Wynncliff Sanitarium
Eliot Stokes inhaled deeply and adjusted his monocle as he inspected the wall of plaques and framed awards and certificates and made note of each one. Impressive he thought. What a source of pride. Julia Hoffman had worked hard all her life; this wall was a testament to her dedication. She has been a pioneer, each achievement a testament to her determination. Not everyone could appreciate the huge obstacle she had breached….medical school…..a woman becoming a doctor in a male dominated field. It was not easy being first in your class under any circumstances.
He stepped back, taking quick puffs on his pipe, the monocle dropped from his eye. Eliot Stokes wore a three piece suit, his graying hair swept back from a smooth patrician face, dark blue eyes and full expressive lips. Something had caught his attention, his eyes moved over the wall as he thought. A promising career, Julia was rising like a shooting star, advancement after advancement, then nothing? His eyes narrowed. Five years ago the progress stopped. Why did Julia choose Maine and Wynncliff? As a hematologist there are blood disorders in other parts of the world far more prestigious than Collinsport, Maine. Certainly a publication of any new blood disorder would appear in the AMA Journal or Lancet. No conference presentations, no keynote speaking tours. Nothing.
Eliot placed the pipe between his teeth. How well he knew how a career could be sidetracked. His own career had changed; the perennial Collins' crisis had taken its toll on his career as well. Starting on the periphery of the Collins' dilemmas, he found he became more involved due to Julia. The mysteries were exciting and the occult aspects appealed to him, like St. George's battle with dragons, he enjoyed confronting the demons of the occult world. Like an intoxicating beverage he was drawn to Julia, a woman with a marvelous élan vital. Looking back he realized, everything he did, he did for "his" Julia. He chuckled softly to himself. How presumptuous to believe she was his! He had finally admitted to himself that he loved her, loved her deeply.
"What I would not do for you, my Julia," He whispered out loud. The power of love had sidetracked his career, had sent him up and down staircases of time, all for his Julia. What had love done to his logical reasoning brain?
Eliot's eyes moved across the wall. 'What sidetracked your career, Julia? What brought you here to Maine? Only love could cloud our minds and judgment and leave us weak with hope and desire.' He knew too well the feeling, the excitement he felt as he waited in her office. The thought of seeing her made his heart race. He had talked with her secretary early in the day. Julia would be tired and hungry. He had prepared a delicious meal for her.
Stokes walked to the window and stared out at the sunset, the long shadows forming. He slipped his hand in his pocket and toyed with his change, inhaling deeply on his pipe when he heard the door open.
Julia Hoffman entered wearily carrying a clipboard. She stopped, smelling the sweet pipe tobacco.
"Eliot," she said softly, "I didn't know you were here." The professor turned to face her. Julia's normally crisp lab coat was wrinkled and her face weary.
"Your secretary asked me to wait in here."
Julia's voice was soft, filled with fatigue, her fingers nervously toying with her hair. "I hope you haven't been waiting long?"
Eliot smiled as he stepped forward to help remove her coat. "I'd wait for you as long as necessary, you know that Julia." Her eyes met his and she smiled sweetly, rubbing her face and eyes. "It's been a long and difficult day."
Eliot placed the jacket and clipboard to the side. He felt nervous like a schoolboy asking for a date. "Julia, you're exhausted and haven't eaten. My place is on the way to Collinwood, would you share dinner with me?"
Julia's eyes blinked, "I'd like that."
"Splendid!" Eliot beamed.
Arrowhead Road, Home of Professor T. Eliot Stokes
Eliot opened the front door for Julia, the aroma of bread and roast flowed passed them. Julia stepped in and removed her coat. "It smells wonderful."
He took her coat. "Please Julia have a seat, take your shoes off, put your feet up." Eliot gestured toward a chair and ottoman. "Dinner will be served in just a few minutes." The professor hurried off as Julia sank into the chair; the fabric of the ottoman caressed her feet.
"This is wonderful, Eliot," She called. Julia's eyes moved around the great room, the paintings were new, or perhaps she had not noticed them before. It seemed she had always been distracted by some problem; some secret mission. She found the furnishings both appealing and comfortable. The dining area was set with tablecloth, fine china, silverware, and a small floral centerpiece of tiny red roses. For the first time she heard music playing softly in the background.
Eliot handed her a glass of sherry. "Refreshments while you wait."
Julia took a small sip, feeling its warmth as she swallowed. On an empty stomach it seemed to flow instantly into her veins, her body seemed to float.
The music spread over her like a warm blanket, her eyes narrowed enjoying the softness of the instrumental, and then a mellow voice. It was Frank Sinatra. The lyrics, familiar, moved through her mind like massaging fingers and she began to softly sing along.
