The Note

“You never know what you’ll miss until it’s gone,” my Nana Rose used to say. And it’s true, even if it took me a few days to realise what was missing. I just had a nagging sense that something wasn’t right, like when a spice jar is missing from its place in the rack. Yes, I like things to be orderly. “A place for everything and everything in its place.” Another Nana Rose saying.

My flatmates tease me about being a Monica, referring to the character from Friends. But I see it as a compliment, I loved Monica. Anyway, my feeling of unease lingered for a few days until I finally worked out what was wrong - the bird lady had vanished. 

On most weekday mornings for the past two months I’d seen the bird lady as I walked from my flat in Primrose Lane to Sweet Briar College. About a mile long walk, give or take. The bird lady always sat in the same seat just off Dairy Road, underneath a single ancient white oak tree. I didn’t know her name; I called her the bird lady because she was always surrounded by birds. I’d never even spoken to her.  

It was an odd location for a seat, out of the way and not enjoying any great view, other than what I’d call the rear of the college campus. There were far better places to sit, amongst any of the stunning woods, lakes, or wildflowers dominating the area. But the bird lady had seemed content to sit where she was, day after day, taking in views of the car park and Faculty Row. Maybe she had on faculty at one stage? Or alumni?

I pictured her in my mind; black boots, red gloves, a long reddish-brown coat, yellow scarf and a wide brimmed orange hat. The image made me smile. She must have been quite old to have such a relaxed fashion sense. 

The empty seat was as much out of place as having a male student on campus. The bird lady’s presence in my day had acted like an anchor point. A safe harbour in the chaotic sea characterising my life. Not that my life was hard. It was just hectic. My first year attending college away from home. My first year flatting. The need to do well in my studies and honor Nana Rose’s memory. The need to make friends on campus, and try not to lose the friends I’d left behind. The need to be an active member of the Sustainability Club, something I’m passionate about. Oh, and the need to pay my way as much as I could. It’s not even been one semester yet and that student loan already felt like a massive burden.

The empty seat invited closer inspection but I had a lecture to attend. The enigma of the bird lady and the mystery of her absence would have to wait. I’d only walked for a few more minutes when I felt the familiar vibration of my iPhone. I checked my phone to find that my friend Bex, a fellow environmental science student, had messaged me with the news Professor McDreary was sick and our lecture was cancelled.

His name wasn’t actually McDreary, it was just something Bex and I called him. We were both avid Grey’s Anatomy fans. We’d been watching the older episodes together and one day Bex jokingly called our lecturer Professor McDreary. My loud giggle caught the scowling attention of the man in question and it became his name from then on.

Bex messaged again to suggest we make an early start on our evening. A very early start! Fridays usually meant party night, nothing outrageous, just a bit of fun with friends. We couldn’t spare the time or money for anything flash. Bex was keen to make the most out of the cancelled lecture but I had several things to attend to. I had multiple To Do lists in play and I could certainly use the extra time.

I let Bex know that I would catch up with her later. I turned around and headed back to my Primrose Lane flat. I could have gone to the college library to study, but there were tasks waiting for me. I soon came upon the empty seat. Still no bird lady. Without fully understanding why, I left the road and headed for the seat.

It was typical of anything you would expect to find in a park, made up of rough wooden slats in faded green paint with the usual assortment of dents and scratches littering the surface. I checked before sitting down, I didn’t want anything unpleasant sticking to my jeans. The seat was cold, but clean.

I looked around trying to get a sense of the reason why the bird lady had chosen to sit here. I failed. There were much better places on campus to sit and relax. Not that I could ever allow myself the time to do that much relaxing, it wasn’t a responsible thing to do.

I decided that I was not going to solve the mystery and I needed to get on with my day. However, just as I eased myself off the seat I noticed a flash of white. Tucked deceptively into the joinery of the seat was a small white envelope. I shot a quick glance around me wondering if someone had been watching, but the area was empty.

