Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 03 - Valentined (3 page)

Next, she lifted out the card again for a more thorough
examination.  She realized the difficulty in extracting the card from the
envelope.  It wasn’t because the sender had included any additional items in
the card.  It was merely because there was so much decoration on the front of
it.  All of the doilies, ribbons, embossed lettering, and most important, the
raised silk heart in the center made the card very thick.  It took effort to
remove it from the envelope.  It took even more effort to replace it inside the
envelope.  

Essie held the card gingerly in her hands.  She stared at
the front of it, delighting in its beauty.  The design was simple but elegant. 
A large white doily formed the base and was attached (she determined by
carefully pulling up an edge) with glue on the front of the card.  Winding in
and out around the edge of the doily was a thin, pink, silk ribbon.  She
realized that the effort required to accomplish just this portion of the card,
the weaving of the ribbon into the doily, must have taken a huge amount of
time—far more time than most greeting card companies would allot to such
efforts.  Surely, this aspect of the card alone made it an extremely expensive
one.  
Expensive
, she thought. 
Just how much would such a card cost
these days?
  She mused about the last time she could remember buying a
greeting card.  She had a sack full of greeting cards that she kept in the
lower left-hand corner of her desk that she used when she had to send birthday
cards to her grandchildren or get well cards to friends at Happy Haven.  But
Claudia had bought all of these cards for her long ago.  She never asked her
youngest daughter how much she’d spent on these simple greeting cards.  In her
day, Essie remembered that the few times she ever purchased a greeting card, it
cost her maybe 50 cents or so.  That was probably not the case today, and
certainly was probably not the case with this card.  This card was probably
very expensive—maybe several dollars.  Maybe even ten!

She put the doily back down, not wanting to rip it.  Like
most doilies, this one was paper-thin and very delicate.  Essie put her finger
on the gold letters on the front of the card.  They were raised—embossed.  The
gold sparkled and shone.  It didn’t look like it had just been printed by a
printing press.  It looked specially applied with just these unique letters for
this particular card.  She ran her finger over the smooth letters.  They felt
slightly rough to the touch—unlike the feel of the surrounding paper.

She next focused her attention on the beautiful silk heart
in the center of the doily.  This heart was obviously made out of a
silk-looking cloth.  Maybe it was real silk.  It was three-dimensional.  That
is, it looked like a stuffed teddy bear, only it was a stuffed heart.  Essie
touched it gently and there was a slight give to the heart.  There was
obviously some stuffing inside. 
Maybe cotton or whatever they put in
stuffed animals,
she reasoned.  She carefully pulled at the edge of the
heart, peeking underneath to see how it was attached.  This endeavor was not as
easy as her attempt to peek under the doily.  The heart was firmly anchored to
the doily beneath it.  Apparently, its base was glued to the doily at all
points. 
Strange,
thought Essie.   She continued gently pulling at the
heart all around its edges to see if she could see any part of the perimeter
that was not tightly attached to the doily beneath.  There was no break.  The
heart would not give.

Admitting defeat in this aspect of her greeting card
investigation, Essie turned to the inside of the card.  She re-read the poem
printed on the inside page.  The text of the poem seemed to her to be
incredibly gushy, romantic drivel.  She couldn’t imagine anyone—even her own
husband—actually sending such sentimental claptrap with a straight face to
anyone they actually cared for.  This observation caused her to reflect on the
many cards she had received from her late husband.  He had definitely sent her
cards for many different events—birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and even
some spontaneous moments in their life together.  Never, however, did he—or
would he—send her anything as mushy as this poem.  Most of John’s cards to her,
Essie recalled, were personal and—yes—funny!  He knew she liked humor and so
did he!  Most of the cards she gave John were funny too. 
We were just not a
very romantic couple
, she concluded.  She knew that didn’t mean they didn’t
love each other.  It just meant that they were not as overtly demonstrative
as…as…this cloying, almost creepy card from her secret admirer.

