A Reflection of Valor

Victor Blackwood is a 60-year-old accountant who, until today, has lived a life filled with routine and predictability. Each day seemed to blend into the next, creating a monotonous blur of unfulfilled dreams. He sits in his Subaru Outback, staring at the sign in the yard outside his Aunt Ursula’s attorney’s house. 

The stark white lettering of the sign contrasted with the dull gray and blue of the one-and-a-half-story Cape Cod-style house. The rain peppered his windshield, the streaks slightly blurring his view. Peering up, he saw the sky above, shrouded in a thick blanket of clouds, casting a diffused light around him. The storm felt eerily familiar as his heart filled with apprehension and nervousness.

Lifting the collar of his overcoat, he stepped out, popped open his umbrella, and made a beeline to the front porch. The door opened before him as he stomped his feet on the mat. There stood an older, round, balding attorney clad in a charcoal suit. His crisp white shirt and red tie fit snugly in his vest. He wore thin-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose. 

“Come in,” he said, shaking Victor’s hand. “You must, Victor. I’m Jonathan Thayer. Nice to meet you. Please come in and take a seat.” He motioned to an office to the left of the foyer.

The room’s centerpiece was a sturdy, antique, polished oak desk. A single document sat atop the blotter. A classic green banker’s lamp and a desktop computer were set to the side at an angle. Behind it sat a comfortable high-back leather chair. In front, two tufted leather guest chairs were arranged to facilitate conversation. “Thank you,” whispered Victor, gingerly easing onto one.

Victor anxiously surveyed the room. The walls were adorned with classic prints. A small side table held a coffee maker and mugs. One wall had built-in bookshelves filled with legal volumes and various binders, all meticulously organized. 

“I’m so sorry about your Aunt Ursula. God rest her soul,” Jonathan said, easing into his chair. Rolling closer to the desk, Jonathan picked up the document. “As you may or may not know, your aunt had exhausted her fortune; all she had left was the family estate.”

Victor cleared his throat and said, “No. I didn’t know Aunt Ursula very well. Really, not at all. She was my father’s Aunt, my great Aunt.”

Jonathan skimmed the document. Looking up, he said, “You’re her only heir. As executor of her estate, I can tell you that she’s left the house and property to you.”

Victor acted surprised to learn he had inherited his 95-year-old Aunt Ursula’s estate—a sprawling Victorian mansion at the edge of Windward Cove, a small coastal town in New England. Victor had no immediate family and a career that had become monotonous. He saw the inheritance as an unexpected turn in his otherwise mundane life.

Forty-five minutes later, he parked in front of the peeling and faded Victorian facade. The once vibrant house now had patches of bare wood, giving it a weathered, gloomy appearance. He stared at its tall, steeply pitched roofs, ornate trim, and asymmetrical shape. The lack of maintenance was evident. The roofline sagged, covered in moss. Navigating the broken, uneven, wraparound porch floorboards, Victor fidgeted with the key, unlocked and opened the front door.

The once grand foyer, with its high ceiling and sweeping staircase, appeared dim from the dusty windows. Above, a chandelier that once sparkled was tarnished and missing several pieces. The ornate moldings and paneling showed signs of neglect. Cobwebs hung in the corners, and the air smelled musty and stale. 

 The parlor had white-draped antique furniture, dusty books, and faded paintings. However, one item in particular caught his eye: a large, ornate mirror that hung over the fireplace in the dim living room. 

The mirror’s frame was intricately carved and gold-plated with strange symbols and figures. The pattern appeared to move and shift as Victor watched. Looking untouched by its neglected surroundings, the mirror glowed from inside. 

His curiosity was piqued, and he approached it. The air grew colder with each step, and the floor groaned under his weight. His pulse raced, and his breathing increased as he stared at the room’s reflection in the mirror.

It appeared pristine and clean, just as it must have looked decades before. The glow from the mirror was from the bright sunshine through the sparkling, clear windows. The carpets and drapes weren’t faded or dull. The furniture wasn’t covered or dirty but polished and shiny. 

“What is this,” he whispered, glancing around the drab environment where he stood.

He reached out to touch the glass, but instead of feeling a solid surface, his hand passed through it like water. Instantly, he jerked his hand back in shock, but the sensation of ethereal energy tingled through his fingers. 

Staring at his hand and then back at the mirror, his heart pounded in his ears. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his hand through again. This time, he heard a woman scream and pulled his hand back.

