said a disembodied voice.

A strange little cupboard was attached to the wall adjacent the stairs, 3 feet off the ground. It made me laugh out loud – such a bizarre place for a cupboard!

Up I went to the second floor, looking at the odd little cupboard as I passed. A small black book lay open, a purple pen by its side, balanced inexplicably on the very edge of the cupboard. Written across the top of the page, ‘Welcome Helpers and Visionaries’.

The flat was lovely, well lit, caramel colored wood floors; small, but very pleasant. A fire had been lit in the living room’s little wood-burning stove, and the flat smelled faintly of roses. An old woman came up behind me. “So sorry I was busy when you came in." I turned to address her and was met with a warm face crowned by a shock of white hair from which a pen had been absent-mindedly stuck in at the top of her head.

“I was just on the phone with the young man who saw the flat this morning and has decided to take it. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time coming here!”

“Don’t be silly.” I said with a smile, “This is a lovely flat and I'm glad to have seen it. I've no doubt the gentleman will be quite happy here.”

“Nevertheless” the old woman said, please take one of the gifts in the cupboard on the stairs before you go. Everyone who came to see the flat gets a gift. Just a little token of appreciation” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “And don’t forget to sign the guest book!”

As I made my way down the stairs, I flipped through the pages of the little black book to see if any names were familiar to me, but the ink was so faded, it was hard to read. The stairs creaked a little as the old woman came down after me. Carefully, I wrote my name in the book, then opened the cupboard to find two rows of neatly stacked boxes with red ribbon. I took one, turned to the old woman, and thanked her. She had the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen! I nearly gasped out loud, but then she took my hand, gave it a good squeeze, and said, “I have a good feeling about you dear. I know that all your wishes will come to pass. You’ll see!”

Walking toward my car, I looked over my shoulder to thank her again. She stood in the doorway waving with both hands, and a big smile on her face. This little adventure left me feeling oddly uplifted!

Before going home, I drove into town for some fresh veggies at the co-op, then stopped at Books & Baked Goods, a local patisserie that drew artists and writers from miles away. This sweet little shop had an entire section dedicated to various kinds of pens, every imaginable color of ink, and pencils too. And all kinds of moleskines in a wide assortment of colors and sizes for the local creatives to indulge.

At the center of the display was a large black book, propped up on a platform with a beautiful water color, signed Fiona Tulle Le Ange. Upon closer inspection, the painting was that of a house so similar to the house I had just seen on Higham Hill Road, I was reminded of the old woman with the smiling blue eyes I’d just met.

“May I help you?” the clerk called out. My attention immediately diverted to the pastries, “Yes please, may I have 3 fruit tortes, and a croissant – oh and a Baguette as well.” As I watched the clerk put together my order, the doors behind the counter swung wide, revealing the back of the shop where all the baking is done. My jaw fell open as I watched the charming old woman I had just seen in the flat on Higham Hill Road, dusted with flour, rolling out dough on the long wooden table. Though she didn’t look up where I could see her face except in profile, I was sure it was her because the very same pen was still sticking out of her white hair at the top of her head!



“That will be $19.77” said the clerk. I looked at her, pointing to the back and asked, “is the woman rolling dough the owner?”

“Come again?” said the clerk.

“The woman – through that door, in the kitchen!”

The clerk looked at me strangely, and said, “there is no one here but me – and Pete - the other clerk." She nodded in Pete’s direction. "The owner, Martin is not coming in today.”

“But –”

The clerk’s attention quickly shifted to the next customer, and I left still clutching my change in one hand, baked goods in the other.

***

Home now, yummy croissant and a coffee before me, preoccupied with thinking about seeing the old woman at the bakery, I knocked the shopping bag off the counter. Everything spilled out onto the floor. The little box with red ribbon landed at my feet. I completely forgot about the gift! Wiping butter and jam from my fingers on my jeans, I reached for the box, opened it and gasped. A $20,000 bank check made out to me was inside, with a note, “Dear girl, I know you will do something good with this money! With Love and Blessings”.



***



The next day, I drove back to the house on Higham Hill Road and rang the bell. Several times. A tall man in a button down shirt wearing thick horn-rimmed glasses answered the door. When I asked if I may speak to the older woman who had been there the day before, he looked at me quite puzzled. “Perhaps you have the wrong house? There is no older woman here – not since I’ve lived here anyway. Just me and my cat” he said as he bent down to pick up his feline friend.



“But -- Do you mind telling me how long you’ve lived here?” I asked. The man studied my face for a moment and said, “7 years”.

Mystified, I thanked him for his time, turned and walked away. He shouted after me, “Miracles can happen anywhere, even on Higham Hill Road!”, before closing the door.

I turned back toward him, and saw the old woman in the upstairs window. She looked directly at me, with a nod and a smile, then swiftly disappeared behind the curtain.