The Everyday Life of Miss Hilly

At a funeral, even the air seems different.

To Penny Farthing, the air that danced around the scene of people mourning her grandmother was soft and comforting. It floated through the trees with notes of chamomile and well-loved paperbacks.

She looked around at the sea of midnight, illuminated by the subtle sunshine of springtime. She wondered, were there people here who knew her better than I did? With a saddened sigh, her fingertips mingled with the pages of the little black notebook nestled in her coat pocket. It was not particularly old or brand new, but she knew it must have been precious to her grandmother. It was the only piece of her that she felt like she had left.

She remembered the day her grandmother sat her down, handing her the little book. “You’re still young, dear; you have time. But there comes a time in your life when you’re as old as I am, and you feel your time will be up soon.” A thoughtful and truly timeless woman, and in just a few weeks forever gone. Even when you know someone will pass, death is still sudden.

Penny watched as the mourners departed, one by one, to their respective homes and everyday lives. The deafening of grief slowly lifting and the bustle of the city returning to its usual prominence.

And yet, she could still hear her grandmother say, “our city is just like any other, my dear, with tall grey buildings and sporadic green spaces … but it’s the people that make it something special. I hope someday that you’ll see it through my eyes”.

I hope so too, Grandma.

***

Later that evening, Penny sat on her couch, anxiously turning the little book over in her hands. It felt weighty, holding the relic of a dead loved one, not knowing what might be inside. The book may as well have been made of concrete.

She thought she might discover a letter or perhaps an unfinished bucket list. But when Penny opened the front page—to her confusion—she simply found a list of names. The first three were coupled with an address and the fourth was written alone.

It meant nothing to her. Hot tears of hurt filled her eyes as grief washed over her anew. She flipped through the pages furiously, hoping to find more, and yet, the only ink that marked the notebook was that pitiful list.

***

She thought about throwing it in the trash. She just wanted to move on with her life. And yet, here she stood the very next day on the steps of a forest green apartment building in the heart of the city, hoping for answers.

She pressed the buzzer for #26.

“Um, hello? My name is Penny Farthing, I’m Hillary Farthing’s– “

“Oh, Hilly! Do come up, darling! She always talked so much about you. I was just about to put on some tea!”

Penny climbed the flight of stairs anxiously. The door was already ajar. The aroma of herbal tea wafted around her.

“Just a minute, darling!” The lady sang amid her clattering and crashing about in the kitchen.

The walls were covered in vibrantly patterned wallpapers. The furniture was adorned with cushions and knick-knacks of every shade of the rainbow. And filling the shelves—where literature should have lived—were boxes and boxes of tea.

“It’s Celine, right?” Penny yelled.

“Yes, darling, Celine Andrews. Pleasure.” Came the sing-song voice again as she waltzed into the living room with two beautiful china teacups. One blush pink with gold leaves all over, and the other a faded glazed green with blue and cream speckles.

Penny had never seen someone so exquisite. Her lips were a perfect cupid’s bow, painted in a brilliant red. In the sunlight, her golden skin glowed. Her hazel eyes resembled teardrops. And her raven hair—streaked with shimmering grey—was pulled back into a low bun, her ensemble finished with an emerald silk headband. She was maybe fifty years old, but it’s hard to tell when someone takes such care of themselves.

“So, what brings you here today, my dear?”

“You see, well … my grandmother left me a list of people that must have meant a lot to her, and you were on it … I wondered how you knew her?”

“Oh, sweet Hilly, she was such a treasure! Well, let’s see … we simply crossed paths one time in a bookstore and got to talking, and I invited her over to share conversation and some tea. I’d been so lonely since my husband died; I mean, it’s been ten years now, but it’s still fresh … And well, Hilly, she just loved to listen to me talk. I missed having someone just to listen. She came over every Tuesday morning, and we drank tea and talked. Our friendship was simple, but it was refreshing and sweet, and I will miss her forevermore … She meant a lot to people, you know”.

Penny and Celine spent the rest of the morning sharing stories about “Hilly,” and Penny felt a pang of sadness when it was time to leave, feeling as though she was leaving her grandmother behind again.

***

Next on her list was Peter Foster. After meeting a woman so unique and charming as Celine, Penny was surprised that afternoon to see the front door open to a young boy about the age of nine. He had dark umber skin, round soft brown eyes, short coily black hair, and a joyful grin.

“Hello,” she grinned back, “I’m not sure I have the right house … Are you, Peter Foster?”

“Peter, who is that at the door?” His mother was chasing around a toddling baby girl with thick curly hair as two older boys raced through the room in capes.

“My name is Penny, ma’am. Penny Farthing. I’m guessing you all knew Hilly, my grandmother?”