I returned my attention to the envelope, which was positioned to avoid easy detection. I reached down and pulled out the envelope. It was unaddressed. I flipped it over. The unsealed flap was tucked in. I opened the flap and withdrew a small piece of paper. It was plain white and had been folded in half. 

I briefly scanned the area once more before unfolding the piece of paper. Written in flowing script was a simple request…

Please take this to Aaron Prince, 1600 Enterprise Drive, Lynchburg.

Nothing else was written on the note. I re-checked the envelope and both sides of the paper. Nothing. Surely the word “this” must refer to more than a piece of paper? I knelt down and rummaged under the seat, feeling increasingly foolish. My search was in vain. There was only the note.

I resumed my place on the seat, gripping the paper. What an absurd situation. A missing woman and a strange note. Was I in the middle of a detective story? Or a practical joke? My mind instantly leapt to the one person who might do something like this – Bex. She had told me about the cancelled lecture, could she have placed the note? But then I had never told her or anyone else about the bird lady. 

So the note wasn’t a practical joke. But what was it? And what was I supposed to do with it? There was no point following the instruction as I could find nothing valuable to return. 

The bird lady left the note.

The unbidden thought took up residence in my mind and refused to leave. I felt compelled to try and find this Aaron Prince, whoever he was. The city of Lynchburg was a half an hour drive from my Primrose Lane flat. My flatmates and I had agreed to share the cost of a car between us, a red Toyota Corolla older than me. I walked to the flat, picked up the car keys, and messaged my flatmates that I was using the car. I didn’t explain why.

A short time later I stood outside the offices of A.R. Prince & Associates, a prominent law firm. I was trying to generate the courage to walk inside. How could I possibly present the note to anyone, let alone a solicitor, I would surely be laughed out of the office. 

I turned to leave when a strong wave of conviction stopped me. The bird lady left the note. She must have. I opened the door and entered the lobby of the law firm. I walked past the vacant deep brown leather armchairs and mahogany coffee table to the reception desk. Seated there was a pretty young blond. 

“Good morning, how may I help you?” she said in a bright and professional manner.

“Um, I would like to see Aaron Prince, please,” I replied quite meekly.

“Do you have an appointment?” 

“Ah… No.”

“Oh.” The smile on her face slipped. “Well, I’m afraid that Mr Prince is extremely busy. Could one of his associates help?”

“I don’t think so… I think I must see Aaron Prince.”

The receptionist's smile had by now all but disappeared. “Well, I could make an appointment for you sometime in the next fortnight.” She said crisply while looking at the screen of her computer. “May I inquire as to the reason why you need Mr Prince?”

I hesitated under the questioning gaze of the receptionist. I’d been dreading this moment. I pulled out the small white envelope. “I have a note.”

The receptionist seemed stunned at first but then gave a squeal of delight. She quickly turned and disappeared down the corridor behind her desk. I was left standing at the reception desk not sure whether I was supposed to follow or not. 

The receptionist returned quite quickly, a broad smile crossing her face. “Mr Prince will see you now, please follow me.” And with that she set off again. I followed her to the end of the corridor.

She stopped at the door of an open office and gestured for me to walk through. As I entered the office I was greeted by a tall, dark-haired man with a wide smile, dressed in an immaculate blue suit. He rose up from behind his large mahogany desk and crossed over to me extending his hand in welcome.

“Welcome, my name is Aaron, please come in and sit down.”

I shook his outstretched hand and sat down in one of the leather armchairs he had indicated as he dismissed the receptionist and closed the door.

"May I ask your name?" Aaron said.

"It's Abigail. Abigail Williams," I replied, feeling like an errant student sitting in the Dean's office.

“You have a note for me, Abigail?” Aaron said as he sat down in the chair opposite mine.

“Yes.” I handed the envelope over to Aaron and watched as he opened the flap, removed the paper and read the words. 

Aaron nodded. “It appears to be in order but if you don’t mind I would like to do a cross-check. It is vital in a matter as important as this one.”

