Invisible Touch

Invisible Touch

Chapter 6 ~ The Neighbor

Helen Appleton had been widowed almost five months when a new family moved in next door. The street had been so quiet, a vacant lot to the right and an older couple on the left.

The Rinaldis had been great neighbors, but were moving back to their native Italy where a daughter was going to care for them in their retirement. The second retirement it was, in fact, for Mr. Rinaldi. He had actually been a monk before coming to the American southwest. That was where he met his future bride, who lived just north of Chicago, and that is how they ended up in the Midwest. She had been born in Italy as well and they knew someday they would wish to return.

They had been quiet neighbors, and now there would be youth and life, and there was nothing wrong with either. The new family had a young daughter. Helen might enjoy that, she thought. She had always enjoyed visiting with her sister and her children, but the Appletons had never had children of her own.

Widowed at only 42, she was alone now. Her husband, William, ten years her senior, had died just days before his 53rd birthday. He had quit school at 15 to work in a local factory and help put food on his family's table. He always had ideas -- ideas about how to make the parts better, ideas about how to make the plant run better. The owner was not one to let good ideas go to waste, but he was not the kind of boss to steal ideas from his employees without compensation. William was rewarded for each of his ideas. He kept receiving stock certificates, which he tucked away, not really understanding what value they had. So brilliant were his ideas, he was eventually made a partner in the firm. He took over running the whole business when his boss became ill and died. When William died, the company was sold, and William's share became a trust which would take care of Helen for the rest of her life.

He had always been so vigorous and healthy, she thought. His death, from a stroke, had come as such a shock. It was only now, with her old neighbors leaving, that she was starting to come to grips with it.

As busy as life and work were, William always found time to care for their modest yard. It was full of beautiful, lush, green grass and vibrant, color flowers during that short summer season. It was his pride and joy after his wife and his factory. William had died during the winter, and when spring came, Helen looked out the window, and realized something must be done about the lawn. She considered it a labor of love, that she would now continue what he had started. It would always be a connection to him, she felt, and she hoped she would enjoy it as much as he had.

One thing William did not care for was cats. When Helen once asked if they might get a cat, she learned just much he hated them, and the subject was never brought up again. Which was too bad, she had always felt. They were so nice to have around. They never bothered you, didn't take much care, never really wanted any attention. The Rinaldis had two cats, Bella and Monk. When they began making plans for their return to Italy, they learned how difficult it was going to be to bring the animals with them.

"You could always leave them here," Helen suggested to Mrs. Rinaldi over coffee one afternoon.

"Leave them where?" she asked.

"With me," Helen offered. "I could keep them... If that would suit you and Mr. Rinaldi, of course."

"My dear, what a wonderful idea," her neighbor replied. "We love the little darlings so much, but this trip, it would be so much for them. And the arrangements, besides. That would be such a relief for us, if you would do this!"

And so it was decided. And now Helen had her husband's yard and her neighbor's cats. She might be alone, but she would never be lonely.

And why would she be lonely, with the nicest couple now living next door and their little girl throw into the bargain. John and Betty and daughter Maggie were very nice, indeed.

Almost thirteen years different in age, Betty seemed to Helen so much younger than she herself was. Perhaps it was the loss of her husband and being alone, contrasted with Betty's energetic parenting. It didn't matter, of course. Neither woman worked, and they spent lots of time together. Coffee in the afternoon was their most common activity, and it was alternated between each others' houses.

Maggie was a delight, Helen thought. Betty was wonderful with her precious gem of a daughter. She treated Maggie like a little person, not like some kind of human pet. She spoke to her daughter like a grownup, and Maggie developed a certain maturity as she grew.

And she grew and she grew. When she was old enough, about 10 years of age, Helen asked Maggie to take care of her cats while she was visiting her sister. You would have thought she was being hired to care for the crown jewels while the queen was away.

"You want me to take care of Bella and Monk?" Maggie confirmed.

"Yes, dear. You'll need to make sure they have food and water every day," Mrs. Appleton told her.

"I can do that," Maggie replied.

"You'll need to check the litter box after about a week, too."

"OK, that doesn't sound like a big deal," Maggie told her.

"I'll be counting on you to do a good job. I think you're ready for a responsibility like this."

"Oh yes, I think I am," Maggie said, beaming.

