The Diary
a Novel
by
Harris P. H. Tobing
(in hand written text)
Fall 1984…
…I dedicate the culmination of these words written through out this
closely protected diary as a personal journal and memory of a man
who I promised to love; who - after the Creator - made me live a
living, lively, and full-life. He brought breath into me, even when
not amidst my presence, full-filling the lonely emptiness. I breathe
when he breathes as he breathes when I breathe - 'til this day…we
are one, even in our distance and years apart. I pray that I will
always be his butterfly and a joy to him - who sculptured my heart
with love, passion, reason, and wisdom of life.
To a gentleman that he is - whom I shall cherish and deeply love,
and take into the depth of my final abode - secretly, admirably, and
willingly. His love haunts me 'til this day…endlessly.
With passionate love xoxo
Butterfly
Note by the author: If you put your nose up to these pages, you can still smell the perfume that she would wear when writing in her diary, in remembrance of Gabriel.
Chapter 1:
Gabriel's sedan pulled to a halt in his driveway. It had been a long but rewarding day, caring for the elderly - volunteering; one of the things he does on a weekly basis. He does this to keep himself busy, active, and useful for someone who has also passed the retired age of 65.
Gabriel takes a deep breath, mainly to catch his breath and muster enough energy to exit the car and enter into his house. He's been doing this for over 3 years - caring for the elderly, and he loves every minute of it, every time he's with them - for he knows, his time will come when he will need special care. And what brings him about routinely is the stories that they tell, of how they lived with passion, with the hunger to live full lives - even in their ripe ages of 70 and above.
Gabriel takes his time, easing his thin athletic body as he stands, towering at just 5 foot, 11 inches, straightening and stretching his legs and back from the long 3-hour drive. He selected Davidson Nursing Home near the ShenandoahMountains because of its location - out and up in the hills, away from hectic traffic noise and business of today's overflowing suburbs, cities, and towns. With his spring jacket and personal belongings in hand, he stepped up on to the porch and entered into his cozy home.
The familiar smell of his house is welcoming to him, the smell of flowering plants that grow year long, and a hint of coffee from earlier that morning. But even a warmer welcome is his cat, Jack.
“Jacko. How you doing buddy?” he asked, as he took a moment to pat Jack with long strokes who proudly stands at the edge of the chair by the door. “You like that don't you? You miss me? Bet you did, and I bet you’re hungry.” Jack responded by raising his rear-end to get the most of the rough strokes from Gabriel's strong hands.
Jack is a quiet cat; seldom does a verbal sound come out of him, but his loud, very loud purr makes up for his silence. Gabriel and Jack have a simple agreement - feed me, and you can pat me. Simple and to the point, which is equivalent to very low maintenance; most guys can appreciate that.
“Look what we've got here Jacko, mail! Just what we need - more bills.”
Jack has turned his back on Gabriel, curling on top of his jacket that was thrown on the couch; and digging his claws - paw by paw as his loud purr roars. Gabriel eyes him, but ignores to discipline Jack out of exhaustion.
Gabriel has an old house, build right after the war - with a wrap-around porch that he built years ago, and the only one on the block. Inside is bright from the sun's glorious evening rays that penetrate through the many windows. Each room is decorated in simplicity, each accommodating to a specific need; functional, minimal, and clean. The uniqueness of this house is that it is simple, cozy, and simply – home.
* *** *
Gabriel finally finds himself behind his desk after a shower and dinner. He sits comfortable in his old, worn-out leather office chair with his chocolate-raspberry flavored coffee placed on a ceramic coaster by his side. The medium-size den is warmly lit with natural-dark tone furnishings through out the room. Jack lays stretched out by the floor vent near the window, cleaning his paws with his tongue.
Gabriel goes through the latest mail; one-by-one.
“Junk. Junk. Bill. Another bill.” Gabriel stops as he comes upon an unusual letter, “What’s this?” On the left, top corner heading of the envelope it reads, ‘Estate & Funeral Coordination’. Gabriel opens the envelope – cleanly cut with his father's old, letter opener. He reads -
Dear Mr. Gabriel P. Miles:
We are sadden to inform you that Mrs. Maria Grace
Bancroft has recently passed away after a short battle
of cancer. According to her will, you are requested
to attend the will and estate meeting on Dec 12, as
an inheritor, and as we are advised by the State of
Maryland.
We look forward to your attendance, and our condolence
to you and the lost of Mrs. Maria Grace Bancroft. She
will be missed greatly.
