Footprints in the Snow

Sarah Haj=Hariri

Sarahaj03@yahoo.com

Writing Prompt: Write a short story about a shop that takes place over a span of years.

Footprints in the Snow.

Footprints in the Snow

“I love this ice cream parlor,” Nancy said with a great deal of enthusiasm. “I mean, the floors are old, dark wood, the structure is sturdy, the wallpaper is blue and white stripes, the fireplace is marble, and clean, and looks old. I’ve never seen a fireplace at an ice cream parlor! And the fountain is old fashioned, obviously not as old as this building, but really impressive.”

“They say that this old ice cream parlor is haunted,” said Cliff, as he held a spoon full of his ice cream sundae near his mouth. “Been here since 1900.”

           “Why Cliff, sometimes you are so silly,” Nancy replied in her slow, Southern accent. She loved the way his dark, brown eyes lit up when he said these unrealistic things. She took a small spoonful of her ice cream sundae and then smiled showing her big teeth, and turned her head to get her strawberry, blond, thick hair away from her eyes.

           Cliff enjoyed watching her, and her hair often fell into her eyes. She was the most beautiful woman he had even dated, and he didn’t want to mess it up by telling her ‘silly’ tales. But he had heard stories about the soda fountain his entire life. Whenever he was out after dark, he had vibrant images in his mind of what may have happened at the soda fountain.

           “Go ahead, tell me what happened here Cliff. I know you well enough now. When you get that serious look on your face, and your eyes become darker, I know that you want to say something. Come on. I’m not going to judge you for stories you have heard.”

           Cliff was looking at her blouse that had a floral pattern in blue and white. She was right, he had just heard the stories since he was a boy, and she didn’t know much about Wellington, Virginia. Any local would tell her the same stories if they met her. What the heck, he may as well tell her. He began to talk.

           Douglas Bailey was born in Wellington, Virginia in 1895 and was an only child to his parents, Coverdale and Elizabeth. Coverdale was a successful farmer, owned 400 acres, and grew tobacco. They lived comfortably. and Coverdale expected Douglas to continue the farm long after he stopped working. But Coverdale had a gambling problem that lost him the entire farm in 1920 when Douglas was twenty-five. That is, everything except for a good amount of money that Coverdale had saved for Douglas to have later. Fortunately, he had forgotten that he had handed Elizabeth cash every month and told her to hide it to give to Douglas someday. She had dutifully hidden it in a cigar box in the barn.

           When Coverdale and Elizabeth told Douglas that they had lost their farm, Elizabeth immediately handed Douglas the boxes of money that had accumulated for years, and he started a Pharmacy in town. He wanted a business that was consistent, closer to shops, and people. He bought a charming house that had a wrap-a-round porch, Victorian architecture, and beautiful gardens. His parents moved in with him, his father having agreed not to touch any money again, and in three months, Baileys Pharmacy and Soda Fountain was complete. It had beautiful, dark, hardwood floors, a fireplace with a marble hearth, a shining soda fountain, and even electricity. Douglas hired a couple of educated pharmacists, and a boy to work the soda fountain.

           Prohibition had been in effect for one year, and everyone in town gathered at the soda fountain to socialize. Douglas got to know everyone in town, and he and his parents spent hours there. Douglas loved to sing and placed a small piano in the corner and sang as his mother played. One afternoon, a very pretty. young lady named Margaret came in to pick up some medicine for her father, and she was mesmerized by his singing. He was mesmerized by her light, blond hair that was pulled up neatly, and her round, grey eyes that pulled him in. He learned everything he could about her; she lived around the corner, her father was a well-known Lawyer, she had five brothers, and she was eighteen. She began to come to the soda fountain with her older brothers each Saturday, and they slowly got to know each other. After only one year, they were married at the beautiful, old Church in town, and within ten years they had three beautiful children, two boys, Arthur and Reginald, followed by a daughter named Edith. Their family spent hours at the soda fountain and singing for customers. Douglas even added sandwiches to the soda fountain, which brought in more customers.

