I began this story on: December 25, 2011, 11:20 PM


Rooms At The Inn
By Ora Lea Harrison



      Marianne turned off the highway and onto Crawford Lane.
      Not too far down the road, she saw it, an old Victorian mansion.   A perfect place to write for a few days.
      When she had gone online to find a bed and breakfast in this area that was off of the main road, The Crawford House seemed to be most likely.   It was an updated Victorian mansion, with rooms that were named for flowers.   Dining and on the grounds activities were included in the initial charge.
      She had felt a need to get away from her everyday surroundings to try her hand at writing, something she’d wanted to do all of her life.
      Managing to get a few days break, she decided not to stay at home, working on the house, like she usually did.
      She hadn’t told the kids that she was doing this, she had her cell phone with her and would talk like she was at work or home if someone called her.   No sense in spoiling her little time of freedom with their talk of worry.
      Parking her car in the parking lot on the side of the house, she went inside and filled out the registry at the desk, verifying her reservation for the Rose of Sharon Room, chosen mainly because of it's name.
      A young man with Roland on his name tag asked about her luggage and followed her to her car.   She allowed him to take her suitcases but took the laptop and camera, herself.
      Leaving her room, she bypassed the elevator, opting for the stairs, needing exercise after the long drive.
      Strolling the garden pathways, she found a comfortable looking, secluded bench, sat down and took her pad and pen from the little cloth carryall that she had on her shoulder.
      She lay the pad in her lap and poised her pen, waiting for inspiration.
      From this vantage point, she could see the backside of the house.   Looking upward towards the top of the house, she saw a figure outlined in a window on the third floor.
      From the website, she knew that all of the rooms that were offered were on the second floor; there were six of them.   She had seen them online in a virtual tour and wondered who was on the third floor and if she could go up there.
      Needing to take care of a few things before leaving home, Marianne hadn't eaten all day and decided to see if she could find something inside until dinnertime.   She was directed to a side room where an assortment of foods were kept in a large refrigerator for in between meals.   Choosing a chicken sandwich and a drink to wash it down with, she sat at a small table on the adjoining porch to enjoy her meal.
      While she ate, she noticed the small grave marker close to the driveway that she had seen on her arrival.   Finishing her lunch, she walked out to where the grave was.
      The writing on the stone was hard to make out, it was so old, but it looked like:

