The Old Lady on the Hill

The Old Lady on the Hill

The sky was painted in swirly pinks and oranges. Stella shivered in the cool November breeze. The independent little girl knew it must be close to dinner time, but she couldn’t stop staring at the pretty white house with the blue shutters and covered front porch sitting atop the hill at the end of her street. Ever since she moved into the neighborhood, she wanted to sit in the swing. It creaked, swaying in the wind as if inviting her to try it out.

The house stood proud on the hill and looked like the backdrop for an old movie. The hedges were trimmed. There were pots of bright chrysanthemums lining the stairs up to the porch. It was all neat and tidy thanks to a hired landscaping service. Stella didn’t understand why everyone in the neighborhood avoided it. People greeted neighbors in the rest of the houses but would turn away when they walked by the house on the hill, as if it wasn’t even there. Stella was fascinated by its mysterious aura.

As the sun crept down behind it, its silhouette darkened. Lengthening shadows gave it a haunted feeling, as if threatening to swallow up anything in its grasping reach. Stella might’ve been only ten years old, but she appreciated the world around her more than other kids her age. She was curious. She wanted to know its history. And what about the old lady who lived there?

The kids on the street teased her about the old house. They tried to scare her with stories they made up of strange things that happened there. At Halloween, they claimed some trick-or-treaters went inside and never came out because the old lady was a witch. Childish nonsense. Teenagers at the bus stop talked about the old lady’s husband hanging himself in the house many years ago. They said it drove the old lady crazy. But Stella was more logical. She wouldn’t believe their fantasies. She believed in facts and evidence.

Stella decided to satisfy her curiosity. She was determined to find out the truth about the old lady and her house on the hill. No one ever mentioned the old lady’s name, so that was the first thing she needed. So, she went home to ask her mother.

Once inside, the savory scents made her pause to inhale. Dinner was ready.

“Stella, shut the door. Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?”

She shrugged and sat at the kitchen counter while her mother stirred some kind of sauce on the stove. Stella knew how to ease back into her mother’s good graces.

“Want me to set the table?”

Her mother smiled. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

Stella collected silverware, plates, and napkins. “Mom, I have a question for you.”

“What is it, hon?”

“You know the white house up on the hill at the end of our street?”

“Yes.” She turned to look at her inquisitive daughter.

“Do you know the old lady who lives there?”

She poured the sauce onto some pasta. “I think her name is Mrs. Crimshaw. I haven’t met her yet. Why?”

Once Stella finished setting, her mother handed her a salad to put on the table.

“Just curious.” Stella left it at that. She wanted to discover the old lady’s, well, Mrs. Crimshaw’s story on her own without any speculation from adult chit chat. They were worse than the kids.

Her mother raised an eyebrow at her. “Okay.” Then she finished getting dinner on the table.

*  * *

As November turned to December, Stella worked on her secret mission scientifically. She started by making observations. She couldn’t watch the house during the day while she was at school, so she focused on it afternoons and evenings. She dug out some binoculars from the basement. Then she rearranged the upstairs bonus room to sit at a window with a good view of the house and jotted down what she saw in a special notebook.

So far, she noted Mrs. Crimshaw would only go out once a week, on Thursdays. She arrived home around the same time Stella got off the school bus. Mrs. Crimshaw drove a big, light blue car. It was an old model, but looked shiny and well-cared for. The big blue car would ease its way up the bendy driveway into the garage, and the door would close behind it. But Stella never got a good look at Mrs. Crimshaw’s face, only her silvery short hair. After three weeks of no new activity, Stella was getting bored. Mrs. Crimshaw never seemed to have any visitors.

As the holidays approached, Stella decided Mrs. Crimshaw was lonely. She added a new aspect to her mission: she wanted to do something nice for her. But she first had to find out more about Mrs. Crimshaw to know what nice something would make her happy.

It was time to take a closer look. Stella bundled up and started taking nightly rides around the cul-de-sac. Each evening around six, the front room lit up. Stella would slow down on the sidewalk at the foot of the drive. She heard old-timey piano music and pictured an old lady sitting in a rocking chair knitting or reading and listening to an ancient phonograph. She had to get closer.

“Stella!” her mother called. When she got home, her mother said it was too cold to ride her bike outside after dinner. Stella would have to find another way.

*  * *

Winter break was her big opportunity. But it was dangerously close to Christmas, and Stella still hadn’t found out very much. With all the kids out playing in a new batch of snow, it would be twice as hard to be stealthy in her search.

On Thursday, Stella watched Mrs. Crimshaw back her big blue car down the driveway to do her weekly errands. She left her bike at home and casually walked toward the empty house on the hill. The street was quiet that day as the kids found a good place to go sledding a couple of streets over. After a quick glance around, she trudged up the hill toward the back of the house through the snow.

