Cutler 05 - Darkest Hour

overheard one of the staff refer to me as "the old lady." At first it bothered me, and then I realized it was merely the staff's way of calling me the boss.
    One summer day, a particularly beautiful day with an almost cloudless sky and a cool, refreshing breeze coming in from the ocean, I returned to my office after inspecting the activities out by the pool and speaking to the grounds keeper about creating some new gardens in the rear of the hotel. The mail was piled on my desk waiting for me as usual, and as usual it was stacks high. I waded through most of it, putting the bills aside and sorting out the reservation requests along with the personal letters some of our former guests wrote in response to my cards of thanks and special occasions.
    One letter caught my attention. It was written in nearly illegible scribble and had obviously been sent from one place to another before arriving at The Meadows and then being forwarded to Cutler's Cove. I didn't recognize the name. I sat back and tore open the envelope to remove a thin sheet of stationary, the ink nearly faded too much to read. "Dear Miss Lillian," it began.
     
    You don't know me, but I feel as if I know you. My granduncle Henry, he's been talking about you from the moment he arrived until the day he died, which was just yesterday.
    Most of his days with us were spent telling and retelling about his life at The Meadows. The way he told it, it sure sounded good. We especially liked to hear about them big parties on the lawns, the music and the foods and the games you people played.
    When Uncle Henry talked about you, he talked about you as a little girl. I'm sure he never thought of you as being a grown woman. But he thought so much about you and talked so much about how sweet and pretty you was and how nice to him you was that I thought I'd write to you to tell you that the last words he spoke was words about you.
    I don't know how he looked at me and thought it, but he thought I was you sitting by him. He took my hand in his and told me not to fret. He said he was going back to The Meadows and if you looked hard enough for him, you'd see him coming up the driveway real soon now. He said he'd be whistling and you'd recognize the tune. There was such life in his eyes when he said it, I just thought it might happen. So I wanted you to know.
    I hope you are feeling good and don't laugh at my letter.
    Sincerely yours,
    Emma Lou, Henry's grandniece
     
    I put the letter aside and sat back, the tears streaming down my cheeks. I don't know how long I was there just sitting and remembering, but it must have been a while for the sun fell low enough to cast long shadows through the windows. It did seem like I was sitting back in The Meadows and I was just a little girl again, and when I turned and looked out my office window, I didn't see the hotel.
    I saw the long driveway leading up to the plantation house and for a moment I was thrown back in time. There was a lot of commotion in the house. Servants were rushing all about and Mamma was singing out her orders. Preparations were underway for one of our grand parties. Louella rushed by on her way to brush Eugenia's hair and help her dress. I could see everyone just as clearly as I could the day I was there, but no one seemed to be able to see me. Everyone walked right by and when I called to Mamma, she kept doing what she was doing as if she didn't hear me. It made me frantic.
    "Why doesn't anyone hear me?" I cried. Frightened, I rushed out of the house onto the porch. It seemed to age right under my feet and turn rickety and old, the food fading, the steps leading up looking chipped and broken. "What's happening?" I cried. A flock of chimney swallows burst into the air and swooped over the front lawn before sailing off over the trees. I spun around and looked at the plantation. It looked as neglected and deteriorated as it did now. My heart thumped. What was happening? What would I do?
    And then I heard it—Henry's whistling. I skipped down the porch steps and ran down the driveway just as he started to come around the turn. He had his old suitcase in hand and his sack of clothes over his shoulder.
    "Miss Lillian," he cried. "Why you rushing about so?"
    "Everything's different, Henry, and no one's paying any attention to me," I moaned. "It's as if I don't exist anymore."
    "Oh now, you don't pay that any mind. Everyone's busy right now, but no one's gonna forget you," Henry assured me. "And nothing's changed."
    "But