Title of Story:Recollection and Regret
Type of Story: AU
Rating of Story: T
Characters in Story: F, J, Ca, OC. Brief mentions of other cannon characters (Fe, L, V, Ch, Liz Webling)
Warnings: This story takes place some 70 years into the future. Some cannon characters have passed away in that interim. This story is not about the death of any Hardy family member, but old age happens to the best of us.
Date Story Posted: July, 2011
Plot Blurb: A music box and a late night chat about the way things might have been…
Special Notes:
I have a tendency toward action oriented stories. This story isn't it. It's a bit of a melancholy answer to what happens to Callie and Frank after... well, after everything.
Chronologically, this would be the last of the stories in a series. There are spoilers for the other stories within this one, but nothing you have to know for this to make sense. There are other tales in between, and I'll get to them. A sane person would have written them in order… ah, well…
And before I start, to Cherylann, I'm sorry...she'll know why.
CHAPTER 1
Silk brocade. Smooth with the slightest nub at the same time, shimmering shades of pale wheat and cream whirling into a complex floral pattern… possibly comprised of orchids. The rose-gold sunlight filtering through the leaded glass windows failed to provide enough illumination to tell.
Someone sighed, a lonesome, resigned sound, and reached a blue veined hand toward velvet curtains the color of sacrificial wine, hoping to nudge them aside. The skeletally thin fingers hesitated shy of their goal, unable to reach the oppressive draperies.
The silk gown was lovely, botanical design identified or not. Dainty lace trim surrounded the square neckline as well as the embroidered collar and cuffs of the matching robe, marking the attire as both elegant and expensive in an understated old money sort of way… much like the octagonal bedchamber in which its wearer sat. Red toile fabric graced the walls below an intricately carved chair rail, while cream Venetian plaster extended above to the arched ceilings. The pastoral cloth repeated on the duvet spread over the curtained canopy bed, while the drapes' velvet reappeared on the pleated bed skirt, a scattering of richly trimmed pillows, and the overstuffed chaise that held the room's only occupant. Nineteenth century cherry furniture and flooring completed the ensemble. Feminine and impeccably decorated, if more suited to a museum than a home.
...Which was fitting enough for the woman enclosed within. Her peaches and cream complexion had long since gone translucent ivory, and once honey blonde tresses now trailed in an alabaster braid over one shoulder. The petite robe swirled loosely around a painfully thin frame, overwhelming a body it once caressed along gentle curves. Remembering whether the flowers carefully woven into the brocade were orchids was irrelevant. The pattern would be invisible now anyway, faded away as the last of the sunshine ebbed into twilight. The autumn day was fading, and so was she. It wouldn't be long now.
"Ma'am?"
She stirred on the chaise, but didn't open her eyes.
The grey suited gentleman tried again, crossing the floor to softly rest a hand on her elbow. "Ma'am? Mrs. Coleridge?"
A rattling cough preceded the opening of distant hazel-green eyes, the gold flecked color a remnant of a vibrant girlhood. She gazed at the silver haired man before her, struggling to focus. "Robert?"
He winced, both at the name and the confusion it implied. "Ah, no, ma'am. It's Gerald." He fluffed her cushions while he waited, comprehension taking her a fraction longer than yesterday, and two fractions longer than the day before that.
"Mrs. Coleridge? Callie?" More than fifty years' service to the Coleridge estate had earned him a certain familiarity.
Clarity returned to the frail woman in front of him, intelligence once again infusing the lined face. "Gerald, of course. I fear I'm spending more and more time with my Robert these past few weeks. I'll see him soon enough."
"Don't say that, ma'am. I'm certain Mr. Coleridge can wait a bit a longer for a reunion." He refilled an ornate pewter pitcher with water and placed it within her reach. "I can bring your supper now, if you like. Ms. Kearns has prepared an oyster stew, Waldorf salad, pork loin with orange curry glaze, grilled vegetables, French bread, and a raspberry torte."
Callie swallowed hard against the mere notion of consuming that much food. "She's cooking for Robert, nine years later. A simple bowl of stew, if you please."
"Ah, still watching that girlish figure. Very well, ma'am."
A small laugh ensued. "Still flattering an old woman, I see."