Sincerely,
Gabriel's eyes swelled, holding back unexpected tears as his hands collapsed with the letter still in hand - onto the desk. He quickly reached for the phone and began to dial, but stopped - placing the phone back into its hold. He breaks into an emotional sob. This is one of the few times that Gabriel can remember where he broke down into an uncontrollably flowing sob; this being the most difficult and hardest for him in many years.
* *** *
At the driveway entrance gate, a guard controls the flow of the attendees entering, checking off names of those who are on the selected short list to be admitted onto the grand land of Bancroft’s estate.
"Good afternoon, sir," said the guard.
"Good afternoon," replied Gabriel.
"Your name, sir?"
"Gabriel Miles."
"Yes, please - they're expecting you. My condolence to you - Mr. Miles."
"Thank you." Gabriel moved his sedan forward and passes through the tall, gothic-style iron gates that protect this property’s estate. He drove up to the front, and parked along the edge of the asphalt driveway. He sat for a moment - pondering over the significance of this event. He knows he doesn't belong here, but only out of respect and love for Maria, he is presenting himself in this awkward position; while simultaneously, he too needs closure, and for some reason, there is a feeling of nervousness that haunts him, a feeling he hasn't felt since his first days with Maria, many, many years ago.
As he stood by his vehicle looking at the estate, he took a few minutes to absorb the grandeur of this mansion of a property. He heard that Maria and her husband were wealthy, but to the extreme of this was not in his understanding or comprehension; not until this very instant, it finally hit him with a swooping awe.
The mansion - not your typical modern mansion, had a history. It was built in the mid-1800’s and past down from generation to generation, until the great depression of ’29. For several decades the mansion sat, unoccupied, deteriorating slowly. Stories of the house being haunted – unfolded, causing hush-tone gossip and people to stay far away, until an oil tycoon by the name of John H. Bancroft purchased it. After extensive renovation work, the mansion came alive, and people started to come from every corner of the country – mainly because of the kindness of the Bancroft’s extensive charity; helping many of the unfortunate.
From the outside, the mansion was covered in light beige, brick color finish and wrapped with an awesome trim package that detailed the cornices, lavishing windows, and tall, solid Brazilian-Oak, multi-panel doors. Over watching the property from the roof line are custom made ‘eagle’ sculptures, with their wings spread – soaring against the bluest of skies, produced by a copper finish bronze that has now been iodized by time.
Inside, the mansion stood 5 floors tall, an old but well maintained structure. Grand in all its aspects, it stood alone, unique in its design and craftsmanship. The hardwood floors are solid with a high-gloss finish; and in some areas creaked when winter struck hard. Authentic wood finish trim bled up from the base and up onto the walls accenting wall openings. The high ceilings were majestically stroked with ‘holy’ figures set in a softness of mystical clouds. In the middle of this mansion is a grand set of stairs that encouragingly invokes ones eyes to look up and stretch the neck back as ones eyes falls onto the stainless-glass ceiling that protected the fifth floor. Yes, its structure and craftsmanship is grandeur and detailed in precision, and nothing resembled it; and all who witnessed it were amazed by it.
* **** *
Gabriel stood at the main entrance of one of the grand room and found it filled with fewer than two dozen attendees that he had never met. From his deduction, it seemed that each chair was calculated for the expected guests in attendance. There were several representatives from the funeral company that stood in designated areas, dressed in black formal attire curtailing the needs of the guests. A representative noticed Gabriel's presence and approached him.
“Mr. Gabriel Miles, I presume,” she asked softly in a very polite manner.
Gabriel was shocked that this person knew him – his name. “Yes, I am – how’d you know?”
“They’ve been expecting you. Please, follow me.”
Gabriel followed the representative as he was shown to his designated seat. The other attendees in the room curiously turned to watch as Gabriel made it to the last empty seat, on the end of the front row. Before he sat, he noticed an elderly man, close to his own age, who sat in the middle of the front row who frowned with curiosity at Gabriel. This is Mr. Henry Bancroft, the husband of the late Maria Bancroft.
Henry Bancroft’s presence was that of elegance and power. Dressed in the best of European attire, he sat with a straightness of formality – attentive, with a commanding demeanor, even in his senior age. His white hair enriched his solid-frame structure, and his eyes were piercing with strength and kindness, and his voice would be soft and sincere. Next to him was a young lady that looked half of Henry’s age, this was Olivia, Maria’s daughter.
Gabriel politely and subtly nodded to them in respect, out of his good gentle and kind manner when their eyes met with his; after all, he is a stranger at this formal estate meeting – at least to the extent of his knowledge.