           Time passed, and Arthur was sent to France in World War II He was a high-spirited young man and anxious to get to France to take on the enemy. One month later, Douglas received a telegram. He brought it into his study and sat down on the love seat not wanting to read it. He was sure Arthur was gone now, and there was not anything he could do. He finally worked up the courage to glance at it, only to read the words ‘We are sorry to inform you…Normandy Beach…”  He sat there alone in his study down the hall from the kitchen. He could hear the happy chatter from the kitchen where Margaret and his mother were cooking dinner. How? How could this happen to his oldest son? He had imagined his son as a war hero, not a casualty.  He wadded the telegram into a ball and threw it out the door. Tears began to flow uncontrollably, and his entire body trembled. He had visualizations of his son being born, smiling as a baby, taking his first steps, saying ‘Dada’ for the first time. All those years of laughter, and singing, and love seemed to be swept away. Douglas knew that he had to tell the rest of the family, but first he just needed to lie down. He lay down on the floor in front of the fireplace in a fetal position, closed his eyes, and prayed.

‘Douglas?’ Margaret’s voice shattered the silence. Her tone was nearly a whisper. He opened his eyes and saw Margaret holding the telegram standing with his parents, Reginald and Edith. “What are you doing in here? I held dinner for you. I thought that you were over at the Pharmacy doing some work. It’s bedtime.”

           “Margaret, oh, I wanted to tell you alone,” his voice crackled. “I may as well tell you all together since we are all here. Please, sit down on the chairs.” He got up and sat in a chair. “It’s Arthur,” his voice began to tremble. “This is so difficult…”

           “Douglas, we know. Your mother went outside for a breath of fresh air. She found the telegram in the hallway when she came back in. Arthur is going to be fine, dear. We are all praying. He will be back soon, and we will make him strong again.”

           They must have all lost their minds after they saw the telegram, he thought. They all had odd smiles on their faces, and it was obvious that they had not been crying. Maybe they had gotten some sedatives from the Pharmacy. He took a deep breath and spoke. “Listen everyone. Arthur is not coming back to us. He is with God now. He was one of the boys who died in Normandy Beach.” He waited for them to become hysterical.

           “No dear. He lost his left leg there, but he is going to be fine. Look at this telegram.”

           She was correct. He remembered that he had not been able to bring himself to read the entire telegram. He jumped up and hugged his wife, mother, father, Reginald, and Edith. “Thank God, oh thank God. I didn’t read the entire telegram, I just assumed. Oh, we are going to see him again. “

           They waited for Arthur to come home again, ran the Pharmacy, spent time with their friends, and had grateful hearts. More and more people were coming from neighboring towns to see Reginald sing, and it was worth their time. His voice had a deep, melodic sound, and he could hold the notes out for a long time. People talked about his wonderful performances for miles, until a talent scout from Broadway in New York City heard about him.

           Arthur arrived home on a Wednesday afternoon two months later walking on crutches, and as always, he had a genuine smile on his face. He hugged his entire family in a huddle. “You have no idea how much I love you and have missed you,” he stated with emotion and happiness in his voice. Two weeks later, the townspeople were busy cooking up a storm for a homecoming party to be held at the Pharmacy. Arthur was anxious to get back to work at the Pharmacy and remained in a cheerful mood despite his injury. All their friends arrived dressed nicely They ate a sumptuous meal, and then Elizabeth began to play the piano.

           Between a couple of songs, Arthur approached the piano and began to speak. “I am so grateful that you are all here, for the delicious food, for music, and for an announcement that I would like to make. As some of you know, during my childhood and teenage years I became acquainted with a beautiful girl named Grace. Please, come over here Grace!”

           A pretty, sort, brown haired young lady walked over to Arthur. She was wearing a long, green dress that her mother had ordered for this occasion. She had large, brown eyes, and a smile that showed her white, little teeth.