And her mom agreed. This would be a great learning experience for a young girl. If there was any problem, she and her husband would be right there to help.

John and Betty saw a side of their daughter they had never seen before, as she raced home from school that whole week to go and do her "job" next door. It really was a great learning experience for the whole family.

When Helen returned from her trip, she was extremely pleased at the excellent care her pets had received. When she offered to pay Maggie for her work, she graciously declined.

"No thank you, Mrs. Appleton," said Maggie. I wasn't expecting any money. I'm just happy to be your good neighbor and friend.

Helen was stunned. This from a ten year old child. Whatever John and Betty Maxwell were doing to raise this child was certainly working, and if only there were more parents out there like them!

Maggie was growing into a fine adult, and her friendship with Helen Appleton remained strong all along. Now both mother and daughter were sharing coffee with their neighbor, instead of the hot cocoa Maggie sometimes had when invited to join them.

When Miss Maxwell began teaching third grade, Mrs. Appleton, now in her mid sixties, enjoyed volunteering in her classroom.

"You and those children, you just make feel so young again, my dear," Helen would tell her.

The children loved having her around. And so did Maggie. They would have lunch together and talk about all kinds of things from popular culture of today to the way life was like when Helen was a child. Helen hadn't really shared this kind of friendship with another person -- not since her husband had passed away. Though their ages were nearly forty years apart, their friendship was as strong as if they had born on the very same day.

Helen was nearing her 70th birthday when Maggie said something one day that shocked her.

"I'm thinking about having a baby," she told her friend.

"But you... you're not..." Helen began.

"By myself, I mean," Maggie said.

"Oh dear, I see," was all Helen could say for a moment. "You know, I have seen a lot of reckless behavior between men and women in my, well, almost 70 years. I might have said once upon a time, 'there is a reason it takes two people to create a child,'" She paused. Helen became choked up. Tears filled her eyes. "But I have never known anybody so full of love and ability as you are, my dear. I know how proud of you your mother and daddy are; they tell me all the time. If there is anybody in this whole world who should raise a child under any circumstances, it is you, Margaret."

Maggie gave Helen a big hug. "That is the sweetest thing anybody ever said," Maggie said.

Helen was about to leave her house to visit Maggie in the hospital when she heard the tragic news. John had made sure she was sitting down before he told her, and it was a good thing he did. She dropped the phone and began sobbing.

Women just didn't die in childbirth anymore. It was common 100 years ago, even 80 years ago. Not now. How could this have happened? Like Maggie's parents and friends, Helen struggled to answer a question for which there was no answer -- none whatsoever.

It was like a light had gone out. How would any of them go on?

And then she met Ernie. John and Betty would go on, because they had to raise Ernie. A sixty year old man taking up fatherhood after so many years enjoying an adult relationship with his only child. A 58 year old woman playing mommy again after all these years. Here were strong people, but she had already known that about them.

Helen was angry, but not with God or with Ernie. Life had seemed so magical. Maggie had made it that way. And now she was gone and the magic was gone.

But life had to go on. And it did. And she saw it. It was right there in those little bitty eyes and those little bitty hands and little bitty feet. She held that baby and wept at the thought of the mother he could have had. At least he had John and Betty, who had raised Maggie so well. There was that silver lining. And he had her, she told herself. Helen had shared so much of herself with that little girl, and she hoped there was enough left for her son.

It wasn't supposed to be this way, Helen thought. The mother was supposed to get a break and drop the baby off with his grandparents. Instead the grandparents were getting a break while their neighbor looked after baby.

She didn't mind, of course. And she admired them for their commitment to him. But what could they do? Maggie had never told anyone who Ernie's father was, and nobody had come forward to assume that title. Helen didn't give this corner of the puzzle any more thought. Maggie had intended to do this alone and could never have foreseen such a tragic wrinkle in the fabric of her life.

Helen knew how to play with a baby, of course. Her sister now had three young great grand children of her own, and Helen had enjoyed playing with them when they came to visit this past summer. She had a crib and a playpen, too. It had been easier for her niece to purchase them locally and leave them behind for a future trip, than to tote them back and forth to her home near Phoenix.

