The Old Woman, Estelle

The limp, damp bills rose in a flurry from the frostbitten pavement just outside the old woman’s favored grocery. The bags draped from her arms held weekly treasures including eggs, milk, sugar, and cheese. The last little bit of change from the trip swam around at the bottom of her purse.

The bills fluttered before her and instinctively the old woman set down her bags and reached her cold swollen hands out stiffly toward the dull green. She could now see one dollar and, for an instant, she imagined how she must’ve looked to shielded and shivering faces passing to and fro all around her. This was not the same as bending down to retrieve a penny for luck, she thought. It was a greater act of humility to pursue, unfettered, money. But then there was another dollar, and another, and she was quickly assuaged by the thought of this unexpected windfall.

Ah! She swooped for another! The dancing bills seemed everywhere and yet elusive in the windblown lot. She caught up first one and then stumbled toward another. One dollar and then two! Others around her had stopped and were now searching the ground also for the opportune cache. It was a wonder, all these newly appointed treasure seekers!

Then the woman, roused from her spree, became aware of a voice, not far off, and raised her eyes to see another woman, parked askew across a host of parking spots, in an old, dilapidated and rusty conversion van. The other woman had rolled down the van’s window and was hanging out. She shook her head despondently as she looked down, saying, “Never mind, never mind. Those were mine. They were mine, but no matter, you can have them.”

Immediately the revelry stopped and the old woman halted in her enraptured pursuit. She brought the bills she had retrieved to the woman in the van, presenting them to her heroically, then returned quickly to the task of finding her way home. It was in this moment that she heard the woman in the conversion van, still shaking her head, say, “Never mind, never mind, I thought they were twenties, that’s why I stopped.” Puzzled though she was, she busied herself with collecting her bags and headed for home.

***

The old woman was Estelle. She had seen many winters. It was the way of life. “Who could escape it?” she thought on the way home from the grocery that frozen day. Season upon season came and went and came again all billowy and grandeur at first. Always winter came, it seemed, with some leanness about it, but always an astonishing supply met the cold, unforgiving season. This is what she recorded in canons where she laid out all her hopes, as though the pages from these books were vessels transported to the very edge of the universe, for even an old woman like Estelle had hopes and dreams. And such an old woman spends a great deal of time considering the days of winter.

On a warm, limp day in April, when people in the city purge their homes in the rite of spring, and sell all that no longer carries meaning or memory for them, Estelle noted with only a little concern that she had exhausted the last page of one last notebook in her collection. All bills paid and a meager grocery budget spent, she realized there was nothing left for which to purchase another one. She again checked her supply on the off-chance that a notebook had escaped her notice, but, indeed, there was no more paper. It was with some doubt that she began her rummaging and happily stumbled upon a can in her Henry’s old closet where he had stored stray coins. She collected some quarters, dimes, and mostly pennies and stuffed them into a compartment in her much frayed purse. Henry was gone, but it was no matter.

It was time for a walk now, up and down the streets of the city, heavy laden with purse and coin, merely on a quest for an empty book, when Estelle happened upon a home in a rather nice old neighborhood, stories and stories, sunrooms, and gables. The sign out front beckoned her enter, and for curiosity as well as necessity, our Estelle could not resist. Layers upon layers of trinkets and treasures met her gaze. The woman behind the desk in the front room watched Estelle with eagle eyes as she moved from room to room before her.

It was not long, however, before Estelle rested her eyes upon a small black book. “Ah!” she exclaimed, “Here it is at last! Something more to write about and something more to write in!” She ran her creaky fingers along the front cover and opened it up, inspecting its innards briefly. Several pages had been torn out in the front, leaving still a good quantity of lined, yellowed paper. On the first remaining page, one line read, “My dearest, even in the midst of great sorrow, this is the treasure I leave you. It is all I have but for my heart. All is yours and yours alone, my love.” There was no signature. Estelle caught her breath at the sight of these heartrending words. She wondered what had happened to the lovers, to the words from the missing pages, but it was enough for her to hold them even in this instant. She felt the ache of ages and forgot momentarily that this was not her own story.