"Never call the mistress of the house an old woman – surely that's in the servant's creed somewhere."
"Perhaps, but I've little idea what else you'd call me at this late date. I'll be ninety-three years old in a week, if I get there." A hint of teasing snuck into the words, softening the knowledge that she almost certainly wouldn't celebrate that birthday for both of them. "And you've long been as much friend as servant."
"Thank you, ma'am, I'd like to think so. I've had a very happy home here." He turned toward the door, pausing at the threshold. "I'll be right back with that stew, unless you'd prefer that Amelia bring it up."
"Amelia's here already? I didn't hear the car." Callie flattened the folds of her robe into a more presentable arrangement. "Send the soup with her then. I suspect she'll appreciate a rescue from her uncle."
Gerald stifled a laugh, forcing his expression to remain bland. "That's entirely probable."
It was evident to all that the always inquisitive and usually diplomatic Amelia Coleridge didn't mix well with her more overbearing uncle. There was too much of her father in her for that, but then Jacob was a bit of a family anomaly as well.
Intelligent and thoughtful, the eldest Coleridge son shared none of the brash forcefulness of his four younger brothers. Perhaps that was why neither Callie nor her late husband Robert had objected when Jacob, the evident heir, declined to head the family banking empire, leaving that task to a younger brother. A brother who was no doubt presently harassing his niece about what waste of time gizmo research project she was slaving over for her father now.
Not that Amelia classed participation in her father's academic endeavors or inventions drudgery. Jacob Coleridge was a well-respected designer and professor of innovative aeronautic technologies, if not the financial mogul his parents might have foreseen. He'd married late and had children even later, now well into his sixties with the seventeen year old Amelia and a son a year her senior. Most of the pair's cousins were more than twice that age.
Callie Coleridge had made all the appropriately dismayed comments at her child's delayed entry into parenthood, but secretly she was thrilled with extra years it provided her with her oldest son, the only one of her brood that seemed to share the slightest aspect of her personality. The addition of two grandchildren just like him to enliven the final decades of her life had become an unexpected treasure.
Callie startled out of a doze as the door swung open again, a young girl entering to settle a silver tray laden with a stew-filled china bowl, a crystal goblet, and a single rose onto her grandmother's lap.
"Good evening, Nana." Amelia perched on the cushioned seat of the bay window, her five foot frame tucking neatly within its borders. Milk chocolate waves tumbled down to skim her waist, the warm color a shade darker than her eyes.
"Hello, Amelia. Did you have a good drive up?" Callie flicked a linen napkin across her lap with practiced ease, the monogram landing neatly on top. CCS. Odd how the simplest of things inspire melancholy when time is growing short. Callie Shaw Coleridge… It might have been so very different…
"And Daddy may be able to get here by Friday if he can finish his last lecture class by three. He doesn't mind making the drive after dark, but heaven forbid if Jake or I try it… not that I think that my brother ought to drive period, of course. Everything would be fine if he didn't always have dibs on the car, you know? One of his professors really should enlighten him that NASCAR driving is generally reserved for designated tracks, not Main Street. Oh well. Maybe we could all go down to the lake Saturday morning. The trees were gorgeous on the way here, especially the sugar maples…"
Callie realized that she hadn't been paying attention and her granddaughter had apparently begun to ramble to cover the lapse. "Amelia?" She waited for the animated chatter to slow. "Amelia?"
"Yes, Nana?"
Callie handed the teen the scarcely touched food before pointing to a small wooden trunk in the corner. "I think we both know that I won't be going to the lake. Scoot that over here and let's have a look. There are some things in there I want to give you."
Amelia started to protest, eager to ignore the older woman's ebbing health, but a glance at Callie found her nodding instead. She pulled a tasseled ottoman from the foot of the bed, arranging both herself and the oblong mahogany chest at her grandmother's side.
"Well open it, child." A distant memory tugged at Callie. "It's been a long time since I've hidden anything in a box that might jump out at you."
"Jump out at me?" Curious amusement lit the young face. "Surely you wouldn't have done anything like that?"
