Empty Places of the Heart …Part 2 …Custodian of the Past

All my house is peopled with ghosts... Some call such 'ghosts' memories.
—Henrietta Stannard

It’s spring—the season to ponder failed romances such as Cyrano and Roxanne, or more particularly, Jillian and me.

Jillian and I are on opposite tracks. She’s from wealth and to the manor born, and me? Well, most would view me simply as a servant polishing her silver spoon.

I inherited a Thirties apartment building from my father who inherited it from his —old Hiram Morton, stock-broker and robber baron who escaped the Panic 0f '29 by the skin of his teeth with only this aging tenement to show for it.

My dad was embarrassed by the family’s fall from grace, but I have no pretensions. I know my place and I keep to it.

“You should try to get your poems published, Jess—they’re really good.”

That’s how Jillian would go on, trying to encourage me, but all the while I felt I wasn’t good enough for her, or her family for that matter.

As if the Blakely fortune would be passed down to a caretaker. And I couldn’t keep her in the style to which I supposed she was accustomed, so I chose to end it then, before it went much further.

Of course, she was hurt and didn’t understand, but then, I also never told her.

But on reflection, what could I really add to her education, her degrees and her eventual profession? And of course, there was her family money.

It is what it is, I tell myself and determine to get on with my life. But this day, Jillian shows up, equally determined to invade my space.

“You can’t hide away here forever Jess, behind some Maginot Line of your own defence.”

I’m carrying a shovel and bucket of pitch on my way up to fix the roof, now that the rain has stopped.

“I’m not hiding, Jill, just facing the facts—you’re the princess and I’m the pauper—it’ll never work.”

“You know it’s never been about money with us—I can’t help the fact of my birth. Why are you so prejudiced?”

I arch an eyebrow and tramp on ahead up the stairs—as if I’m even going to try to dignify such a remark with a reply.

But one thing about Jilly Bean—she doesn’t give up easily. I hear her scampering up after me. I get to the roof and drop pail and shovel beside the other supplies.

When I turn around I’m expecting her defiant pose—arms akimbo, sneakers spread apart and jaw resolute—but I don’t see that.

I see an elfish urchin in ski jacket and jeans, blonde hair tied in a ponytail, her chin quivering, and trying hard not to cry.

Something inside me breaks.

“Oh Jill,” I moan and gather her into my arms.

She’s shaking and I hold her tight to calm her, brush her cheek with my lips and taste the salt of her tears.

And it’s all over then—I’m defeated, and I know I’m not going to leave her—ever. And I continue to hold her until the spasms of sobs subside.

We cling to each other, swaying gently on the roof where we shared our candlelit dinners and planned the rest of our lives.

“I missed you,” she whispers. I hug her hard and see she’s shivering in the raw April breeze.

“C’mon, we should get inside.”

We go back down the stairs and Jillian stops outside a door with a small brass nameplate engraved with the name Hiram O. Morton, Prop.

Her eyes dance. “I never saw this before. Was this your grandfather’s apartment?”

“Yep,” I smile, “the ‘Penthouse Suite’, as Dad used to call it.

It was old Hiram’s apartments until he died—and when he passed, Dad closed the rooms and vowed never to enter them again.

And since then, neither did I.”

She furrows her brow. “But what’s the point? Rooms are rooms, and I’d think wasting potential income is a luxury your dad could ill afford.”

“True," I smile ruefully, " I never gave it much thought I guess maybe I should take a look inside and consider renting the unit out—seeing as I can’t bring myself to raise rents on my other mostly retired tenants.”

She squeezes my hand. “Like father, like son, huh? Both generous to a fault.”

“Yeah—but neither of us inherited old Hiram’s greed. He’d steal the pennies off a dead man’s eyes.”

I laugh but it’s hollow laughter—my dad and I were both scarred by the past and now it seems to be affecting Jillian and my plans for the future.

To be continued…

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