The backyard was cozy with trees not far from the house. There was a small wooden porch off the back door with three steps leading up to it. They were swept off, so Stella crunched a path through the snow and went up to the door to peek inside.

“Aah!” She jumped back and almost slipped but grabbed the railing. A cat ran out between her legs from a little flapped opening in the door. Once she recovered, she laughed at herself.

The cat didn’t go very far. It tried not sink in the snow as it delicately stepped on it. Deciding an adventure wasn’t worth the trip that day, the cat hopped back up the steps and sat on the railing to inspect Stella. It was gray with black stripes, and it stared deeply, not sure what to make of her. Stella wondered if the cat had ever seen anyone up close besides Mrs. Crimshaw. She was also glad the old lady wasn’t completely alone.

“Nice to meet you, kitty.” Then Stella looked back into the backdoor’s window.

She saw a yellow kitchen with a square table and four chrome chairs with vinyl padding. On the counters, she saw a strange coffeemaker, a covered toaster, figurine salt and pepper shakers, and a fat cat cookie jar. There were green and red cloth placemats stacked on the table. It reminded her of her grandparents’ house. They passed away a little over a year ago. She missed them. Maybe that was why she wanted to learn more about Mrs. Crimshaw. Did she have a family?

The cat jumped down and went back inside. Then it pushed through a swinging door to find a comfy place to take a nap. Stella glimpsed a little more of the house. A dark hall and a fancy dining room. She wanted to see more so she went around the side of the house and peered into another window. The dining room was beautifully set for eight. Candlesticks, special plates and glasses, cloth napkins, a lacy tablecloth. And above it all, an amazing chandelier. Was Mrs. Crimshaw finally going to have some visitors?

Stella heard a vehicle approaching and froze. Spying around the front porch, she saw it was the yard maintenance guys. They stopped coming by as often when the cold set in. Stella could get some first-hand information from someone Mrs. Crimshaw knew. She crept wide of the house as she made her way down the hill between some trees down to the sidewalk and waited for the guys to get out of the truck.

“Hello.”

The tall, hefty man spun around. “Oh, hello, little girl.” He was alone. Probably just checking on the snow situation. He went to the back of the truck and got a shovel and a push broom.

Stella wasn’t sure what to say, so she just watched him.

He paused before going through the gate. “Did you need something?”

“Well, yes. How well do you know Mrs. Crimshaw?”

He blinked at her. “I just do the yard work, miss.”

“I know. I’m just curious about her.”

“All I know is she likes to have the yard just so. And she pays good to keep it that way. She’s always saying it has to be perfect for her guests coming over.”

Stella tilted her head. Guests? She never had any guests Stella saw. “Okay. Thanks.”

With the table all set and talking about guests, Mrs. Crimshaw might’ve been planning a party. Or she might’ve been as crazy as people said. Stella had to find out which.

*  * *

That evening, Stella barely touched her dinner. She poked at it and pouted.

Her mother had had enough of the secrecy and sulking. “Okay, Stella. What’s going on?”

Since Stella had hit a wall in her mission, she was ready to talk about it. “Sorry, Mom. I’ve been spying on Mrs. Crimshaw.”

“What?”

“No one seems to like her. And I’ve heard some mean stories about her. But her house is so nice, and no one visits her. I think she’s just lonely. I wanted to find out the truth for myself. And I wanted to do something nice for her.”

“Oh. I see. Have you tried talking to her?”

Stella shrugged. She knew that was the most logical thing to do. But she was afraid. She didn’t want to disappear, even though she was pretty sure that rumor was made up.

“You know the best way to find the truth is to talk to someone. Be direct. Listen with respect. But also pay attention to body language. Actions can tell you about a person’s true intentions. Would you like me to go with you?”

The whole neighborhood shunned Mrs. Crimshaw. Stella bet none of them really knew her and were too busy to find out the truth. It was up to her.

“No. I’d like to talk to her myself. Would it be okay if I went over tonight?”

Her mother looked outside. It was dark and cold.

Stella saw the concern on her face. “You can watch me go. And I won’t stay long.”

“Oh, fine. One hour.” She hugged her. “You’re too smart. And you have such a pure heart. I love you!”

*  * *

Stella walked over to the white picket fence and looked up at the house. The light was on, and the music was playing. But there were no extra cars. She took a few deep breaths. Was she brave enough to talk to the old lady on the hill?

Some boys were riding their bikes. They couldn’t resist taunting Stella. As they rode in circles around the cul-de-sac saying terrible things, each trying to outdo the others for their own amusement.