           Arthur continued. “Before I went to the war, I told Grace that if I survived in good health, I would like to marry her after I returned. As you know, I lost most of my left leg before I returned, so I told Grace that she should not marry me, as I thought I was not a whole person any longer. But she insisted that she would never marry anyone but me. What can I do? Allow an intriguing woman like this to spend her life alone? Grace and I are going to marry six months from now at the Presbyterian Church on Main Street, and we wanted everyone to know!”

           There was cheers and applause, and more drinks from the soda fountain, followed by singing and dancing until very late. The wedding plans began the following day.

           The talent scout from New York City made his way to Virginia to hear this young buck named Reginald, who many people were now talking about in New York City. He considered that this was a small town, the people had probably never heard good singing, and if his boss had not forced him to come here, he probably never would have made the journey. He sat at a little table drinking coca cola as the Pharmacy filled with people. They didn’t know who he was, so if he didn’t like it, he could just leave. He watched as Margaret began to play the piano. He watched as Reginald, with his dark, curly hair and tall, thin physique stood in front of the piano. He was not prepared for the loud, booming, melodic voice that he was going to listen to all evening. He was not prepared to sign him onto a Broadway Musical within twenty-four hours. He would never have guess that Reginald was to become the most famous singer in future decades. But it all happened.

           Ten years later Christmas Eve, Elizabeth, Coverdale, Margaret, Douglas, Arthur, Grace, Reginald and his wife Clara, and Eliza and her husband Scott, feasted on a turkey, dressing, beets, rice, and collard greens. Arthur’s children Barrett, Flora, and John sat at a children’s table with Reginald’s son Alvin and Eliza’s daughter Annie. They were dressed up and in festive moods. But one of them had a secret plan, and it was a deadly plan that had not been thought out. Yet, it was a beautiful evening, and they watched the snow falling outside the window. Just a gentle snowfall, and it was bitter cold outside. Nonetheless, the fireplaces were bright and warm.

           After dinner, the grown ups played billiards, and the children looked at books until they became sleepy.

           “You children need to go up to bed now. It you want Santa to visit tonight, we need to put these fires out and go to sleep.”

           The children rushed up to their bedrooms and were in bed and asleep quickly despite the excitement of Christmas. Except for one, seven-year-old boy named Barrett. He had big plans to watch Santa Claus ride his sleigh over the housetops, down to the ground, and see how Santa got down everyone’s chimney. And he wanted to thank Santa for his kindness over the years. Barrett slipped out of bed and was careful not to wake any of his cousins up, as they were all in bunkbeds in one room. Then, he carefully got dressed and tip toed downstairs. He put on his winter gear, grabbed the Pharmacy keys, and was out the back door. He walked over to the Pharmacy, let himself in, lit a candle, and went up to the storage room above the Pharmacy. Once up there, he opened a window and crept out to the roof to wait for Santa. He did not know why Santa was taking so long, and he was drowsy. He began to dose off into a dream wherein he was rolling down the big hill with his cousins. And he rolled. And he was beginning to wake up again when he realized that he was waiting for Santa, and he was rolling off the roof of Bailey’s Pharmacy.

           On Christmas morning, they could not find Barrett in the house, or the yard, although his coat, scarf, hat, mittens, and boots were gone. They all got dressed and went outside to find footprints in the snow that led to the Pharmacy door, which was locked. Reginald opened the door and they all went in to search for Barrett. The window upstairs was open, and then they saw Barrett lying lifeless on the ground. The entire family proceeded outside, circled Barrett, and cried.

           “Oh my gosh, that is so tragic,” said Nancy, with a tear streaming down her face.

           “They say that on Christmas Eve, if you come here at midnight, you can see a bright, blue light moving from the roof to the ground. Then it supposedly glows all night. In the morning, it goes out, and if there is snow on the ground, there are footprints in the shape of a circle formed around where the blue light was seen. And people here believe it is the spirits of their family.”

           “Wow. That is creepy. I am still so sad though. That family. What did they do then?”

           “They left town. Apparently, the Pharmacy was sold very quickly, and the house as well. And the family disappeared forever. The only thing left is the blue light and the footprints in the snow each year.”