Aaron returned to his desk, unlocked one of his drawers and removed a brown folder. He compared the note to something within the folder. He nodded again, closed the folder, and took up the seat opposite me.

“I am satisfied that the note is authentic. Could you please tell me how you found it?”

I sucked in a deep breath before answering. “The note was tucked into the joinery of a wooden seat which overlooked the back of the Sweet Briar College campus. I’m studying there. I walked past the seat most days on the way to college. I assumed the note was left by the bird… I mean, the woman sitting there. I’ve not seen anywhere else use the seat.”

Aaron smiled. “You didn’t know Marjorie Sinclair personally then?”

So that was her name, “No, I didn’t.”

“I imagine you are wondering what this is all about?”

I nodded. I had no idea.

“It was a most unusual request from a most remarkable woman. I am not permitted to divulge too much information, however I can make you the offer that Mrs Sinclair empowered me to make.” He paused. “I am the executor of her estate."

Her estate. So she had died. For some reason that made me feel really sad.

Aaron continued in a quiet voice, “Mrs Sinclair died last Sunday. She both wrote and hid the note. She alone knew where. I knew of its presence but did not have any idea of its location. She hoped that it would be discovered in time and I’m relieved that her faith in people wasn’t in vain, although you were cutting it a bit fine.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, wondering what he meant by cutting it fine.

“The offer expires at 12.00 pm today.”

I checked my watch. It was 11.00 am. I then realised that Aaron had mentioned the word ‘offer’ twice and I still didn’t know what he was on about. “What offer?”

Aaron seemed to recite the words from memory. “Mrs Sinclair asks the bearer of the note to take her place for one hour each day for thirty consecutive days. In return for the successful completion of this task she offers the bearer the rights to her estate.”

I struggled to work out what the words meant. “Her place? But that would mean I would have to sit in that exact spot? For an hour? For thirty days? But what about college? What about my friends? What about all the tasks I’ve got to do?” 

“You would have to put aside one hour every day. And you are not allowed to tell anyone the reason for your actions.”

“Not tell anyone?” This seemed unreasonable. And then another thought thundered into my consciousness. “When would I have to start?”

“Monday.”

“Monday! But that’s ridiculous. How could I possibly be able to do that?”

“It’s up to you, of course, but there is also the matter of Mrs Sinclair’s estate?”

“Her estate?”

“Yes, it has a current value of two million dollars.”

I was stunned. “Two million dollars?” 

“And as the bearer of the note you would get the rights to this estate if you successfully complete the task.”

“If I complete… two million dollars…” I didn’t know how to respond. A tornado had jumbled my thoughts and it was hard for me to focus. What about my studies, my friends, my deadlines, my chores? But what about Mrs Sinclair? Why is she leaving her estate to a complete stranger? Did she die alone? How awfully sad.

My whirlwind thoughts were interrupted by Aaron's voice. “If you agree to this task I would meet you at the start of each day and hand you a letter written by Mrs Sinclair. I would then return after one hour and collect the letter.” He then looked at me carefully, “Do you understand everything that I have told you?”

I stared wide-eyed at Aaron before eventually nodding as though in a daze.

“Good. There is possibly one other detail I can share with you. Marjorie Sinclair was an alumni of Sweet Briar College, class of ‘62 I believe.”

Class of ‘62? That was the same year as my Nana Rose. They must have attended college together. They might have even been friends.

Aaron smiled as he looked at me one last time. “What is your decision?”

-------- // --------

Three days later I sat on a seat in the grounds of Sweet Briar College. In my hands I held a letter. The first two lines had already captivated me - “Thank you for noticing me, not many people do that nowadays. My name is Marjorie Sinclair and I am dying.”

Something told me that I was about to learn the most important lessons of my life. It wasn’t about the money. It wasn’t about the time. It was about connecting to the life of another human being. 

I sat back in the old wooden seat and I read the next line.