The Matriarch's Notebook

Pages faded gold, splayed, spewing from its torn black cover, sprawled forgotten on a dust heap in the far corner of the garret, it lay barely visible in the growing shadows of sundown. How odd, I thought, to find this small but unsightly mess in an otherwise pristine, perfectly appointed house, staged for sale; an oversight I guessed by that ambitious realtor who had seen to every other detail with annoying gusto. Drawn to the curved bay windows overlooking the street 3 stories below, I knelt on the century old bench. Oh, what people might have seen from this perch a hundred years ago when the house was first built, by the pretentious looking people whose portraits still hung in its marbled foyer. My late, very single father, estranged from his family for most of his life, and all of mine, never spoke of them. Though a few of those immortalized bore maybe the slightest of resemblances to either of us, from my point of view, they may as well have been Martians. Turning to sit, I realized that this garret was likely built and outfitted for the servants of the house, simply, elegantly, cozily, nestled in its eaves. My eyes were drawn along the wall of fresh pink paint and then back to the annoying corner debris, probably left for removal when the faded floral carpeting was replaced with something far more modern. With idle curiosity, I decided to take a look at the discarded notebook which when shaken free of dust and wood chips, appeared to be an old journal with curled, fragile fading pages of loopy handwriting. Scanning a few, I noticed that most entries ended “Yours, Judith.” Judith. Judith? Had I not seen that name in the portrait gallery below? Intriguing! As I hurried down the winding stairways to each landing,I was careful with my new prize, which moments before had been trash. The steps ended at the foyer with its glistening marble floor, and vast gallery of family portraits. Ok, so which of you chic, bejeweled, coiffed ladies might be Judith?

When the attorney called weeks before to say that this house had been left to me, I was sure he was a kook or a scammer, and told him so. But the large parcel I received the next day by courier, full of copies of documents, wills, birth certificates, a deed, and more set out the surreal facts, which I read feeling faint. Ultimately, I conceded to meet with him, Robert Martin Esq., of “Martin, Martin, and Martin” (I know, it's hilarious, I call the company Martin Cubed, which Robert does not appreciate). After a lot of detail, and a formal summation, Robert handed me a check for $20,000 (more than I make in a year as an undiscovered writer and professional proofreader), advising me to simply visit the property, keep or sell any content I wished. Then I was to wait for the sale, after which when back taxes and other accounts were paid, including his fee, I would receive the proceeds, the amount of which I could not even guess.

The very last painting I came to, the largest and fanciest, was hung right next to my most favorite feature of the old manor house: an enormous stained glass window depicting a whimsical forest scene, complete with pine trees,clouds, a blue sky, graceful deer, running fox, brook, and an orange eyed owl. The portrait, nearly equal in size, bore a small brass plaque on its frame. “Our Beloved Judith, ” was inscribed. There you are I thought, Judith, probably 40 years old in the portrait was a knockout! Porcelain skin, raven hair, green eyes, maybe hazel? Haute couture green gown, classic, silken, with matching gloves and gleaming pearls at her neck and ears. Her expression was calm but deliberate, her demeanor exuded energy. Strength? Independence? Silent rebellion? I wondered about Judith, and decided it was time for a bite to eat, and a good read.

Walking past the stained glass forest, the eyes of its creatures seemed to follow me. Although lovely, as the last bits of daylight faded away, this house was a spooky place for one. I was glad that the housekeeper hired by the realtor would be arriving shortly and staying for a few days to help ready the house for tours. I unpacked my drab little lunch box at the kitchen table. My backpack, slung on the back of my chair, chock full of the house and estate papers that would help me inventory the house awaited. But that work was for tomorrow. Munching my simple sandwich and sipping a Coke among all this luxury seemed ironic. I propped my feet on another chair and began to read Judith’s journal. Many pages were illegible but the first few readable sections were about friends and family, Christmas celebrations, and an amusing description of an unfortunate girlfriend that Judith quite unkindly described as a “pig when eating, and a donkey when speaking…” I almost choked on my Coke. Judith was a pip! She mentioned naughtily tasting whiskey and smoking her first cigarette at a birthday party for her best friend from the Country Club, Charlene. She remarked that she “...didn't understand what the big fuss was about”. However, a bit later there was more about Charlene, her engagement to a handsome mutual acquaintance, a “pauper” to the disgust of “Society.” Judith mentioned “Society” quite a bit, using it the way, I might say “the powers that be.” I understood what she meant. I finished my food and Coke, cleaned up after myself and returned to my notebook (when did it become my notebook I mused?). The remaining pages, about 100, were numbered in the top right corner in ink, some too faded or ripped to read, and a few missing, torn out for whatever reason.