When somebody loves you, it's no good unless he loves you, all the way.
''Tell me Barnabas, who do you really love?' She whispered to herself.
Happy to be near you, when you need someone to cheer you, all the way.
"Julia," Eliot called from the kitchen, "I tried a new bread recipe. I hope you like it."
Julia nodded without opening her eyes. "I'm sure I will Eliot."
Taller that the tallest tree is, that's how it's got to feel.
Deeper than the deep blue sea is, that's how deep it goes if it's real.
"Real," she whispered, "yes, is it real?"
When somebody needs you it's no good unless they need you, all the way.
Barnabas always needed me. She thought. But does he still need me?
Through the good or lean years and for all the in between years, come what may.
There were certainly good and lean years. Was she making the right decision to leave?
Who knows where the road will lead us, only a fool would say.
What's next? She thought. Will I be able to put all this behind me?
Will I always love him like I do?
But if you let me love you, it's for sure I'm going to love you, all the way, all the way.
So if you let me love you it's for sure I'm going to love you, all the way, all the way.
Eliot brought in two steaming plates of roast beef. Julia watched him dreamily, the lyrics still playing in her head. Stokes hurried off and returned with a breadboard.
Julia stood and stretched, "It's nice of you to invite me, Eliot."
He smiled and pulled back the chair for her, then moved to sit across from her.
The leftovers at Collinwood paled in comparison to the pot roast he had prepared. The vegetables were vibrant and the meat pulled into tender strips. The bread freshly baked was sliced and served with honeyed-butter.
"Eliot, you spoil me."
He smiled, pleased, "Save room for peach cobbler."
Julia's eyes widened. "Peach cobbler!"
Eliot smoothed the napkin on his lap, feeling too nervous to eat and slowly toyed with his food, watching her savor each bite. The silence that passed between them was easy like the carriage rides in 1840.
"I didn't realize I was so hungry." Julia brought her napkins to her lips, "I don't recall the paintings."
Eliot smiled easily, "They're mine. Over the years I move them around, displaying some, while storing others. Landscapes, stills, portraits, watercolors and sketches, it depends on my mood."
Julia noticed the small portrait of Hallie Stokes in watercolor. Hallie must have been sixteen at the time, blonde hair pulled back from her face, clear blue eyes sparkling with youth. "The portrait of Hallie is so life-like, it resembles a photograph."
Eliot sat back in his chair, studying Julia, not the watercolor. "Have you ever considered having a portrait, Julia?"
Her eyes darted to his face in surprise. She laughed deeply, "You're not serious?"
Eliot did not respond. Julia continued, "Portraits are for the rich and influential."
"Like the Collins'." He added.
Julia lowered her eyes, "I've never considered myself portrait material."
The professors eyes softened, "Why not, Julia?" He did not want to make her uncomfortable, but he wanted her to know the truth. Leaning back in his chair his eyes admired her, "You have exotic eyes, framed by classic cheekbones, a halo of glowing auburn hair, but those full lips …. " He paused. "I'm afraid I would have to paint the Hoffman pouting lip."
Julia laughed softly; her fingers toyed with her napkin. Eliot chuckled. He was glad he could make her laugh and was sure she did not laugh enough in her life.
"The Hoffman pouting lip I call it, like a red flag it warns those who know you. Julia Hoffman has made up her mind, and you'd better not try to change it."
"Oh, Eliot," she laughed, waving her hand at him in mock dismissal.
Stokes leaned forward, folding his arms on the table smiling with good humor, "Tell me it isn't so, Julia?"
Her laughter continued. "O.K. I can be stubborn at times."
"At times!" Eliot teased. They both burst into laughter. Julia breathed deeply trying to catch her breath from the laughter. Eliot sensed such bittersweet happiness in her laughter. She had laughed too little since he had known her. When would she laugh again? The question gnawed at him. Over the years how often had he seen her finding joy in her life? How long could this go on?
"Julia," he began tenderly, "Are you happy?"
The question shocked her, the change in his tone, and the serious nature of his question.
She nervously toyed with her napkin and lowered her eyes. "My work at Wynncliff is very rewarding", she began her rehearsed answer. Eliot interrupted her, "I mean, Julia, are you personally happy?"
"I don't know what you mean, Eliot?"
"In your personal life, are you happy?"
Julia squared her shoulders, her tone becoming defensive. "What is the point of your question?"
Eliot knew that he had waded into dangerous waters. Was he willing to take the risk? The stakes were very high. Would he forgive himself if he were not to take the chance?
"I mean a 70 hour work week at Wynncliff Sanitarium barely leaves you time to sleep, let alone have a social life."
"What makes you think I need a social life? I have my work, that's all I need. " Julia countered.