Yes, the secret admirer
.  Essie glanced down at the
signature.  She stared at the handwriting.  She tried to think if she
remembered it from anywhere or anyone.  It didn’t look familiar.   The
handwriting was simple.  It was written in blue ink.  That is, it had not been
printed by machine.  A real person somewhere (in Boston?) had actually signed
this card and sent it intentionally to her—Essie Cobb.   Now how could she
figure out who this person was?  Was it man? Woman? Child?  She had no idea.

She was becoming disgusted at having to deal with this
problem.  Annoyed, she flipped the card over and looked at the back.  The only
marking on the fourth and final page of the valentine was a logo declaring
“Boston Bell Greeting Cards” in the center of the page.  A black and white
drawing of what appeared to be the cracked Liberty Bell sat on the left side of
the logo, tipped at a jaunty angle.  On the right, the letters indicating the
company name were shown in a dramatic dark font that gave the entire logo an
early American feel. 
I guess that’s appropriate
, noted Essie.  It did
come from Boston.  Then she remembered that the Liberty Bell was actually at
Independence Hall in Philadelphia—not Boston.  Was that a clue?  Was the card
actually produced in Philadelphia? 
And besides
, thought Essie,
who
cares where my secret admirer purchased the card or what company made it?  What
matters is who sent it.
  The back of the card looked strangely naked with
just the card company’s small logo in the center.  Essie pondered why the
greeting card back page seemed so barren to her but she couldn’t figure it
out.  Eventually, she picked up the card and stuffed it back in the fancy
envelope and slipped it back in her walker basket.

I wish I knew more about this card and all of its features,
she thought.  The doily, the ribbon, the fancy cloth heart.  Who would know
about these features and how they were made?  Essie thought and thought and
finally it came to her.  The answer was actually fairly nearby and—she looked
over at the Happy Haven monthly activity calendar on her desk—fairly soon.  She
rose, stretched her arms, grabbed her walker, and headed out her door.

Chapter Four

“A woman has got to love a bad man or
two in her life, to be thankful for a good one.”

—Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings

Essie zoomed down her hallway, through the family room and
into Happy Haven’s only elevator which slowly managed to deposit her on the
second and top floor
.  I could probably climb the stairs, walker and all,
faster than this dilapidated old can
, she thought.  Scooting around a group
of residents who were positioned to enter the elevator, Essie directed her
walker down a hallway that veered off the small central lobby on the second
floor.   A few yards down this hallway, an open double door revealed a large
room filled with tables.  All of the tables were covered with various art
supplies.  In the center of the room, Sue Barber, the Happy Haven activities
director, was busy encouraging residents in the construction of valentines.  
Essie entered the room and quietly found an empty place at a table near the
doorway.

“What’s better than a homemade valentine?” Sue was asking
the group.  “Nothing says love more than something you make yourself!”  She
held up various pieces of paper.  “You’ll notice that we have a wide variety of
paper that you can use for the base of your card.”

Essie slid onto the empty chair.  There were three women
already there, each of them diligently at work constructing a valentine.  Essie
thought she knew most of the residents, but these three were strangers to her.

“Hi,” she said to the group.  “I’m Essie.”

“Donna Grimes,” replied the woman to her right.  “I’m making
a card for my husband.”

“She doesn’t have a husband,” added the lady directly across
from Essie and next to Donna.  “She always makes him a card anyway.”

“That’s nice,” replied Essie, not certain how to respond. 
Donna smiled sweetly, apparently oblivious to her friend’s comment. 

“I’m Velma.  We’re from C wing, second floor,” added the
woman.

“Nice to meet you,” said Essie.  “I’m Essie Cobb, C wing
first floor.”  She smiled. 

Sue Barber was describing various supplies that could be
used to construct a valentine and how the residents might add their own
individual touches to their creations.  Donna and Velma were hard at work
cutting, pasting, and folding.

Essie turned to the third woman at her table on her left who
had so far remained speechless.  “Hello, are you making a valentine too?”  The
woman smiled at Essie and held up a piece of red construction paper in
response. 
Hmmm
, thought Essie. 
Just like Fay
. 