Meanwhile the eagle-eyed guardian had approached her. She cleared her throat before probing. “Are you making a purchase today, ma’am?” Estelle refocused her attention on the penciled number in the corner on the inside front cover: $5.00. “I hope to, I really do,” nodded Estelle, “I have quite a bit of change, it’s all I have. Will it be enough?” She poured her coins out upon the table and began the arduous duty of counting, but even with the quarters, she was coming up short. The woman was exasperated and so, too, the people who had gathered behind her in line whilst she counted and recounted, always getting a lower number. Finally, without warning, the eagle-eyed woman pulled the stash across the table and, with dismissive finality, said, “This will do. Never mind. Take the book.”

Estelle, with great wonder and elation, left the home with the warmth of the sun, a lighter purse, and a new, mysterious friend tucked lovingly beneath her arm. Upon reaching her home, she opened the book once again to the first page and digested the words before her. A memory returned upon seeing the endearments once again, a memory of her late husband, Henry, and her heart was filled with longing and loneliness. The happiness bound up in these memories led to sadness without him here with her. It was something she would record in her small black book, thinking only of how to explain the fine times and the loss. She touched the pages lovingly as though the book had always been her own and tears fell, as they so often do, whether or not you can explain the depth of sorrow burrowed in the heart. It was more than she could bear just then so she closed the old volume and set it out of sight, but before the book found its new resting spot, an envelope fell out from the back of the book and landed heavily upon the ever-cold linoleum at Estelle’s feet. It was filled with something, more writing, Estelle presumed, as she bent slowly to pick it up, wiping tears from her swollen eyes. Ah, and reaching in, Estelle spied unmistakable green. Wrapped round with a yellowed piece of paper, a note on it read, “All I have, and all to you, my love!” The bills were limp, yes, like the bills of winter, but not damp and not cold and not fluttering. In disbelief, she inspected the wad and wondered what to do besides count. And so began another episode of counting, this time with bills, until she hit upon an amazing fortune-right there in her hand. It took several counts for it to set in that what lay in her reach was a total of $20,000. Then, the heavy realization that an amount of this magnitude simply must be returned. So before her eyes were dry, she set out for the lovely neighborhood envisioning the return. The money was not hers to keep; it was the right thing to do, and she would sleep well as a result.

The street was not long in coming. Though what she carried was of greater value, it did not weigh her down as the coins had, as the deep cold of winter had. She approached the home with some dismay, for the sign had been removed and the home looked differently than before. There was a life in it that she had somehow missed before, but, never mind, she approached the closed front door and knocked with only some trepidation. There was no answer and this response persisted even as Estelle herself persisted. There was no one there. Meanwhile a car approached the house next door and a young woman carrying groceries called out to Estelle, “Who are you looking for, ma’am? That house is vacant. The owner has died and the estate has been sold.” “Oh!” said Estelle, “I was only just here yesterday purchasing a small black book. There is something I need to return, but how can I?”

“Ah, well, good luck tracking them down! Everyone and everything’s gone from here since late yesterday.”

And so, Estelle, now heavy laden with new wealth, found it did not satisfy, but only recalled to mind her own, gone beloved in light of the dear words written in the front of that small black book. It was no use to have such money without someone to share it with, she thought, and it was no use to store it up.

She was close to her grocery and so, with these thoughts in her head, she turned her steps toward it, wondering what to do next. She wandered the aisles thinking of all she could now buy: a roast, some sweets, a myriad of other delightful things. But what were these, if not passing, if not perishable? Estelle considered for a moment, then in a fit of spontaneity, exited the store with the cash held in bare hands. She thought of the fluttering money, of the woman in the conversion van, she thought of every poor beggar she had seen. With one mighty thrust, the old woman let go the bills, arms thrown in the air, letting the wind catch them, and watched with satisfaction as she spied eager eyes settle upon the unexpected treasure: a woman with her child; an old man and his wife, two young lovers holding hands while they ran to pick up what they could catch, a lonely young lady. She smiled and settled down on the curb in front of the grocery and watched and thought of Henry, once more, and the fine adventures they had had when they were young. Her smile was dreamy as the passers-by blurred before her eyes. Whether it was tears or a vision, I do not know, but just as suddenly as she had thrown the bills, a child approached Estelle too and presented her with some of the many bills. “I saw these flying around the parking lot,” he said, “They are yours.” He held out his hand, an offer to help Estelle up. She grasped it as she raised herself slowly to her feet. There were more. Others approached her with their recent discoveries. These, her new acquaintances were worth more than $20,000. Estelle shook her head triumphantly, “Never mind, never mind. Those were mine. They were mine, but no matter, they are yours now.”

***