“Go ahead. She’ll cook you for Christmas dinner.”

“She’ll put you on a pole and trim you like a tree.”

“Make a wish, guys. She’s about to be a sacrifice.”

They were so cruel. “You coal-headed jerks need to grow up!” And with that, Stella marched through the gate, up the freshly swept walk, and onto the porch.

Then she paused. She’d never been on the porch. The swing rocked happily in the breeze. Warm light shone from the window. The same music played, and Stella could hear Mrs. Crimshaw singing.

She crept up to the window. It was a sitting room. A fire blazed in the fireplace. And there was Mrs. Crimshaw, singing and dancing around the room with a man’s sport coat. Stella jumped back and bumped into the swing.

The boys laughed.

The music stopped. Stella hid behind the swing.

The light on the porch flicked on, and the front door swung open. “Who’s there?”

The boys sped away.

Mrs. Crimshaw frowned. She looked so sad as she turned to go back inside.

Stella stood in the light of the window. “Sorry, Mrs. Crimshaw. It’s just me.”

She adjusted her glasses and leaned toward the girl. “I see. Are you the one who’s been spying on me?”

Stella blinked. How did she know? “Uh, well.”

“Paisley told me a little girl was on my back porch looking in my windows.”

What? Who? Wait a minute. “Is Paisley your cat? But how did she…?”

“Don’t be silly. I saw your footprints in the snow. And I have a camera at the back door and another right there.” She pointed above the front door. “Can’t be too careful these days. So, what’s your name?”

Stella grinned at herself. She liked Mrs. Crimshaw already. “Stella. Stella Bradley.”

“Well, don’t just stand there, Stella Bradley. Come inside and join the party.”

But Stella hesitated. She glanced back at her mother who was still standing at their front door. She’d seen the whole thing. She was also grinning. She nodded and pushed the air in front of her, motioning for Stella to go inside.

Mrs. Crimshaw waved at her.

Stella grinned wider and joined Mrs. Crimshaw’s party.

When she stepped in, she immediately felt warmth and cheer. She also breathed in the lingering scents of a hearty dinner. In the sitting room, there were sequined party dresses and suits laid carefully on a couch and matching chair with carved wooden legs and faded cushions. The coffee table had a beautiful silver tea set accompanied by some tempting cookies. All the items in the house reminded her of the antique shops her grandmother used to drag her to. Stella missed that too.

“Your home is lovely. I’ve always admired it.”

“Thank you, Stella. But I know what they say about me. The old lady on the hill. Many years ago, the neighborhood was the same as it is now. Full of life, families, activities, and gossip.” Mrs. Crimshaw smirked and explained without needing to be asked. “My husband and I would throw wonderful dinner parties with our neighbors. Sometimes, I like to remind myself of those happier times.”

She turned on the player piano and picked up the jacket. “This was my husband’s. Back then, we would dress up for dinner. Then we’d adjourn here to the sitting room, play music, dance, and chat until the wee hours.” Closing her eyes, she swayed with the coat and hummed.

Mrs. Crimshaw wasn’t crazy. She just liked to replay her good old days.

“It sounds wonderful. What happened to them?”

Mrs. Crimshaw stopped and tilted her head as she sat down. “Life. They moved away and we lost touch. Most of them had families, and that keeps people busy. Some probably passed away, like my husband.”

She gazed wistfully at a black and white picture of a handsome young man on the mantle. There was also an old photo of a bride and groom along with some colorful pictures of the couple as they got older in a variety of scenic locations.

Then it came to her. Stella knew what special something she could give her.

She rose. “Well, Mrs. Crimshaw. It was very nice meeting you, but I have to go. My mother gave me a curfew.”

The older lady nodded and smiled. “It was nice meeting you too, Stella. You should take a cookie for the road.”

*  * *

The next day was Christmas Eve. Stella had worked everything out. At five o’clock, she and her family, including some aunts and uncles and cousins, all dressed in fancy clothes and walked over to Mrs. Crimshaw’s house. Everyone had a bundle to carry—food, drink, and presents.

Stella knocked.

When Mrs. Crimshaw opened the door, she was flabbergasted. She put a hand on her chest. “Oh, my.”

Stella beamed. “I hope it’s okay. We wanted to spend Christmas Eve with you in your beautiful house. I heard you throw amazing parties.” She winked.

Even though she was caught off-guard, Mrs. Crimshaw easily composed herself and reanimated as the perfect hostess.

“Of course. So glad you could make it. Come in, come in.”

As everyone found places for their items, Stella gave Mrs. Crimshaw a hug. “Merry Christmas.”

Mrs. Crimshaw held back tears. “Thank you, Stella. I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”