Ernie had just finished his nap. Was it a nap when a five month old baby slept during the day? She gave him a bottle and he was much happier now than when he had first woken up. He looked up at her and smiled. She would come to treasure that smile and all the happiness that went along with it. She carried him to the play yard which John had set up right next to her favorite chair. She offered him a blue toy and he shook it about. He offered it back and she thanked him for it. There was a hard plastic rattle next to him and he picked that up and shook it. "What a strong baby!" she said to him.

The ring of the doorbell told Ernie it was time to go home. "Ma," he said as Betty reached for him.

"Ernie, Ernie, Ernie, my little Ernie," she said to him.

"An angel, as usual," Helen told Gramma.

Betty thanked her friend and took the baby back home.

The neighbors were still enjoying their frequent visits, after all these years. Ernie always came along too. It was juice for him, or milk -- chocolate milk if he was lucky, and hot chocolate if it was cold out. It was the three of them year after year. Sometimes John would come over, too. Tea was his drink, and Helen made sure she had whatever anybody might want.

The house was in excellent shape for its age, but John would take care of anything that needed fixing. Plumbing, electrical jobs, he was very handy and could take care of anything. Ernie was his master helper. At six he knew the names of all of the tools. At eight, he could usually guess what his Grampa would need next and be ready to hand it to him before he asked for it. Now eleven years old, Ernie was able to tackle some jobs on his own.

One of Helen's kitchen cabinet doors had come apart, and she had called and asked John to come have a look. Ernie was at the door seconds later wearing a tool belt and carrying a toolbox.

"At your service, ma'am," he said to her when she answered the door.

She stifled a giggle. "Do you think you can save her?" she asked him.

"No sweat, Mrs. Appleton," he told her. "I'm going to have to take this back to the shop, but I should have it back in no time.

He was unscrewing the hinges from the cabinet itself and placed the screws in a plastic box. He jotted a note on a piece of masking tape he then affixed to the box. Very efficient, she thought as she watched him. He carefully tucked the door, now in three pieces, under his arm.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Ernie said. "Just a little glue is all it needs, but the glue will need to dry before I can put the door back."

"Well thank you, Ernie. I'm so pleased you'll be able to fix it."

She watched him trot back home, to the garage, where the workshop was located.

The next day there was a ring at the doorbell. As she opened the door, Helen saw a smile as big as that cabinet door. Ernie held the cabinet door in his hands -- as good as knew, she could see.

"All by myself, I fixed it," he said proudly.

He took the door over to the cabinet and installed it with the screws he'd saved from the day before.

"That ought to take care of it, Mrs. Appleton."

"Ernie, you've done a magnificent job. Tell me, what do I owe you?" she asked him.

He did a little bit of counting on his fingers. "Two hugs," he told her. One for the parts and another for the labor."

She paid him with tears in her eyes.

Ernie was a good boy, she delighted. And so helpful! Helen wasn't getting any younger, and Ernie helped out whenever he could. Taking out trash, carrying groceries, shoveling snow -- whatever needed to be done, Ernie was on the job. He had also taken over lawn maintenance duties. If only William could see, she thought. Ernie was a model boy, there was no way around that. And he never let her pay him -- not with money, anyway. He had eaten more than his share of oatmeal cookies, but there was no harm in that, was there?

And with the cookies, there was always milk and a chat. This was what he really loved, he thought. They would sit for an hour and talk about the city and how it had changed over the years. He loved hearing about the neighborhood and what it was like when she and her husband had moved into their brand new house... nearly sixty years ago!

And she would talk about his mother. Helen had asked Betty if she minded. That was fine with her, she had said. Helen had watched that fine lady grow up from just a little girl. Through the years Ernie heard hundreds of stories about his mother, and almost felt he knew her, and he was most grateful to Mrs. Appleton for this.

"I remember when she was your age, just about sixteen," went one of the stories. "Your grampa had just bought a new car and was letting Mag... your mother drive it home from the dealer. Your grampa was a very nervous passenger that day, I think. Very carefully she came down the street. It was trash day and the barrels were out. I heard a crash and looked out the window. The wind had blown a barrel over and it was rolling toward the car! She stopped the car right where she was, threw it into park, and jumped out of the car. She stopped that barrel just in time before it might have scratched the paint. I stood here and laughed at what I saw. She was a real delightful girl, your mother. And you have followed right along in her footsteps."

Ernie blushed as Mrs. Appleton gave him a hug.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I am feeling a bit tired, and I'm going to lie down for a bit."