Peter smiled wide, then sighed a little, remembering that he too had lost a friend.

“Oh yes, we love Miss Hilly! We met her through the school library when she volunteered there. She was such a big help to me! She took Peter to his art classes every Wednesday after school because I had to work. She cared about my boy. We are so very grateful for her.”

“She was my favorite,” mused little Peter, “would you like to see some of my art Miss Penny? I bet you’ll like it just as much as Miss Hilly always did!”

It seemed that true friendship could come in many forms, young and old alike, but it always required a giving heart. Peter gave Miss Hilly another child to nurture and pour affection into, and Miss Hilly gave Peter a faithful friend he could depend on.

***

Elizabeth Lee was a happily married young mother. She had stick-straight copper hair and small bright green eyes. Her fair complexion was scattered with the freckles of summers past, and she held her baby on her hip like it was made for her.

“Miss Hilly was like the mother I never had,” shared Elizabeth through silent tears that dripped down her pale rose-colored cheeks and onto her lap.

“It was just an ordinary day. Isn’t it always? I had decided to take a little walk around our neighborhood and wandered into a local bakery, and that’s where I met her,” Elizabeth smiled, reminiscing. “She coaxed a smile out of my daughter, and then she just asked me if I liked being a mother, and I burst into tears on the spot. Sometimes all you need is someone to ask the right question … My relationship with my mother is … complicated. Miss Hilly is the only one who ever managed to fill that void. Every Friday afternoon, she would come over and pour out her motherly wisdom. I miss her so much, and I’m sure you do too.”

It was a strange thing for Penny, meeting all of these people who knew her grandmother so intimately. And yet, she was beginning to realize that it was a sweeter gift than any to have someone you love etched into people’s eyes.

***

Penny had asked her grandmother’s friends if any of them knew about the final name on her list, but they all said the man was about as much of a mystery to them as they probably had been to her.

She wandered through the park nearby that her grandmother would often take her to visit growing up. Sitting on the edge of a bench, she saw an older man, his belongings piled around him in makeshift fashion.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

“Ma’am, I don’t think you want to be sitting here. Haven’t got a shower in days and the smell isn’t so nice, ya know? No need to make friends with strangers.”

He was rough but gentle. He had light grey shaggy hair that had likely once been a honeyed blonde, and his blue eyes shone beneath furrowed, hardened brows. His skin was dull. Penny wondered what he had lived through.

“I’ve been meeting a lot of strangers lately,” she laughed. “My grandmother passed away, and since then, I’ve met more of her friends. I’m Penny. It’s nice to meet you.” She shook hands with the man without hesitation, and his hard face seemed to soften a little more.

“I lost a close friend recently, so I appreciate the company. The name’s Jeffrey Bill, two first names, I know, I know, it’s kind of odd, but I’m a bit of an odd sort, so I think it suits fine. What was your grandmother’s name?”

Penny got the sense that her grandmother was closer than ever. It was something in the air again, just like the day of her funeral.

“Hillary Farthing, but I think she went by Miss Hilly to a lot of her friends. You knew her, right?”

Jeffrey’s eyes began to glisten, and he pulled out a crumpled tissue from his shirt pocket and blew his nose.

“You're Hilly’s Penny. I thought I might never meet ya.”

“She seems to have a knack for making friends.”

“She sure does. We met just here, on this bench. She wanted to sit here and read poetry if it was okay by me. I felt ashamed, but Hilly just has a way of making ya feel welcome no matter. It became a daily occurrence. Hilly would pick us both up a sandwich and something cool to drink. We’d eat and talk. She’d sit and read. I used to read a lot too before I went to Nam, but it changes ya …” His voice trailed off. “Anyways, I’ve been keeping this safe here in my jacket pocket; I think it’s for you.”

Jeffrey pulled out a small white envelope with the name "Penny" written on it. It smelled of sweat, cigarettes, and hopefulness.

Her fingers eagerly tore at the opening, and she breathed deeply as she read the letter.

Dear Penny,

By now, I hope that you have met my friends and that you feel closer to me because of them.

I know that I could have simply given you what I am about to share, but it seemed better for you to walk in my shoes first. To go where I had been and to meet those whom I had met.

I have been putting away a little money here and there over my many years in the hopes that when I died, I would live on somehow. I ended up saving twenty thousand dollars that I want to entrust to you to use wisely, and I know you will.

Some people need your money, my dear, but most people just need your time.

And sometimes, you’ll know when they need both.

Love, Grandma

Penny’s eyes darted up from the letter and met the kind-hearted gaze of Jeffrey Bill. At that moment, she knew just how her grandmother hoped she would be honored.

I love you too, Grandma.