Something about the winters in Kingston that was captivating, magical, and sleep inducing. September Ashworth was an accomplished pianist who had enough of touring, and she so desperately wanted to give her fingers a well-deserved break.
She did, however, enjoy the last stop in Rome, and her manager did assure her that Rome would complete the tour, and to prove it, they stayed at a magical cottage overlooking the ocean. “I know that you are tired, but after this, we can finally go home to Kingston and celebrate this wonderful year of 1920 as a fabulous time,” said Beatrice Donaldson.
September had plenty of money as a hotel heiress to a successful black hotel, so she clearly did not have to play and tour for money to make a living. There were times when she would have strange dreams when her fingers looked as if they were from a horror movie.
She kept her fingernails manicured and very short each and every time. I think it is time that I stop playing all together, and just focus on other things in life. Like, I still have the hotel and it is doing wonderfully; my bones and finger have run its course in the piano world, and I am ready to retire.” Her manager, Beatrice, understood how September felt, and she proceeded to announce her retirement, but not before she planned a surprise farewell party. “We have been all around the world and back, but mostly, we stayed in Paris longer than anywhere else, because of… and all else followed suit. Here’s to my client and friend, Ms. September Ashworth for her accomplishments, her dreams, and her dedication to music. May you have a happy and joyful retirement!”
Indeed, Paris was one of the best places in the world to exhibit her musical gift and to be accepted, but September was not very happy in Paris and had many sleepless nights from when she cried physical tears as well as her soul crying out along with her ancestors crying out as if she could hear their souls pushing through hers. “We have been blessed, happy and safe here and you have nothing to be ashamed of because of what you look like, and I am very proud of you, Ms. Ashworth.”
September could not wait to return to Kingston, and the idea of doing other things than working her fingers to the bone. She loved everyone in Paris, but on the plane trip to the states, she slept like a child with joy for life. As she tried to sleep on the airplane, and while Beatrice read stories written by Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald, she closed her eyes and thought of what almost a whirlwind romance with Cain Ferguson had been, a writer who was determined not to leave Paris. “September, if you stay, we can build a life together, and you don’t have to play as much for money.” She kept it from that she was a hotel heiress, and most of all, that fact that she was colored. In Paris, she did not have to pass for white, and her complexion was not light enough to do so. Cain loved her so much; she could have been purple, and it would not have mattered to him. She met him years prior in Los Angeles on the beach on a rainy day, and she saw him sitting on the sand in a suit writing; her heart and emotions for him resembled that dark, gray sky that was fun to her.
She did love him very much, but she was not the marrying type and having children, and Cain wanted a family and to be September’s husband. “You think you know me, Cain, but it is like a whole other world that you don’t know about with me; part of me wants to go back to the states so that I won’t get caught in this world, whatever that is.” There were many times that she wanted to tell him about her identity, but she believed in privacy, and she was going to when they had spent a weekend in Cornwall at the home of Cain’s English godparents.
“She is a charming young woman, but there is something haunting and bold about her, though boldness may not be the right word to describe her,” said Cain’s godmother. September overheard the conversation as she put her hair into a bun, and her bedroom door was slightly cracked to hear before the luncheon. “Tell me why I am here when I like Cain is too good for me? Do I really deserve him, or not?”
There was a part of her that felt that he loved her so dearly, that he wanted to be with her even if not in marriage. “So, September, tell me, my dear: Is this your first time here in England?” Cain’s godmother asked her when a creamy soup was being served. “No, ma’am, I was here for about a month, a few years ago.” September could the weight of the bun and she was worried that it would fall apart, and she felt the ends of hair tickling the back of her neck. The soup was tastier than she expected, and one of the few memorable times in her life that food was too delicious to eat and talk at the same time.
“Now, Adeline, I am sure that Ms. Ashworth would like to eat her soup in peace without the unnecessary interrogation,” said Cain’s godfather. September looked down into her bowl of the creamy concoction, agreeing with Cain’s godfather in silence, of course that Adeline would silence her questions. “Oh, calm yourself, Walter. I am sure that September can appreciate this talk of sorts, I am right, my dear?” Lord, please let me eat this soup in peace.”
A tray of pickled eggs were brought in from the kitchen by the server. “Have you ever eaten pickled eggs, Ms. Ashworth,” was the one nice question she asked September. “No, I have not, but it sounds like a treat; I would love to try one.” Cain sat next to her, of course, but it felt like he was a world away from her, she wanted to believe that his godfather was closer and a mediator or advocate.