I thought about the family tree that Martin Cubed had provided, and reached around to pull it out of my backpack. Unfolding it carefully I searched its branches and finally came to one “Judith” far northwest on the page from where my father’s and my tiny family twig was positioned. This Judith was the matriarch of a very large family, branching down from her son, Jon Jr., to countless grandchildren, great grandchildren great great grand nieces and nephews. Oh my goodness - what was I? A tenth cousin removed or something? It was weird that somehow everyone else was dead or unreachable and this house ended up mine. I wondered what Judith would have thought of me with my tattoo of a lily that encircled my upper arm.

The next section of the notebook - perhaps twenty pages held just short little entries. “Jonathan proposed, and I accepted. It is done,” followed by “Married today, Jonathan is a good man.” (Wow, Judith, you romantic, you!) And then only 5 pages later, “Baby to come in Spring. joy and tears.” (Hmmm, joy AND tears?) Then “Jonathan to London again. Trip successful.” A few maternal notes, “Baby’s first steps today! Jonathan away.” “Baby’s first word today” Dog”. Jonathan disappointed.” “Thinking of redecorating the house for Spring.” Then a slew of notes about colors and fabrics, styles, and carpets.

The final ten pages of the notebook were a bit odd in that the tone of the writing changed quite drastically; the calligraphy itself was stiff and tightly spaced. One part really caught my eye because it was reminiscent of one of my favorite Joni Mitchell songs. It read…”Why is it that first we must lose something suddenly and entirely before we realize how much value it has in our lives? I saw him two days before his accident, both of us on the trolley just feet away, but we both knew not to make obvious the shock of it. He could not tear his eyes away from Jon Jr. and I prayed for the trolley to stop. He had his little girl with him as well - what a beauty, his eyes. When I reached home, Jonathan was annoyed at “my distraction” - I was too. I must think only of Jon Jr. and his future.” The next few pages were filled with Judith;s thoughts as she planned to move to “the country house” in Bayhead, and how city life was no longer “compelling” especially since Jonathan was traveling often and there was a smaller lovely school there for Jon Jr when the time was right.”

Then there was one more odd entry, “I cannot leave things as they are, regardless of propriety and Society I must do what my heart tells me is right. With his death, my friend needs help. I will see that she gets it.”

Quizzical! Just then I heard the key in the backdoor to the kitchen and in came the housekeeper carrying cleaning supplies, broom and vacuum. “Geesh, let me help you with that,” I said, jumping up and taking what I could to set down on the counter.

“Hey.” she said, “I’m Charly, glad to meet you. How are you liking the house? She’s a beauty, aye?”

“Yes, I said, “More house than I have ever seen!”

“Oh, not me,” Charly laughed, “I know every inch of her. My Grandma worked here, and then my Mom till she passed last year. When the realty lady called and asked if I could fill in I was glad. I am happy to help. I kind of missed the place. Especially the stained glass in the next room, don't you love it?”

“Oh yes,” I said, as I followed Charly to see it again. “Sorry to hear about your Mom.”

“Yeah, now it's just me.” Charly said, and then, “Hey Judy,” waving a hand at the painting to the left.

“Ha!,” I snorted, laughing “ Are you two close?”

“Yeah, kind of” said Charly, laughing, “My mother was always fascinated by Judith, she was some kind of tough broad for her day you know. Quite the trailblazer! Do you know her story?”

“ A little,” I said, but would love to hear more. You know you kind of look like her? The hair and the eyes?”

“Yeah,”said Charly, “Mom always thought so.”

I realize it was at that moment when our lives went nova. Charly and I settled into kitchen chairs and drank more Coke as she regaled me with her mother’s and grandmother’s century old stories about Judith, her family and this house.

Charly, like her mother, grandmother, and others in her family had lived in service of Judith’s family long after the house was passed down via her husband’s estate. “Wait,” I said, emptying the courier pouch onto the table, my inner writer screaming, “I think we have an intriguing story here, a book maybe.”

Scrutinizing the journal, giggling like schoolgirls, we filled the gaps with Charly's stories, the documents, and the family tree. Judith had hidden a very serious secret. Judith’s, Jon Jr, though named for her husband, was illegitimate, the son of a man below her in “Society” and to top it off, the spouse of her disgraced friend, Charlene! We were hysterical with this discovery - it was so juicy, naughty, amazing. He was the man she described meeting on the trolley, with his child- Jon Jr’s half-sister, Charlene’s daughter!

Judith’s departure to the “country house”, accomplished two things. She elegantly left her husband and created the need for a housekeeper at the manor, for which she hired Charlene, her true love’s widow, and supported his child. Judith’s house stayed in her family and was cared for by Charlene’s offspring, Charly’s kin. We gawked at each other! We were related by blood and house! Leaping to our feet, we hugged, screamed and danced. Cousins! Family! Not alone. We now had each other!

Refilling our glasses this time with wine from “our” cellar (staged for showings that would never happen) we brainstormed the most magnificent bed and breakfast in the city, Judith’s Manor, and the book I would write about it.