Mrs. Mays Little Black Book

Hyacinth May wandered through Jacobson Park one Sunday morning, her regular routine, feeding the ducks at the pond with the last slices of her near stale loaf.

She meandered her way down the busy streets of the seaside city of Golden Bay when the skies darkened unexpectedly and Mrs. May caught herself in a sudden rainstorm.

The store was several blocks away and Hyacinth looked on through the streets and pondered if she would have the energy to make it through the rain and catch the bus back from the market. The rain grew heavier, bearing down in a thundering chorus as the sky flashed in the distance. Hyacinth ducked into the nearest available shop for shelter and wait out the rain; in her seventy-two years of living, she knew that a storm so sudden would go as quickly as it arrived.

Hyacinth turned in the doorway of the store she used for shelter and saw a menagerie of trinkets and baubles cramped and stacked almost haphazardly, filling the majority of the space which left little room to wander. She didn't want to seem rude and stand in the doorway potentially blocking anyone who would come through as she waited out the rain, feeling the gaze of the tall, prim man sharply dressed in cream colors with small spectacles pierce her aura with a sense of disapproval.

She shuffled her way through the aisles of antiques; a collection of little china ornaments and tea sets, crockery, copper jelly molds and cake tins, parker pens, canes, clothes, jewelry and then something caught her eye.

Hyacinths attention quickly turned from a set of little porcelain Yorkshire Terriers she was smitten by, but quickly dismayed by the price of fifty dollars for the set, to something that seemed incredibly out of place: A blank, black book.

The little book was bound in black moleskin and was considerably old due to the paper being a faint yellow. Upon closer inspection, the paper wasn't just old, it was pulp; thick and chunky to the touch and a welcoming scent filled Hyacinths nostrils, the smell of old books, pure biblichor.

Hyacinth caressed the page of the book, akin to the first time she read a proper book which sparked a reminiscing joy of youth until she felt something peculiar tickle the tips of her fingers.

The book had some pages ripped out. The small fringe of torn paper ran down the margin of the paper. Something came over Hyacinth, she was utterly charmed by this seemingly ordinary little black book that was strikingly out of place in this antique shop. She had to have it.

"Excuse me? How much is this book?" Mrs. May called out to the cream clothed retailer, carrying the book over to the counter and handing it to him, looking down through his nose at the book above the rim of his small spectacles. "It doesn't have a price tag, and there's some pages missing."

The man opened the book and looked at it with a furrowed brow, puzzled.

"Strange, I don't recall seeing this." He said with a dry and quiet voice.

Hyacinth waited as the retailer checked an index on the computer that also combined as his till, looking out the window and seeing the rain clear and the sun break through the dark clouds.

"Ah, one Moleskin diary, damaged quality. Fifty cents." The man muttered, closely mumbling. "But, seeing as how it's so cheap, fifty cents, I'm not going to lose sleep over it. You can take it." He smiled.

Hyacinth brightened and gleefully took the book and thanked him, bid him good day and stepped outside.

She rummaged through her little pink handbag and found her pencil. Hastily opening the book to the first page and jotted down the name of the store and the street name, a way to remember for her to come back, fondly looking back to the porcelain Yorkshire Terriers that would look just wonderful on her fireplace.

The rain had pretty much entirely passed with sparsely any drops, the trickling trail of the thunderstorm that had just rolled over Golden Bay and was now charging further down the coast, exactly as Mrs. May had thought; the storm went as quickly as it appeared.

Later that evening, Hyacinth had tucked herself into bed later that evening and placed the little black notebook on her bedside table besides her rotary phone. She smiled at the fact that this little notebook of absolutely no importance prior to being in her hands, was now possibly one of the most important things in her life right now. Hyacinth, being a seventy-two year old, knew that her memory wasn't what it used to be, and thus this little black notebook would be her way to remember the various stores and other places she would like to, and even in some cases, need to visit.

Of course, the way to some places ran through her mind like clockwork; the market, the store, the park and the doctors. No matter what, she would never forget where these places were as they were vitally important to her.

Hyacinth imagined the set of porcelain Yorkshire Terriers and planted them in various places around her bedroom in an effort to help her sleep. She felt the shuffle of Max, her own little dog; a West Highland Terrier so named after her late husband, who was bundled up by her feet. She soon drifted off.

***One week later***

Mrs. May awoke with a start with banging on her door.

She hurried down the stairs and opened the door to a young man in a business suit.

"Yes, can I help you?" She picked.

"Are you Mrs. Hyacinth May?" He probed

"I am. Why? Whatever is the matter?"

"May I come in, I'd like to discuss something. Don't worry, it's nothing to worry about."

She stood back and allowed the gentleman inside who settled right in on the sofa. Hyacinth plonked herself down in her armchair by the fireplace, looking over at him. Being the courteous host, she offered him tea. The man declined, opening a briefcase and pulling out papers.