Eliot sighed deeply, feeling the growing hostility returning, "It's still him isn't it?"
"I don't know what you mean?"
"Don't be coy with me, Julia. It's always been Barnabas Collins!" Eliot snapped.
Hoffman rose from the table, and turned her back to him, defiantly folding her arms across her chest. Eliot pushed back his chair, and stood behind her.
"It's been this way since we've returned from 1840. You've buried yourself in your work and you've buried your feelings as well. You and I both know he didn't want to return; he wanted to remain there and mourn his Valerie. It's time you became realistic about Barnabas Collins."
Julia remained with her back toward him; she did not want him to see her eyes growing moist. Slowly he turned her to face him. "Julia, I know he's always been at the center of your world, but you need to realize you may never be at the center of his."
Julia's lip quivered as she pulled away from him and turned to leave. Eliot stepped toward her, "Julia, you are an intelligent woman, you need to realize when it comes to Barnabas Collins this may be as good as it gets. He may never change, you may never be the love of his life; you may always remain his dear and devoted friend. Are you willing to wait a lifetime for something that may never happen?"
Hurt and anger burst forth, Julia raised her open hand to him. Eliot caught her wrist easily, she leaned against him. The professor's voice whispered softly in her ear, "Julia, will causing me pain eliminate the pain you feel inside?"
Julia pulled free and grabbed her coat in the hallway. "I don't need you, Eliot. Do you understand? I don't need you! Leave me alone!" she spoke through gritted teeth, her eyes moist and glaring. He stood stoically, feeling the sting of her words. She grabbed her coat, slamming the door behind her.
In three quick strides he was at the door, then hesitated. Should he run after her? He could overtake her before she reached her car. Should he pull her into his arms and tell her he was sorry? He could tell her that he loved her and would never want to hurt her? Slowly he walked to the window and watched the tail lights of her car disappear into the distance.
No. If nothing else, he wanted to have an honest relationship with Julia. He did not want to live in the shadow of Barnabas Collins. Julia would have to come to him freely. She would not respect him if he clung to her, begging for her love. Logic did not eliminate the gnawing feeling he felt inside, a feeling that he might have lost her forever.
Clearing the table and kitchen Eliot prepared for bed. Normally he enjoyed the large queen size bed, the soft downy pillows, but tonight it seems large and lonely. How long was he willing to sleep alone? There had been women a long time ago when he was younger. As he aged he found that he longed for someone special. He stared at the shadows outside his window, trying to lull himself to sleep. Instead he grew more restless as thoughts invaded his mind. Endless scenarios of how the evening could have ended. Suppose instead of leaving she had stayed. How would it feel having her lying next to him feeling the softness of her bare skin next to his? Eliot threw back the blanket. He could not bear to continue these thoughts.
He would sketch in his studio. He was sure that would distract his mind. Sitting at his drawing table Eliot moved the charcoal around in his fingers.
When he was a child he would sit in his mother's garden and stare off into space. His parents thought it odd how their son would spend such long periods in his "daydream". Eliot knew otherwise. In the garden he realized he could visualize every room in his home. In each room he could see and place every item in its exact position. He was unsure of his abilities until he returned to the room and realized the accuracy of his observations. Growing older he perfected his memory techniques. He called them his "memory rooms". With age the amount of material increased and the memories stored. At a later time he would travel to that room and retrieve the information. Entering college Eliot found he had many, many rooms and volumes and volumes of material stored in each.
He moved the charcoal over the paper in circles, not touching the paper just relaxing his hand. He moved to Julia's room, her clothing and jewelry and images of the way she walked and talked were all stored. He recalled his favorite black dress, the one she wore the night they entertained the warlock, Nickolas Blair. The dress hugged her form, the white pearl earrings and the single strand of pearls were classic elegance.
His fingers touched the paper the lines of her face taking shape. He recalled every detail, the shape of her eyes, the elegantly sculpted nose. She had cheekbones that added drama to her face. The lips, he would not make them pouting, he would make them full and kissable.
Eliot's fingers moved furiously across the paper, pausing only to refresh his memory. Now for the hair, he liked her hair unruly, like the woman, untamed and spirited. Satisfaction grew in his work as feelings poured out on paper.
The professor placed the charcoal to the side, picked up his pipe and lit it. Leaning back in his chair he inhaled the aromatic tobacco, releasing puffs periodically into the air. The face that looked back from the paper seemed a distant memory now. When would he see that face again? Would her eyes look warm, alive and devoid of pain?
Stokes watched the smoke drift to the ceiling. Over and over again Julia's words rolled in his mind. 'I don't need you Eliot. Don't you understand? I don't need you! Leave me alone.'
~~~tbc~~~
"All The Way" sung by Frank Sinatra