Victor moved to gain a better view of the room. A beautiful blond woman in an emerald green velvet chair sat near the window. The color contrasted vividly with her knee-length, bright red dress. She held her hand with slender fingers and scarlet nails to her ruby lips. The other hand gripped the arm of the chair. 

Her striking blue eyes shimmered like sapphires as she stared at the mirror with a startled expression. The room seemed to blur around her, highlighting her graceful legs and fair complexion. She stood with the open book on her lap, dropping to the floor.

Victor pushed his hand through again, followed by his arm and entire body as if being pulled into a lifeboat from the sea. He fell from the mirror into the beautiful room. Landing on his shoulder, he rolled across the floor to stop at her feet. His eyes fluttered open as he looked up across her satin heels. He batted his thick lashes, peering at her through his tussled chestnut brown hair. His tawny brown eyes reflected the light from the windows. 

The beautiful young woman shouted, “Victor. It’s you. You’ve come back to us.” She stooped to help him to his feet. 

He glanced at his and her reflection in the mirror as he stood. The man in the mirror was much younger—oddly, not a reflection of himself but someone else. The woman stood on her tip-toes, cupped his face, and kissed him passionately. His eyes were wide initially, but then he shut them and allowed himself to return her kiss. They held each other in a warm embrace for a moment.

When they separated, he felt and appeared puzzled. Who was this woman? “Elizabeth?” To his surprise, he said, his voice trembling.

“Yes, darling, it’s me. I’m here, and I’ve been waiting.” She kissed him again and took his hand. “We must go tell Aunt Ursula. She’ll be so happy.”

As they dashed from the drawing room and began climbing the sprawling staircase, Victor felt unfamiliar events and experiences filling his heart and mind. Elizabeth had been the love of his life. She could light up the darkest room with her striking blue eyes and bright smile. 

A memory flashed before him. Their life together was a romantic love story until he bid her farewell on a fateful rainy night. Like a dream, he watched as he ran from her down a long dark dock, clad in a raincoat and boots. Over his shoulder, he carried a duffel bag filled with homemade explosives—a crude but powerful creation meant for a desperate mission. Trying as he might to shake the vision from his mind, he couldn’t. What was happening? How was any of this possible?

When they reached the top of the stairs, Victor gazed at the glistening chandelier hanging in the foyer—the prisms of light reflected from it, filling his head with memories that weren’t his. Elizabeth pulled Victor along the hallway to the second door. She pushed open the door. In the dimly lit room, sitting in an overstuffed chair, was his Aunt Ursula. 

She looked just as he remembered from old family photos. The subdued light seeping through thick lace curtains created a somber atmosphere. “Ursula, look who’s come home. He’s come back to us.”

She turned her head slowly from the window, almost reluctantly, as if fearing who it might be. When she locked eyes with him, her expression changed to shock and disbelief. “Victor?” She whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with emotion. 

Victor stood rooted in place, not sure how to react or what to say. “Aunt Ursula?” he said, almost choking on his words. She rose from the chair, using the armrests for support. “It’s me,” he reassured her, stepping closer. He realized that his experience was not merely a figment of his imagination but a genuine recollection.

His mind suddenly filled with memories of a world on fire and the brink of destruction. World War II raged in Europe. German U-boats patrolled the waters off the coast of the northeastern United States. The operation code-named Paukenschiag was the American theater for these submarines.

Their mission targeted convoys and merchant ships along the relatively undefended American eastern seaboard. They were successful in sinking a significant number of vessels. The ultimate goal was to pull America into the war. The plan was to attack coastal ports while Japan crippled US naval power in the Pacific.

Aunt Ursula held her arms for Victor, who rushed to embrace her. She held him tight in her arms and whispered into his ear, “We thought we’d lost you forever.” Victor closed his eyes and saw himself that rainy night about to step onto his fishing boat bobbing against the dock. He climbed aboard and secured his duffle under the deck.

The sea was a tempest, waves crashing against the hull ferociously. The storm’s fury nearly swallowed the boat as he navigated. Victor gripped the wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Earlier that day, a fellow fisherman had confided in him. He shared a naval secret about a credible threat to a nearby port by a German U-boat. A discerning pilot had spotted a periscope and took down the coordinates. The base was the home of the SS Britannic. It was fully loaded and set to depart early the next day, carrying thousands of troops and tons of ammunition destined for the war in Europe.