Ernie said goodbye and went home.

Ernie looked at the picture of his mother on the wall after he was ready for bed. He thanked her for being his mom, even if he couldn't be with her anymore. He kissed his fingers and touched the picture and said goodnight to her.

As Ernie lay down to sleep, his eyes filled with mist. A fog. He was having one of his dreams again. They had become more frequent, more vivid as he grew older. He just hoped it would be over soon so he could sleep tonight.

This dream was gray -- dark gray. How strange, he thought, as he was accustomed to different colors, the pinks and yellows and greens and blues. This one didn't have much color but it had plenty of detail. He saw Mrs. Appleton lying on the floor next to her bed, her arm outstretched and reaching for something. A very upsetting vision, he thought. He could do nothing but watch. There was no stopping this vision until is ended on its own. When it finally did he was able to fall asleep.

He slept for an hour before another dream woke him -- just colors and the face of a stranger, this time. He managed to sleep for a few minutes before another dream of a stranger woke him up in the morning. Another typical night of sleeplessness for Ernie.

But now it was Monday morning and Ernie needed to get to school. He was upset from the previous night's dream, though. And he needed to check on Mrs. Appleton. He ran to the door and saw her through the window, sitting at the kitchen table. This brought a smile to his weary young face. She saw him through the window, and came to the door to let him in.

"What is this, some kind of holiday?" she joked.

"No, I, uhh... just wanted to thank you for the story yesterday about my Mother. I love those stories."

"I know you do, and... now there's your bus, don't be late! Come see me after school and I will tell you another one."

He was so relieved as he ran off. He didn't know what to make of that dream, but at least dear Mrs. Appleton was OK.

The distractions on Ernie's mind at school today were not the usual ones. He was frequently fighting off images of friends and strangers while he tried to stay focused on the lesson or task at hand. Today was different, it was personal, and he couldn't help but worry about what he'd seen. It was a mistake, he thought. Just a... could it be he had a regular dream, the kind normal people had? He wondered, and cringed at the thought that he had just thought himself somehow abnormal. It was true enough, wasn't it?

At lunch, the main topic of conversation was football. Ernie's short-lived fandom had worn off before he reached ninth grade. He knew all of the players and was excited for their sake that they were in a tie for first place in the division, halfway through this season. But it wouldn't have mattered all that much to him on a good day, and today wasn't really a good day.

"Is everything OK?" asked his friend, Doug, who was now a star defensive player on the Central squad.

"Yeah, thanks... well, no, I, uh..." he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. "I'm just worried about my neighbor, Mrs. Appleton... you know, she turned 87 last month."

"Oh, is she sick?" Doug asked.

"Well, no. Actually, she's not, but..." he realized there was nothing he could say, not even to his friend -- his best friend, really. It would sound crazy if he did, and he absolutely couldn't. "No, she's just getting old... I guess that's why I'm worried."

"Well stop it, or you'll make yourself old," his friend said. "Hey, what is that, a wrinkle?"

Ernie smiled but backed quickly away before Doug could touch is face. He didn't want any football dreams. Every dream he had made him feel like he was seeing something he shouldn't be seeing, like he was spying on somebody.

Ernie just laughed at what Doug said and held up his hand, pretending it was a mirror. "Gee, I think you're right!" he said.

The ride home from school was torturously long. Ernie sat alone in his seat behind the driver. The other kids didn't know why Ernie had to sit by himself, but they gave him his space. When the bus stopped on his street he rocketed off the bus and to Mrs. Appleton's door.

Ding-dong.

There was no answer. He looked in the garage to see her car. She hardly drove it anymore, but it was there.

Ding-dong.

He thought he'd heard the chime, but maybe it was just his imagination. He knocked. Nothing. He knocked louder.

He was frantic now. He had a key to her house -- it was easier that way when he was taking care of things there. He used his key to open her door.

"Mrs. Appleton?" he called. No answer.

He crept through the house. He didn't want to disturb her if she were just sleeping, he thought. But she wasn't one to take naps.

He called hopefully to her again. Nothing.

He reached her bedroom and turned instantly pale. There she lay, just as he had seen her, right next to the bed. Her hand was reaching for a bottle of pills.

Ernie picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1. They would send someone right away, they said. But when he felt for a pulse and didn't find one, he knew that there was nothing they or anybody could do.

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