“I must say that my wife has me hooked on pickled eggs, especially from when went to a fair in California. You have lived in California your entire life, have you, Ms. Ashworth?” Cain’s godfather, Giles, a large built man and with a kind face. “Yes, sir, which is correct.” September bit into the egg with excitement and took in the flavors making an unforgettable introduction into her mouth, and not worrying about being hammered by Adeline. She had eaten two more eggs and finished her soup and was full. “I have to say that is a beautiful state to be all year round, and we know some good people.”
Adeline had given it a rest and did not answer another question. After the luncheon, Cain showed September one of five the gardens of the estate, and she was all too relieved to escape Adeline’s well of water trying to water September down. “This garden, in particular, I have loved since I was a little boy and I used to be here for hours and hours reading and daydreaming; it was an escape for me since I lost my…parents.” September was drawn into the garden and the magic of it as if it were a fairy tale.
“I have never seen flowers and roses like these, and I have been everywhere, like they are actually meant to be here and nowhere else!” There was a walkway that led to a wall with a partially red rose-covered door. “My heavens, I never knew that part was here,” said Cain excitedly turning the shiny black doorknob. “Oh, no, it has to open!” The door opened after three turns. “This is like another garden all of its own; you have never seen this one?”
It contained plenty of thistles and brambles in a very tidy and meticulous fashion. “I really love you, September, and I want us to be together forever and ever.” She woke up with a tear in her right eye as she had a window seat on the airplane. “We are finally back in Kingston, and we both deserve a long rest!” “Well, unlike you, September Ashworth, I will be having fun shopping, eating thinking of ways to make you change your mind about retiring. Okay, instead of piano playing, you can teach children, and most of all September, have fun.”
Beatrice lived at the end of the Kingston village near Owensby, and she went home before September. Beatrice was more of a socialite and outgoing than September was, and more on the quiet and reserved side. “Ms. Cummings, and Ms. Ashworth, welcome home, dear ladies!” A friend of Beatrice’s named Everett Wadsworth, originally from England, had lived in Kingston for many years. “Darling Everett, I would not have wanted anyone else to pick us up from the airport, you are ever so kind.”
Everett was older than September and Beatrice and close to six feet tall and nice looking. “My dear Ms. Ashworth, I simply cannot tell you how good it is to have you back home, and I know that you have to be very tired, and to be away for quite a while, but you are finally home. It was amazing how I received your telegram in perfect timing, but I have never really cared for Paris and the food does not agree with me at all.
Everett Wadsworth and his driver had picked up September and Beatrice in a brand-new Champagne colored Ford Model A. September was more tired than she had realized and cold, but she hid her tiredness and was glad that she wore her fur coat that she got for her birthday. “I should forcefully pull that fur coat off of you, because it is freezing!” Beatrice was not worried about showing her discomfort from the cold weather air. “Oh, now, come, come, Beatrice. I have always known you to be a tough old girl,” said Everett.
“I don’t know where to begin when it comes to the gossip in our wonderful Kingston, but I will bore or tire you any further from your trip.” The drive was relaxing, and the two ladies wanted to fall asleep, but they held firm and showed grace and appreciation to Mr. Wadsworth. “I think that September and I could use some at this moment, so carry on, dear!” The weather was very cold and that would make you want to fall asleep. Everett knew that they surely be tired from the long flight all the way from Paris and kept talking to prevent the quiet from taking over. September had awakened to a refreshing morning, happy and joyous to be alive in Kingston. She was not much of a breakfast eater, and she let staff work elsewhere while she was away. As she came to from being asleep, the smell of breakfast had permeated the house, and it increased her appetite like never before.
“My dear September, my cook and I stayed up half of the night and most of the morning making you a wonderful breakfast and others. My driver will have already dropped off your food and some fresh flowers from my garden, and do not worry. I did not forget about Beatrice.”
Love,
Everett
The basket of food was wrapped in a light-colored blue ribbon waiting in the kitchen facing her back garden. Without washing her face or putting on her bathrobe only wearing her pajamas, she eagerly pulled the ribbon off from the basket and the food was hot. “God bless Mr. Everett Wadsworth and his cook!” The basket was filled with more than enough food for one person, but it suited September just fine, because she did not like airplane food. “Oh, swell, scrambled eggs, potatoes, and cinnamon scones; he knew her too well. The eggs were cooked at the perfect consistency and fluffed with little effort, and the potatoes were equally soft and seasoned to match the softness. The scones were reserved for dessert. She had more than enough for later.