Elizabeth had begged him not to take matters into his hands. The thought of an enemy submarine so close to his hometown and the devastation it could bring infuriated him. Having followed the coordinates shared with him, he spotted the U-boat on the surface. Cutting the engine, he stepped to the stern, lowered the skiff, and anchored it—his escape vessel.

 Then, he moved silently across the deck to retrieve his duffle bag with the explosives. He had only one chance to get it right. The plan was to lure the U-boat into a trap and detonate the explosives. The rain and darkness were his allies, masking his approach. As soon as he had set the explosives, his boat rammed into the U-boat’s Conning tower. The sound of the collision alerted the enemy of his presence. 

Victor dove into the darkness of the water from the stern of his boat. Intent on making it to his skiff, he hoped to swim away. But just as he hit the water, the explosion occurred. The U-boat caught the brunt of the blast and shuddered violently. Flames and smoke followed and began to billow from its hull. Soon, the U-boat broke apart and submerged beneath the waves. 

The flash of light blinded him as the shockwave hit. The debris’s suction pulled him down. He desperately tried to swim to the surface to no avail. Everything went dark, followed by silence.

“Are you okay?” Elizabeth shouted as she ran to catch Victor, who had fallen to the floor from his Aunt’s embrace. Aunt Ursula stooped and cradled his head in her arms as Elizabeth squatted and patted his cheeks.

“Victor. Can you hear me?” she said, her crystal blue eyes filling with tears. “Is he okay? She asked, locking eyes with his Aunt.

Aunt Ursula said, “Dear, the smelling salts. Quickly, they’re in the bathroom.” 

Elizabeth darted from the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom. Shuffling through the medicine cabinet, she found the smelling salts. When she returned, she found Ursula sitting, staring out the window. Elizabeth spun around, looking for Victor. “Where is he? She shouted.” 

Aunt Ursula stared out the window and said, “Who, dear? What are you talking about?” 

“Victor, where is he? Where did he go?” she said, almost in a panic. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath short, as her eyes began to fill with tears.

“He’s not here, dear. Victor died. He went down with the U-boat. We are indebted to him for saving us and countless others.”

She spun in a circle, looking all around. “No. Victor was here with us. I saw him a minute ago.”

At that moment, Victor batted his eyes. He awoke on the floor before the fireplace and stared at the mirror. It was an old, tarnished relic from a bygone era. Its once ornate frame showed signs of age and neglect. The once sharp and detailed, intricate carvings had softened. Patches of faded gold leaf clinging in the grooves. A thin layer of dust coated the surface, muting the once-reflective surface.

Sitting up, he pinched the bridge of his nose and struggled to his feet. He rubbed his finger along the outer edge of the mirror. The glass was mottled with dark spots where the silver backing had deteriorated. The mirror stood as a silent testament to the passage of time. Its once grand presence was overshadowed by the years of accumulated grime and decay, distorting the room’s reflection.

The mansion was as he had left it, the mirror hanging innocuously above the fireplace. He removed some of the dusty covers from the furniture. First was the chair he’d seen Elizabeth sitting in. The book she’d been reading was lying on the floor beside it. Next was the sofa table lined with photographs. 

He picked up a photo of a woman with striking eyes, her gaze piercing through the image. He recognized her immediately. It was Elizabeth, just as he had remembered her. Her face in vivid color flashed across his mind. 

Grabbing another photo, he saw her with a man on their wedding day. He dropped to his knees and studied the photo. It was his uncle Victor—the man he’d seen in the reflection. Raking his fingers through his hair, he sat back. Reaching up, he took another photo, a family picture of his uncle with a young boy beside him. It was Victor’s father.

His eyes began to well as his heart raced, and his chest tightened. He glanced at the mirror and back at the photo. With the back of his fist, he cleaned the dusty glass. A tear fell from his eye. His uncle Victor, whom he’d never met, was much older than his father. Victor grew up believing that his uncle, after whom he had been named, had died before he was born. He perished while out fishing on a stormy night off the New England coast when his boat capsized. 

Victor’s pulse raced as he recognized the sacrifice that had remained hidden for so long. He never knew his uncle had saved countless lives by unselfishly giving his own. The reflection in Aunt Ursula’s mirror revealed his uncle to be an unsung American hero. He thought maybe there was still hope for him to make a difference in a world again on the brink of destruction.