Gabriel sat down and crossed one leg over the other and stared in the direction as the others did – straight ahead. What he discovered in front of him and through out the room was a marvel of intricate craftsmanship of nick-knacks that filled the glass-display cases. As his eyes wondered, he realized that the room held a collection of souvenirs from ones travel, items that ranged from culture relics to books, photos, traditional statues, and more. The more he looked, the more intriguing the idea became – the idea of how, when, and why these items were collected and saved. It was an awesome display of diverse culture identity and curious discovery.
Before his mind could completely escape into a wonderland of imagination, Mr. George Konstanzi exited from a side-door entrance and entered the room. His entrance was that of grace and stern-liness as he diligently placed several folders and other articles on the table in front of him; which got the attention of the attendees. He was dressed in an exquisite and pristine black suite, and his pressed shirt was buttoned to the top, tightly - without a tie or bow.
“My name is Mr. George Konstanzi,” he stated. “I am representing the late Mrs. Maria Grace Bancroft in accordance to her last will and testament. Directly in front of me are her husband, Mr. Henry J. Bancroft, and their daughter Olivia J. Bancroft.”
They both nodded politely in response.
“We will abide by the will as of Mrs. Maria Bancroft’s last request, and honor it with respect and in memory of the good person she was.” Mr. Konstanzi took a moment and looked around the room and then said, “I am told that all of you are present based on the list, request by the deceased. Are there any questions at this time?” He looked around again and then said, “No questions, then we shall begin.” He sat down - properly, placing himself on a black, leather chair, behind an antic wooden desk.
The room was quiet as they all sat in suspense. A few of the guests turned and looked around the room and at others who were attending this gathering – curious, wondering who’s who, and who will get what, and for what reason, but for the most part, most knew each other; and nobody knew who Gabriel was. Gabriel politely sat patiently, waiting to see how this would play out and wondered why he was summoned to this meeting. Mr. Konstanzi looked and exchanged a brief glance with Gabriel before turning his gaze onto Mr. Bancroft.
“With your permission Mr. Bancroft, we shall begin?” said Mr. Konstanzi out of respectful honor to the widower.
Mr. Bancroft agreed with a slight and polite gesture.
“Very well. Good evening ladies and gentlemen. There are nine items on Mrs. Maria Bancroft’s will, and among us there are seven family names listed on it and specified by the decease. Until now, this list has been disclosed from all those present today, including Mr. Bancroft.” Mr. Konstanzi glared around the room and at each member present. “At the moment, there are two rules that must be followed, both requested by the deceased, and we will abide by it - all of us; with no exceptions.” Mr. Konstanzi took a moment to reflect on the guest’s reaction within the room. “For the most part, most of you are confused by your presence here or the presence of others, in which we shall soon all discover shortly.”
There is an un-easiness in the room, with that said. Among the guest, some shift in their seats, others look around curious to what others were thinking, while Gabriel, and both Mr. Bancroft and Olivia sat un-moved, except for a quick glimpse between Gabriel and Mr. Bancroft.
“Rule number one, under all circumstances there is no haggling; an important request by the deceased – no matter what you think or believe should be or should not be yours; her request stands. Rule number two. All of you who are here were invited here because you will honor rule number one, with dignity and respect – with honor to yourselves, with honor to the others who are present, and to honor the late, Mrs. Maria Bancroft for her good will.” Mr. Konstanzi took a moment to observe the room, looking into each attendee’s eyes. “Am I clear, or are there any questions?”
The room is silent.
“By your silence, I take it that every one is in agreement with both rules that were mentioned.” Mr. Konstanzi said sternly. “Then, we shall begin with the first item on the list.”
An assistant came out from the side door and stood next to Mr. Konstanzi, carrying a silver, decorated tray. Gabriel noticed that Mr. Bancroft straightened up a bit, seeming slightly nervous.
“Mrs. Rachel Sanchez, you have worked for Mrs. Bancroft for over 20 years, diligently and dutifully at the Bancroft Salon. Therefore, because of your hard work and dedication, she has rewarded you as the rightful owner of the salon.”
Rachel Sanchez trembles in disbelief. Her hands covered her gracefully aging face as tears rolled down. Her husband, Mr. Sanchez comforted her. They are both from Argentina, in their late-50’s. The assistance walked over with the tray. Rachel Sanchez shaking-ly reaches for the small box. She opened it, and discovered a key with a gold tag that read, ‘Bancroft Salon’. The assistant then hands over a folder to her husband as part of the award deal; the details and rules of ownership and so-forth.
“Mrs. Sanchez, with your key is a folder that contains papers for you to sign that will declare you owner of ‘Bancroft Salon’ and some of the legalities that come with this responsibility. Congratulations to you.” said Mr. Konstanzi.
Mr. Bancroft nods in agreement to Mrs. Sanchez receiving ownership of the Salon.