Mary Ellen Crawford ~ Born September 23, 1870
and Baby June Crawford ~ March 20, 1892
died together on March 24, 1892.
Wife and Daughter of Blaylock Crawford
Will always be missed.
      This is interesting, Marianne thought, today is September 23, the same day as the Mother's birth.   She then realized that the Mother had been born at the beginning of Autumn and the baby at the beginning of Spring.   How unusual, she thought; they must have lived here but I doubt this was their house.   She wondered what happened before and afterward.
      Walking back to the Inn, Marianne asked the woman who had registered her and was wearing a name tag with Charlotte on it, if she knew anything about the woman and baby in the grave.
      Charlotte looked at her and asked,   “Have you seen our library?”
      “No, I haven’t,”   Marianne perked up at the mention of a library and wondered what else she didn’t know about this place.
      Charlotte turned to Roland and asked him to show Marianne to the library.   Turning back to Marianne, she smiled,   “You’ll probably find out what you want to know there.”
      Thanking her, Marianne eagerly joined Roland as he led the way to the library.   Stopping at a beautiful, ornate door, he opened it and propped it open as they entered the library.
      Looking around her at the beautiful décor and volumes of books, the thought came to her that this place had once been home to a wealthy family.
      Roland took her to the center of the room where inside an antique bookcase was a set of books entitled, ‘The Crawford Family ~ A Centuries Old Story’.
      How unusual, thought Marianne, to have whole volumes of books about one’s own family.   It must be their genealogy or family history.
      Roland smiled at her and said,   “You may browse the books as long as you like but please don’t take them outside of the library nor close the door while you’re in here.”   Marianne smiled and he turned and walked out of the room.
      Noting that the books were in chronological order, she picked out the one from the late 1800’s.
      Searching the volume for Mary Ellen’s name, she found it in the index and went to the page where a picture of her and her husband were sitting on a love seat; each were holding a child.   She held a toddler girl and he held a boy, a little older than the girl.
      As was the custom of the day, neither adult was smiling and the children looked too solemn, as well.
      Under the picture was the caption, Blaylock and Mary Ellen Crawford with their children, LeWain and Josie ~ 1890.
      Reading on, Marianne noticed that it was shortly thereafter that the work on building the mansion began.   He must have hid his sorrow in his work, she thought, he sure could have done worse.
      Sitting as she was, in a large winged back chair, her back to the door, she didn’t notice a man entering the room until she heard him closing the door.
      Putting her head around the chair, she saw a middle-aged man who, at first glance, seemed to have a shadow across his face but then her friends were always telling her that she had second sight.   Startled, he said,   “I didn’t realize anyone was in here.   I’m LeWain Crawford, your host, I imagine.”
      Standing up, Marianne reached out her hand for his and shaking hands, she smiled, saying,   “I'm Marianne Stonecipher, you're not the same LeWain that's in the book, I hope,”   she smiled as she held up the volume that she was reading.
      He looked quizzically at her, then understanding, said,   “No, not that one, although we’re related, a grandfather way back there.   He’s the one who built this place.”
      LeWain had such a close resemblance to the people in the picure that Marianne would have guessed that he was a Crawford without him saying so.   Wanting him to understand her interest, Marianne told LeWain about viewing the tombstone close to the driveway and hoped to find out something about the people whose names were there.
      “We get that a lot,”   he said,   “that’s why we allow people to come here to the library, so that they can read about us, if they so desire.   Most people aren’t able to put their family in a book and are interested in seeing how people did live back in the day when their own people lived around here.   I didn’t mean to disturb you, go ahead and read about our family or you might enjoy reading one of the other books here.   We have a rather large collection of all sorts, as different as the people who’ve lived here over the years.”
      “Thank you, maybe later; you know, getting to meet an actual Crawford is history enough for me.   I see the family turned out well,”   she gave a short laugh.
      “Thank you for the compliment but you've already met a few of us.   We're the owners and the administrative staff."
      “Do you live here in this house?”   Marianne felt prompted to ask.
      “Yes, we do.   We have apartments here; my son and his family and I do, that is.   Are you enjoying the activities that we offer?”
      “I only came this afternoon and really, I needed a rest and a break from my everyday is why I came.   I‘m hoping to get some writing done while I‘m here.”   she felt she should explain.
      “You’re a writer?”   He queried her, looking closely at her face.
      “Mostly a ‘wanna be‘,”   she laughed,   “I’ve not taken time to explore my possibilities but would really like to do so for a living, if I could.   I wouldn’t mind getting away from my day job, for sure.”
      “Have you studied writing?”   he asked.
      “Not so’s you’d notice, I thought I’d take it one step at the time and see what I might can do on my own.”
      Looking intently at her and gesturing to the books, he said,   “See these chronicles of my family?   There’s a lot of research as well as writing talent there and it’s been passed down to me, plus, I studied in college some.   I could read your writings and coach you, if you’d like."
      It was Marianne’s turn to look intently at LeWain,   “That would be so kind of you but I live in Cedar Lake, not far from Shreveport, that's a pretty far piece.”
      “There're other ways, if you're interested.   That’s just a hundred miles away.   It shouldn’t take long for one of us to make the drive now and then and I could critique your work and mail it back to you or send it in an email.   What do you say?   Do we have a deal?   I’d really like to do this, you know, it wouldn’t be any imposition, in case that’s what you’re thinking.”
      Marianne was pretty taken aback, she'd just met this man and yet, somehow, she felt that it would be the right thing to do.   Maybe this was why she was here, to meet this man who seemed to want to help advance her career or even get it started.
      “We spend the majority of our lives doing things that we don’t really enjoy.   If we could earn our livings doing something that brings us pleasure, more the better,”   LeWain said.
      Marianne held out her hand, once more, this time in a pact,   “Done and done, and thank you so much.   I’ll hurry up and write something so you can see if I have enough potential to keep trying or not.”
      “I’ll tell you this, up front,”   answered LeWain,   “the interest that you have in writing tells me that you have the talent.   Our true talents are where our interests lie.   It just takes our being able to hone these talents and make them skills that creates a writer or whatever your interest may be.”
      She looked at him in wonder,   “Could that really be true?   I feel like I've just had an epiphany, I hope you're right."
      “From the sound of the dinner bell, I believe dinner is being served, would you care to join me?”   He held out his arm for her to take and together they walked to the dining room.