September knew that being back in Kingston would put things back into perspective, or so she hoped. After her breakfast, she put all of her clothes away from unpacking, and she was thankful that no other housekeeping duties was warranted of her; the perks of living alone! “Welcome back home, Ms. Ashworth! You should that all of Kingston is happy that you are home and for good this time, I’d like to think that you not going away again.” Mint Chambers was an attractive older woman in sixties who still worked as a maid for many years and refused to retire. “Thank you, Mrs. Chambers, but you really don’t have to be here today, and the house is already clean from me being away. Mr. Wadsworth was kind enough to make breakfast for me and have it sent here; I had just eaten not long ago, and there is plenty left, if you are hungry.” Mint Chambers happily helped herself to the food, but before going to the kitchen cabinet to get salt. “I assure you that the food does not need salt added, Mrs. Chambers,” said September.
Mrs. Chambers took her word for it and did not apply any salt. September had made them tea while Mrs. Chambers enjoyed breakfast. “Now that you are done with traveling the world, my dear, I think that it is time that you just rest and enjoy this beautiful home and spend time in your garden, reading and writing your stories.” September realized that she was not completely full eating, so she ate more with Mrs. Chambers. “This breakfast is so divine, but allow me to take a break, so that we can talk and catch-up, even or you just rest yourself, Ms. Ashworth.”
September was happy to see Mrs. Chambers and happy to share her breakfast with her. September all of the time in the world to what she wanted. “I don’t know about you, but I cannot eat another bite, and I made my special chili beans that you love, at my house. I don’t want to hear any excuses on why you can’t come for dinner!” She had to oblige. Mrs. Chambers knew that September loved beans and cheddar cheese, and she made sure that she supplied that for her.
“Your chili is so divine and filling; have you ever thought of submitting it to a contest?” As a rule, Mrs. Chambers always made coffee with her chili, and she knew that September did not drink coffee, and instead of eating the chili with her, she drank the coffee. “I only make it for special people like you and grand occasions,” Mrs. Chambers replied. After two full bowls of chili, September could no longer eat. “Fine, Mrs. Chambers, you have won me over again, and I am full of now until… who knows?” Mrs. Chambers looked around her house and she looked at September.
“Tell me, Ms. Ashworth, have you ever thought about just going far away and never returning to Kingston? I have been thinking about that lately, just going away, and, leaving all of my paintings and other things I have treasure for so long.” The question and the melancholy look on her friend’s face confused her. “Well, honestly, Mrs. Chambers, I plan to be here in Kingston for a while; is there something bothering you?” Mrs. Chambers had her eyes fixed on the table and was disappointed that she had forgotten to bring the milk and sugar for her coffee; she shook her head. “I may not leave just yet, and I don’t even know where I would move to. A tear ran down her face, and she wiped it before September could see.
“You are very talented and bright, September Ashworth, and you have gone so far in your music. Me, I am just tired, confused as if I were on a dark beach and the sea was nice enough to be calm and not frighten me. I walked out towards the water, and after being calm, it let me know that I was intruding on their territory, and I warned them to stay out of the water. My entire body feels dry, and I want to take a dip, and for some reason, the sea seems to be angry at me. My darling, please don’t pay any attention to my whirlwind emotions, I am getting old, and I am tired; I know that you are tired, so allow me to call you a taxi. I don’t want you walking home at this hour and in the dark.”
September did not mind walking home, but she did not think about wearing a jacket or a sweater. “It sure is a lovely evening, Ms. Ashworth,” said Lily Barnes, a retired attorney, turned taxi driver. “It sure is wonderful to be back and resting, Ms. Barnes, and do not worry, I am not going abroad for a while; I have retired.” She enjoyed talking with Lily Barnes, but September could not help but worry about Mrs. Chambers and her state of mind. “Would it be rude of me to ask you what your plans are now, Ms. Ashworth? Of course, you have just returned from being away for so long; you need to rest yourself.”
The ride in the cab made September feel relaxed and she was glad not to try to walk home. “Even though I am retired, there is still quite a lot that I would like to do; for years, I have been wanting to write a novel, or maybe even open a bookstore; people don’t know this about me, but I love mysteries and mystery books. I have an almost library at my house in New York.” September did not mind talking about her dreams of writing, and the ride was over. “I hope that you will do that, Ms. Ashworth, and I like mysteries, too.
