Friday, December 16, 2005


“Dear Aunt,

I can’t thank you enough for your warm invitation. The prodigal returns! We accept, and you may very well be in for an extended visit. We’ve decided to settle near you in Orange County and I’ll begin job hunting as soon as we arrive. Thanks for the offer of school information. We’ll look into that when we’re there. I will need information regarding storage facilities.

Thanks for your number- I would use it, but it’s been years since we’ve spoken, and I’d rather wait until we’re face to face. I have so much to tell that I would be tempted to say over the phone. I’d rather relate all the details over a pot of your Earl Grey tea… do you still drink it by the gallon or has your doctor forbidden it? I doubt that, as you’ve always had excellent health. Also my dear “Aged Relative” I know how much you hate talking on the phone, so I won’t put you to any bother!

Annie says that if you’ll refrain from complaining about your health, she’ll avoid whining about the unfairness of life in general. I foresee the beginnings of a great friendship. She is anxious to meet you.

I will keep you updated via snail-mail. As soon as the house sells we’ll be on our way. I hope to have most of the packing finished by that time. I expect to arrive a few weeks after the sale of the house- whenever that happens.

Love from the Prodigal Niece


When Ingrid received the letter, she rushed over to Mabel’s to share the news.

“Ingrid, that’s wonderful news! Isn’t it wonderful news Bill?” Basking in the glow of the California spring, Mabel’s husband Bill was meticulously trimming the Australian Fuchsia shrubs that populated his immaculate lawn. He stopped long enough to wave his shears and congratulate Ingrid with great cordiality. He then invited her to see his Brazilian Plume Plant. “And you’ll have to come out back and take a gander at the Lion’s Tail- never seen the blooms as big as this spring's!” Bill didn't show his garden to everyone. He was in competition with several avid gardeners at the Senior's Guild. Until the big unveiling weekend, in which members of the Guild toured each competitor's garden and voted on who had produced the most spectacular floral display of the year, Bill and the other Guild Gardeners restricted viewing to trusted friends and family members only.

“Ingrid’s busy this afternoon Bill, dear. If she started touring your lovely garden she’d never come away in time! Ingrid, come into the house.” Bill good-naturedly agreed. “You girls go on in and have a nice gab. Mabel, mebbe you could bring me something tall and cold later on!” His brown shorts and black knee-high socks disappeared round an enormous Flannel Tree shrub as he went on with his trimming. Mabel and Ingrid had a long and satisfying talk about the impending arrival of Alice and Anne, and it was determined that this was a most satisfactory state of affairs. “You will of course give them each their own rooms. A twelve year old needs a place of her own.” “Of course. I’ve been sleeping in the green room and working in the dormer room, but there’s no reason I can’t sleep there as well. The other rooms will go to Alice and Anne. I will have to put in a good deal of work to make them presentable though. I've been using the blue room for storage."

Several weeks later, Ingrid received another letter informing her that Alice’s house had sold, and they could be expected to arrive near the end of the following month. Two weeks thereafter Crispin St. James exploded through Ingrid’s front door, bursting with his usual fizz and fury. Finding the dormer room empty, he began a panicked search of the premises, finally discovering his confidante shuffling through knee-deep piles of boxes in the long neglected attic.

“My dear Ingrid!” he puffed “What are you about! It’s not like you to be wandering the house at this time of day!”

“Hello Cris! Come here and tell me what a child of twelve would hang on her bedroom wall.”

Crispin regarded her cautiously. She was clad in an old pair of overalls, her usually well kept hair was flying madly in every direction. Most disturbing of all, to Crispin at least, was the enormous grin that split her normally austere features from ear to ear.

“Well now Ingrid… just ah… I mean, that is to say… dear girl are you feeling quite well?”

“Never better Cris, never better! I feel no more than sixteen today! Just look at these will you, and tell me what she’d like.”

Crispin quietly accepted the fact that his dear old chum and her marbles had finally parted ways.

“Ingrid, I think you’d better come downstairs and have some tea. I don’t think you’re quite yourself today.”

“Oh! Mad, am I? Well Crispin, this is a unique state of affairs. It’s usually the other way round! Never mind, I’ll put up these lovely old Wallace Nutting prints. Everyone loves Wallace Nutting.”

“Might I inquire as to the nature of this “she”?”

"She? Oh haven't I told you? My imaginary friend Heloise. She began as a character in one of my books, but I've sort of adopted her and now she practically runs the place."

Crispin stared doubtfully. He didn't quite know what to make of all this. Ingrid, in spectacularly good spirits, relented.

"My neice Alice and her 12 year old daughter are coming to stay with me for a spell. I'm fixing up their bedrooms."

"Oh is that all! Marvelous! Simply marvelous to see you- I- WHAT?" the full impact of what Ingrid had told him sunk in at last.

"Did you say "twelve year old daughter" Ingrid?"
"Yes. Annie has just turned twelve."