"Mrs. May, my name is Richard Kennings, I am the lawyer for one Albert Pond." The suited man introduced.

"Oh? I don't know anybody called Albert. What has this got to do with me?"

"Well, everything Mrs. May. You see, this is a very strange and unusual circumstance for us, Mrs. May."

"It certainly is. I have no idea what this is about." She puzzled. Had her memory truly eluded her? Did she know an Albert?

Mr. Kennings piped up. "The peculiarity of this is that Mr. Pond was very specific in his will. Mr. Pond had no living relatives, no children, didn't even leave anything to charity. Normally when this happens, all possessions are held by the government whilst we look and trace the clients family tree for distant relatives who could potentially claim."

Mrs. May simply nodded in understanding to what Mr. Kennings was saying, although still bamboozled by what was entirely going on.

"So when Mr. Pond had stated in his will that the last person who would be on the premises of one 'Alberts Antiques,'"

Mrs. May froze, phasing out of the conversation and recalling back to the antique shop she was in last week.

"Mrs. May?"

Hyacinth snapped out of her daze and looked on to Mr. Kennings glaring at her with genuine concern.

"Oh, sorry! I don't know what came over me, this is quite sudden! What were you saying?" She apologized.

"Mr. Pond died of a heart attack on Sunday evening, he was found the next morning in his apartment. We checked CCTV footage from the store and you were the only person who was in the store that day. I won't go into the details of how we found you, but Mrs. May, you are the sole inheritor of my client, Albert Pond. You now are the owner of his antique store as well as his money, which is a total of, lets see..." Mr. Kennings shuffled through the papers, muttering and humming to find the sum of money that would come into Hyacinths possession, "twenty thousand dollars."

Hyacinths heart almost stopped. She felt cold for an abrupt moment. Twenty thousand dollars!

"Mrs. May, do you have any business experience?"

Her mind raced. No, she didn't, but she had an idea of who.

"No, but my daughter and granddaughter do." She responded.

"Well," Mr. Kennings blurted, "All that can be dealt with how you see fit. My job here is done. This is for you." He hands over a small brown envelope. "It's the deed to the antique store. Do with it what you will now Mrs. May. Have a wonderful day." Mr. Kennings smiled, stood and saw himself out whilst Hyacinth sat in her armchair in disbelief of what had just transpired.

***

Several weeks had passed and Mrs. May had turned the management role of the antique store over to her granddaughter, who used her skills in marketing and her friendly connections to bring business into the store whilst also selling various items in antique auctions, and soon enough, money was streaming into their accounts like a fast flowing river.

Hyacinth had often lost herself in thought, wondering what to do with the $20,000 she had inherited.

The circumstance of Mrs. Mays acquirement of the store was unusual indeed. So much so that it had featured in local newspapers and that alone piqued interest in the business.

Mrs. May, though thrilled at the prospect of owning a business, thought it was best to leave her granddaughter to manage the place whilst Hyacinth would still be the sole owner of the business and pass it on to her granddaughter when she eventually passes on. The only true thing she wanted from it all was the set of little porcelain Yorkshire Terriers, which she had now taken and settled on not just setting them all on her fireplace, but to separate them and give them their own individual stations, with her favorite; one sporting a little pink bow on its head, was set upon her bedside table and facing her, as if to watch over her as she slept.

***

Hyacinth was wandering the streets on her way to the park on another Sunday morning, people passed by and greeting her now that she had obtained the status of a local celebrity with all the stories about her.

A faint smell caught her nostrils. A smell of various spices, garlic, ginger, all invoking the feeling of warmth and comfort. Following the scent, she strolled into streets she normally hadn't walked before and found herself outside a restaurant called The Golden Dragons Wok.

Hyacinth was entranced by the smell coming from the kitchens within and thought to herself that this would make a brilliant start of using her $20,000, she could treat the whole family to an evening meal at this place.

Her head whipped around to find anything to familiarize herself with the area; a street name. Cobble Street. She stepped inside the restaurant and gazed at the menu before helping herself to a take-out menu to help her decide what she wants when she takes the family, dedicating herself to certainty.

"Hyacinth?" A voice called out.

Hyacinth looked up and saw a familiar face; Jenny Ling, an old friend who had since moved away years prior and the two fell out of touch.

"Jenny?" Hyacinth beamed and the two shared a fond and friendly embrace.

Catching up for old times sake, Hyacinth learned that Jenny and her family own the restaurant. Gleefully the two made arrangements, booked a table for Hyacinth and her family to have a meal one night in the coming week. Bidding farewell to her long time friend, Mrs. May stepped outside.

Hyacinth dug into her handbag and pulled out the little black notebook and jotted down: "Jenny, Golden Dragons Wok, Cobble Street."