Although she had no interest in actually making a valentine,
Essie decided that she had best maintain a low profile, so she grabbed some of
the items in the center of the table and began fashioning a valentine herself. 
Sue Barber continued to drone on from the center of the room, describing types
of cards and various different things residents might do to create a truly
beautiful valentine.  Eventually, Sue ceased talking and announced that she
would be coming around to each table to check to see how everyone was coming
along with their creations. 
Good,
thought Essie. 
Now, maybe I can
pick her brain about my secret admirer card.
  She fiddled with some red and
white construction paper, folding and molding it as she watched Sue make her
way around the room, talking to each and every person at every table.

“Are you making a valentine for your husband too?” Donna
asked Essie.

Essie was startled when her neighbor interrupted her train
of thought.  She glanced over at Donna, the lady who evidently believed her
dead husband was still alive. 

“No,” she said cautiously.   “I’m…I’m making this for…” 
Essie thought about her response, not wanting to aggravate Donna’s grief by
mentioning her own widowhood.  She decided on a safe response.  “Actually, I’m
making this for my…new great grandson!” she proclaimed.  Of course, Essie had
no great grandchildren, and this lie was totally off the cuff. 
Oh my!
she thought. 
Now I’ve done it.  I’ve told a lie to spare this woman’s
feelings.  I’m sure I could have thought of something truthful to say that
wouldn’t have upset her.

“That’s so nice!” said Donna, smiling broadly.

“A great grandson,” added Velma.  “How wonderful!”

Essie smiled in acknowledgement, cowering inside.  She
glanced down at her red construction paper and grabbed a squeeze bottle of glue
from the center of the table and lowered her head to her work, focusing like a
laser beam on squeezing a small line of white glue all around the entire edge
of her red paper.  The other women returned to their valentine construction,
and for several minutes everyone at the table was engrossed in their efforts.

As Essie continued her efforts to glue the entire perimeter
of the large piece of red construction paper, she didn’t notice Sue Barber
moving to her table.  Suddenly the young staff woman was there. 

“And how are you ladies coming along with your
masterpieces?” Sue asked with a breezy voice.  She stood at the corner of the
table between Donna and Essie.  She focused on Donna’s card—a pink heart pinned
to three doilies.  Essie noted that although Donna may have been confused about
the state of her marriage, there was obviously no confusion about her artistic
skills.  She had fashioned something quite beautiful in the short time that
Essie had been tediously gluing the edge of her construction paper.

“Oh, Donna!” exclaimed Sue, holding up the card in her
hands.  “This is beautiful!”  Sue’s face beamed a genuine smile.  She tipped
her head to the side in appreciation of Donna’s workmanship.  Sue’s long, brown
hair hung against her blue work smock.  Essie noticed that, unlike their
illustrious director Violet, Sue’s fingertips were not beautifully trimmed and
painted.  In fact, Sue’s hands and fingers looked like they spent a lot of time
here in the recreation room working on art projects.  She could see short
nails, bitten down in spots, and hands that were rough and calloused.  Essie
glanced around the room where she could see displayed many art projects
completed by residents.  It was evident that Sue took pride in her efforts here
and viewed each resident’s artistic success as a personal triumph. 

Sue continued to rave about Donna’s card.  “I love what
you’ve done with the outlining here, Donna!”  She pointed out to the women at
the table the clever effect that Donna had created through the use of her
doilies intertwined with her construction paper.  “I can hardly wait to see
this card completed!”

Sue placed the card back in Donna’s hands.  Donna was
smiling proudly as Sue selected her work to highlight for the table.  Sue then
went to each person at the table and discussed their art work with them
individually.  She came to Essie last.

“Essie!” cried Sue.  “We never see you here for our art
classes!” 

“Miss Barber,” replied Essie.  “Yes, I’m not much of an
artist, really….”

“I can’t believe that, Miss Essie,” interjected Sue.  “You
are one of the cleverest residents at Happy Haven.  I bet you’ll make an
amazing valentine.”