Crispin paled visibly and sat down on an old trunk to catch his breath. "I hope you realize what burdens children can be. Eddie's eldest is nearing that age. Beastly little fiend of a girl. Nothing but trouble, I can assure you. Are you quite sure this is wise, Ingrid? I wish you'd consulted me before agreeing to have them. I'm sure the mother will be charming, but couldn't the daughter stay some place else?"

Ingrid shoved a small armload of framed prints into his unsuspecting arms and said briskly "Since you don't live with me Crispin, I hardly see what business it is of yours who comes under my roof. Annie is by all accounts a delightful girl. I'm told she's rather like me when I was a girl."
This brought no balm to the tortured soul. Crispin gazed at her reproachfully, and followed her down the attic stairs in mournful silence. They were in the blue room, and Ingrid was trying pictures on different walls when he finally spoke again. "I think you might have considered my position at least. This is my refuge! My sanctum! Ingrid, it's the only child-free home that's open to me at any hour of the day. How can you go about polluting the place with the patter of little feet in this mad-cap fashion?" The sorrow drenched tone of his voice was all that restrained Ingrid from using one of her pithiest retorts.

"Crispin, you're always welcome here. One twelve year old cannot possibly be as much trouble as all Eddie's children combined. You've always enjoyed my company- perhaps she'll be a minature of her old aunt."

"You at twelve? Were you ever really twelve? I should have thought you simply sprang into being at about 40 years of age. I say Ingrid, such a pity you never married. There was that actor chappie... Sonny Morris. Would have been a splendid match for you."

Ingrid ignored this abrupt change of subject, and turned to face the wall once again. Crispin entirely missed the brief flush that sprang into her cheeks at the mention of the actor chappie.

"Years ago of course. We all knew he was potty about you. And that brother of his... the screenwriter... what was his name?"

"Frank."

"Eh?"

"His name was Frank Morris."

"Oh yes? Frank indeed! Yes! Not that he's got anything to do with the topic at hand, but Sonny Morris now...You ought to have married him. Would have done wonders for your character."

"Crispin, should I hang this one over the bed or near the window?"

Crispin sighed and came out of his reverie. "Ah. The bed I should think. Nice spot for it. I say, what are you going to do with all this rubbish?" He gazed about the powder blue room, noting that the bed, dresser, nightstand and dainty white vanity were all covered in books, boxes, and paperwork. An old bicycle reposed in a far corner, while stacks of magazines occupied much of the floor.

"I say Ingrid do you EVER subscribe to anything more interesting than The National Geographic?" he inquired as he kicked at dusty piles of Archeology, Smithsonian, and Literature Today.

"Never Cris. I'm too much of a bore to read the gossip rags. I'm planning to throw most of this mess away. Or donate them. I'd like to burn what I can't give away but that's against zoning regulations. I've allowed things to pile up here shamefully since Ellen moved out. Isn't it time you were leaving? Don't you play shuffle board on Wednesdays?"

"Oh. Right. Thanks old bird, you've just reminded me. Edith should be here any moment. You'd better tidy up and get a pot of tea on."

Ingrid dropped the hammer indignantly and asked him just where he thought he got off inviting practical strangers into her home without so much as a by your leave? And without any proper warning too?

"Well perhaps I ought to have said something, but the bus trip to Catalina has nearly finished me Ingrid. Finished me! That blister Waring had her full and undivided attention for an entire day! She's scarcely spoken to me ever since! I'm a desperate man, Ingrid. Do say you'll help me?"

Clearly, he'd left her with little choice, so she chased him down the stairs yelling at him to get the tea on while she made herself decent.

Approximately ten minutes later, Edith Baker's late model Cadillac purred into the drive way.

7 Comments:

Blogger Wife, Mom, Teacher said...

She hardly has time for such a rude interruption, but she is gracious as usual.

Thanks for writing this here. It is the only book I can fit into my schedule!

Thursday, December 22, 2005  
Blogger Mrs. P said...

It's my pleasure! I'm having way too much fun!

Thursday, December 22, 2005  
Blogger Janna said...

Who's this Frank, then? Eh?

I shall winkle it out of you, my dear. I'm horribly good at winkling... ;-)

Good installment, hon. Ingrid is a wonderful character, she must be a blast to write!

Thursday, December 22, 2005  
Blogger Erika said...

I just stumbled upon this, but you shall be sure I shall stumble back!! I LOVE it!! I can't wait to hear what happens next!!

Friday, December 23, 2005  
Blogger Wife, Mom, Teacher said...

You had an extra hour yesterday and didn't write another chapter here? I am sorely dissapointed!

Wednesday, December 28, 2005  
Blogger Mrs. P said...

Well, Crispin's headed into a monologue about his life, so I've got to read up on certain topics to present him accurately... but fear not! Another installment is underway.

Thursday, December 29, 2005  
Blogger Wife, Mom, Teacher said...

Whew!

Thursday, December 29, 2005  

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