      Entering the open French doors to the dining room, arm in arm, like old pals, they chose a small, intimate table close to the windows.   It was early evening and was still light outside.   They talked about any number of things and a couple of times, just looked at one another, wondering.
      It hadn't been too long since Marianne had eaten the sandwich so she just ordered a light meal, whereas LeWain ordered a large one.   Marianne didn't think that she'd be able to eat much and was surprised at her hunger and ate everything on her plate.   It must be from missing breakfast and having a late lunch, she thought; she was just catching up.
      A little girl, around two, caught their eye, running around the dining room.   When she came close to them, LeWain surprised Marianne and the little girl by swooping her up and putting her into his lap.   "We don't run in the dining room when we have guests, now, do we?" He gently spoke to the child.
      Instead of wriggling from his lap, she looked at his plate and began taking food off of it with her fingers.   Marianne didn't know what to think as the little drama unfolded before her.   There obviously were many sides to this man, she thought.
      Remembering Marianne's presence, LeWain looked at her, "Marianne, meet my granddaughter, Lulu, her Mother, Charlotte, must be minding the front desk right now.   We'll watch her until we finish our meal, if you don't mind, that is.   I could get someone to take her to her Mother or Daddy if you'd rather.   She can get a little pesky."
      "Not at all," Marianne smiled, "I think she's just wonderful." Whereupon Lulu flashed her a mashed potatoe grin.
      Picking up his napkin, LeWain wiped Lulu's face and hands and fed her from the spoon from beside his plate that he hadn't eaten from. "I guess this'll be her supper," he said.
      After eating, Lulu began getting sleepy and putting her head on his shoulder, LeWain told Marianne that he'd have to go watch the front now as he was going to have to give Lulu to Charlotte to put her to bed.
      Marianne thanked him for a lovely evening and went to her room to shower and maybe do a little writing before her own bedtime.

      After her shower, she went ahead and folded the bedspread back and instead of going to the writing table, she got into bed.   Before she knew it, she was waking up.   Noticing the lamps were still on, and seeing the strange room, she felt that something was amiss.
      Then she remembered a strange dream that she was having before she awakened.   She thought that she was sitting on the little bench just like she had been earlier in the day and when she looked up at the third floor window, she saw LeWain beckoning to her with his hand.   He seemed to be pleading her to help him.   Then she noticed that there were bars on the window.   In her mind, she was thinking, how odd, why would there be bars on a third story window?
      Just then, her bedside phone rang and reaching for it, she said hello but no one answered.   Saying hello again, with no response, she was about to hang up when she heard LeWain say,   "Could we talk for a few minutes?"
      "Of course"   Marianne heard herself say,   "In person or on the phone?"   She wondered what was going on; glancing at the clock, she saw that it was eleven o'clock.
      "This afternoon when I was standing at the window of my apartment, I saw you sitting on the little bench in the garden.   Do you think you could meet me there in a few minutes?"
      This was getting to be more and more weird, thought Marianne and told him that she could do that as soon as she dressed.
      "I have to dress, too, see you in a few moments."
      What do you wear for a midnight rendezvous, she wondered and then the thought struck her that she'd only just met this man.   Why am I doing such a foolish thing?   In her heart, she knew that she could trust him, that was the only amount of time that she needed to know him.
      Before she reached the bench, Marianne saw LeWain pacing in front of it.   Looking up when he saw her approaching, he quietly spoke.
      "Marianne, I know that you'll probably think that this is crazy but I felt that the Lord told me a long time ago that he would send me someone to share my life with and I believe it's you.   Don't say anything yet, I have to tell you some things that have preyed on my mind for a long time.   I've not been able to share them with anyone but if you and I are to have a relationship, I believe I should bare my heart to you."
      Marianne sat down on the bench and beckoned for LeWain to join her.
      "When my son and daughter, Dwayne and Cristine were youngsters, my wife, Helen, was killed in a plane crash.   Her Father had given her a small plane for her birthday to help her in the little business that she had and one evening when she was out, there was a malfunction and the plane went down.   She was six months pregnant with our third child, a little girl.   For all these years since their death, I've mostly just been trying to keep the cohesion of body and soul together.   Until I met you, I've not known anyone who could fill her place in my heart.   It was just coincidence that we met in the library yesterday but I had already seen you here on this bench and later, at the gravestone.   Even from a distance, there was something about you that made me want to reach out to you.   I felt that my Rebeccah had come."
      All of this at once was a little hard for Marianne to grasp so she just said,   "Rebecca?"
      "You know, Issac's Rebeccah, in the Bible."
      "Of course, she comforted him after the death of his Mother."   She was quiet for a moment and then recalled aloud,   "I was having a dream just before I woke up awhile ago, right before you called.   I thought that you were asking for my help and then the phone rang and here we are."
      They sat on the bench for a while, without speaking, feeling the warmth of the other's presence.   When Marianne looked at him, finally, in the dim light from the garden walk, she could see that the shadow that had seemed to rest on his face had gone.
The End

Finished writing: Sunday, January 15, 2012   Afternoon



I'd love your input about my stories, you may email me at ora.lea @ gmail.com

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