"Oh, but I did. A big, green, warty toad, wrapped up in a gift box with pink ribbon, pretty as you please. It made quite the impression, I must say, especially when it hopped right through the chocolate ice cream and then landed on Liz Webling's new white party dress."
"I'd imagine." Amelia was laughing outright, a few mirthful tears escaping as Callie elaborated on the toad's squeal-inducing romp through a mound of carefully prepared presents and edibles. "So, were you in the habit of giving gifts to enemies, or was this a special occasion?"
"Oh, it was a special occasion, but definitely not an enemy - my best friend's thirteenth birthday, actually. She dared me to find a birthday gift she wouldn't like when I was over obsessing about the need to shop for her party. I got her something else as well, of course, but I can't remember what. Strangely enough she loved that frog. She set it loose in a pond at her farm, which is where I'd caught it in the first place, and she swore she could tell it apart from the other hundred critters there. Knowing Iola, she probably could."
Amelia's laughter trailed off and she opened the lid of the chest, thankfully noting the absence of toads. She removed a packet of yellowed letters and photographs, handing them to the older woman, and then lifted out a shallow tray.
Callie sifted through the collection of jewelry, selecting a pair of sapphire earrings. The stones were half a carat, set in the center of delicate filigree petals. "Ah, here they are. Blue always looks delightful on you."
Amelia took the offered items, blushing. While pretty, she didn't often dress up. "They're beautiful. Are you sure, though? I mean, isn't Aunt Claire supposed to… when… um…"
Callie frowned slightly at the mention of her daughter-in-law, now truly the matriarch of the household in everything but name. "If you're trying to find a polite way to ask if these belong to the estate once I die, they don't. Everything in this box is mine alone, to give out as I will. My father gave me these as a graduation present from college. It seems to me they ought to go to someone with as much appreciation for the sentiment as the dollar value of the sapphires, don't you agree?"
She passed over a few items without waiting for an answer, picking up a strand of small pearls. "Now these were my mother's. I remember the Christmas Daddy bought them for her, I was seven."
An hour later the various pieces had been sorted, Amelia stopping periodically to jot down a note about an individual item's origin or intended recipient. The allocated treasures ran the gambit from Callie's mother's wedding rings, again given to Amelia, to a vintage Batman comic book for Jake, apparently purloined from someone named Joe eighty odd summers ago. A fair amount of giggling accompanied the stories, suggesting to the teen that the regal and somewhat staid woman she'd known as her grandmother had been preceded by a far less serious girl.
"I think we're down to the last of it." Amelia withdrew a polished cube of walnut wood inlaid with burled maple from the bottom of the chest, tiny hinges visible along one the edge. "Oh wow… this is beautiful."
Callie traced her fingers over the rose carved into the lid, the earlier laughter replaced by a wistful smile that seemed miles away… or a lifetime away, perhaps. "I wonder…"
Not bothering to finish the sentence, she sought the back of the box, winding a silver knob before opening the lid.
A soft melody infused the room, the music box unchanged from a crisp night so many years before. Callie smelled the lilacs strewn over the moonlit gazebo, saw the glitter of fireflies, heard the crickets chirping amongst the notes of the waltz, felt a strong hand close over hers… I love you, Callie… the warm baritone voice hadn't changed either, the romantic evening freed from the mandates of time in her memory… I love you, too… Still…
"Nana?" Amelia moved closer, one hand wiping at a tear drop on her grandmother's cheek. "Are you okay?"
"What?" Callie clasped her granddaughter's hand, squeezing gently. "Yes, honey, I'm fine. Just being a bit silly, that's all."
"It doesn't look silly." Amelia snagged the tissues off the bedside table, holding one out. "I'm listening."
"I remember the night I received this. It was perfect – candlelight dinner, the park under the stars, the breeze, the garden, everything. At least that's how I recall it. Reality has so little to do with being that young, engaged, and so hopelessly in love." Callie accepted the tissue, dabbing at her eyes and smiling all at once.
"Engaged… Grandpa gave you this, then?"
Callie let out a shaky breath, pondering how much to say. Not that she'd be able to tell this story later – and if she was honest with herself, this was exactly why she'd asked her Amelia here for the week. "No, not Grandpa Robert… His name was Frank…"
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to be continued...