She sat staring at the typewriter that her father had given her after graduating from college. “My dear daughter, you are a writer like me, but I am a closet writer; I write but I don’t do anything with my writing. You have entered several writing contests and have won, have you not?” September thought back to her graduation day, and all of the encouraging words that he had spoken to her. “You have many talents, September, and they will take you very far.” She tossed and turned in her sleep with stories swimming in her thoughts, and she decided that she no longer wanted to live alone.
When she would write, she would start writing her stories on paper with an ink pen; from then on, she typed out her manuscripts, with the feeling that time was slipping fast for her to write manually. Her first typed story was about a cottage on the hillsides of a fictional town called Winter; she never completed her story, either.
She got herself up from bed, went into her kitchen to make hot cocoa, and she finished her story. Winter was about a young woman with no family, no friends, but plenty of money to do whatever she pleased. Stanley Fisher was the main character in Winter, and September always felt that names like Stanley, Richard or Benjamin did not have to be names only for men.
While out walking in the forest of Winter reading a fairy tale book that she found in perfect condition one day, she looked out over to the seaside hill and saw that there was a cottage. It began to rain, and she rushed to go home, heartbroken that she had dropped her fairy tale book while running in the forest. She cried for hours and hours as if she had lost her best friend. It rained the entire night, and from all of the crying and all of the tears that she cried out, Stanley allowed the sounds of the rain to drown her sorrow.
She woke up the next morning in her lovely two-bedroom home emotionally tired but physically rejuvenated. She put the teakettle on when she heard a knock on her front door. “Good Morning, Miss, I believe that you dropped this book yesterday. Wonderful that the rain did not tear it apart, certainly no.” It was an older man, in his seventies, neatly dressed and he spoke with an English accent. “My name is Stanley Fisher, and I am pleased to meet you, sir. Thank you so much for returning my book.”
“Pardon me, sir but that is my teakettle on the stove. Please come in, sir. God made sure to have all of his angels and more to be there for Stanley, because she fell asleep in her soaked clothes from the day before and did not look it. She had two tea kettles and two sets of saucers and cups, elegantly and strategically placed. It did not occur to her that the door may have been still open, and the older gentlemen was quiet. She would never ask him to close it for her.
“I have lived in this house for a few years, now, and I have never seen you around here in Winter. Like I said, my name is Stanley Fisher; odd for a woman, is it not?” Stanley had hurriedly placed the tea set, along with the cream and sugar on to a tray for presentation. She had remembered that she had bought butter cookies days ago, and she had not eaten them.
The stranger had disappeared and left a letter with a brass key on top of the fairy tale book on a small table next to the door. Stanley was sad to find that the stranger left without a single word. She was not in the kitchen for long to keep him waiting for such a period of time.
“Dear Ms. Fisher, this key to your home, the home that was bequeathed to you many years ago, before you were born. Throughout the years, I have watched you stare at the cottage and dream of living in it, and I have seen you admire the beautiful garden. Well, it is now yours.”
Love,
Grandfather
September liked her story, and she felt that there was no more to write for that particular one. She knew plenty of publishers that she could submit it to, in Los Angeles. At the postal store in Kingston village while waiting in line, September held on to her manuscript like taking her child to school for the first time. “Ms. September Ashworth, how long has it been since I last saw you?! I believe it was not long before you went to Paris, am I right?” Mrs. Baxter was the postal store clerk.
“Yes, Mrs. Baxter, I have returned home for good, I have retired from playing,” said September. She held the manuscript closely to her chest and was not willing to let anyone read it before the publisher. “As a welcome home gift to you, Ms. Ashworth, there is no charge,” said Mrs. Baxter. September prayed silently all the way home from the postal store that her novel would be accepted.
In the village next to the church, in the back, and on the side, there was a path that she had not noticed before. When she attempted to proceed with her walk, she thought that she had seen a deer and five sheep. It surprised her, because sheep and deer was not known to be seen in close proximity. The sheep and the deer had turned around to look at September; the sheep had left, but the deer kept its eyes on her.
The deer’s eyes gleamed a sparkling emerald green, and that captured her, and it brought an understanding, humility, and excitement to her. “Why is there not anyone else around?” September asked herself that very good question. The weather had been cold, and the sky was gray the entire day, and even though she did not wear a warm coat, September followed the deer when it walked away. The same deer with emerald, green sparkling eyes waited for her to get closer. The deer led her to the same forest that she wrote about in her novel; there was a walkway that she had not mentioned in her novel, and the forest itself was well-groomed that made her walk easy and friendly. The deer looked at September once again and disappeared into the forest. She walked further and saw the cottage that she had written about, with the same key left in the keyhole to the front door. “This cottage is mine!”