The Strange Disappearance of Jeffrey Walden
It was early summer and the weather was balmy and the sleepy seaside town of Port Townsend was experiencing one of the best tourist-seasons in its history. Farmers’ Markets were bustling each Saturday and Wednesday and all the town’s music venues, of which there are many, were packed to their gills with every performance. The season was in full swing and each festival was well attended. The local folk were abuzz with expectation of their first Wooden Boat Festival in three years. The Great Pandemic was truly behind them and modern science had triumphed. Life was sweet.
Like a true sun-worshipper, Terry wore a bright red-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt, and khaki shorts that evening.
He said, “Dear friends, I am delighted to see you all here at our monthly storytelling event. I see many regulars and several new faces. This will be our twentieth year of weaving magic up on this stage, and we’re looking forward to a great season. Let me first give thanks to our Quaker Friends for again letting us use their facilities.”
Terry was doing a great job of warming up the audience. That evening saw about fifty people in the hall, a fairly good showing. Each month a guest storyteller was invited to spend an hour weaving tales which would fascinate the punters, and then audience members would be invited to come up to the stage and tell a five-minute story of their own - no holds barred. Stories could be about anything, true or false, humorous or sad. There were only two rules. 1) stick within the five-minute limit and 2) the story must not be read; rather it must come from the heart.
The guest speaker that evening was Joe Spinner.
Joe was born in England, and after a life of continent-hopping, had settled in Port Townsend. Now well into his retirement years, he was a regular storyteller who often drew upon his own early history growing up in the East End of London, often referred to as ‘The Smoke.’ His schtick was to enhance his ripping yarns with a few related songs.
Regular attendees knew that his stories often drew from his own experiences and wished deeply that they were “absolutely true”, but they also realized that some embellishment was required in order to engage the imagination of the listener. Many’s the time he heard someone asking, “Joe, was that part about the ghost really true? No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know…It’ll spoil the magic.” And Joe would grin and know that his job was done.
That evening, after a brief introduction, he settled-in to tell the story of how much the smell of “coal tar soap” meant to him. A strange “hook” with which to catch the punters’ attention, but that’s another story.
As he spoke and sang he looked around and tried to engage with the audience, but tonight he felt a tinge of sadness creep into his lilting, as he focused on one particular young woman who seemed to be very close to tears throughout the evening.
What could wrong?
Had she lost someone to the recent Great Pandemic?
Was she ill?
What could it be?
And he had a vague recollection of seeing her before, but he could not remember where.
He forced himself back to the task in hand. “Musn’t lose concentration”, he thought.
After the performance, Terry started working his way through the audience-teller list, and Joe was very surprised when third-up proved to be the sorrowful lady with the tears. She fumbled a little as she made her way up the short flight of stairs, and then settled down on a stool to speak. She almost hid behind the microphone.
“Hello,” she said, very nervously, hanky at her eyes, mopping-up the teardrops. “I really don’t know why I am up here talking to you right now. It was like an invisible force took me by the arm and led me to this stage.”
She paused for quite a while, stared out at the audience, and her slight facial expressions seemed to invite the audience to draw closer.
“Well, I’m no seasoned storyteller, but it seems to me, based on what I have heard so far, that stories need a beginning, a middle, and an end. Well, I have a story that has a beginning, but nothing more. No middle – no ending.”
Another pause.
“So, maybe you will not want to hear it.”
But now, everyone was mesmerized, and wanted to know more.
“Go ahead,” yelled a man at the back.
“Yes, please carry on, we are here to listen – er – er - and that may help you.” This from a young woman at the front.
“Thank you. I will do just that, and maybe my story telling will be cathartic.
“My name is Mary. ‘A simple name for a simple gal,’ is what I’ve always said. Mary Carter, and I’m pleased to meet y’all.”
“I’ve never needed much from life, and to tell the truth I have never wanted for anything. Life has always been good to me. I grew up on a farm in eastern Washington and was sent off to a boarding school in Massachusetts at the age of five. I later went off to Switzerland to earn my degree in molecular biology. After that, I settled in Seattle working as an assistant in a genome-sequency lab. As you might think, it’s a very absorbing occupation. But recently I discovered the delights of Port Townsend. I fell in love with the town and the people I met, and I decided to throw in the job, move out here, and let the chips fall where they may.”
You could tell now that she was relaxed; she was well into her stride. Joe was intrigued to know where this was all leading.
“Well, I’ve been here now for ten years and, with the help of a dear local lady called Laura, I was encouraged to sing and to learn guitar and to start performing at open mics. I am not sure what I would have done without Laura.”
She looked over at her friend and smiled.
Joe thwacked his forehead with the palm of his hand, startling the audience and arousing ‘tuts’ from one or two. “Ah,” he thought, “that’s where I’ve seen her.”
Joe also attended the many musical open mics in the area. He remembered now that this young woman often showed up and sang sixties folk songs; Joan Baez, Sandy Denny, and Anne Briggs, if his memory served.
She continued. “Well, it turned out that my background in microbiology enabled me to get a job at Don’s Pharmacy and start my training as a pharmacist.
“All was well. Life was good.”
“And then I met Jeff. Jeffrey Walden. Oh, Jeff, Jeff, where are you now?”
A sharp intake of breath was heard from many a folk in the hall, preparing for the worst.
“It was love at first sight. We spent several months a courtin’, and together we explored Washington State in a way I had never dreamed. My favorite times were when we went kayaking out in the clear crystal Cascade Mountain lakes . Then, after three months, he suddenly popped the question, and I had no hesitation. We organized a wedding for May 1st – just two weeks ago.
“May Day it was, but it turned out to be a true ‘Mayday’ for me. How was I to know that I would soon be all at sea and in deep distress?
“We had chosen Finnriver Cidery as our venue. What better location?
“There I was, in my wedding gown, and Jeff looking resplendent in his grey tuxedo.
“Everyone was having a good time.
“Then suddenly, part-way through the ceremony, Jeff turned to me, held both my hands, looked into my eyes, and apologized. ‘Mary, I am sorry, I cannot go through with this. Please do forgive me.’
“He turned round and was gone. He walked back down the makeshift aisle, got into his red convertible, and disappeared.
“And I really do mean ‘disappeared’. No one has ever seen or heard from him since. No one knows his whereabouts and his cell phone has been disconnected. He has vanished without a trace.
“And that is my story. There was meant to be a middle, with maybe a house, and children, and maybe a dog. And we were meant to live out our lives together and retire to a cabin on Lake Crescent. But now it is not to be so.”
And that was that. After a terse, “Thank you for listening,” she made her way back to her seat, and a few of the audience tried to reach-out to her, wanting to give her a hug, but then holding back. The Pandemic had conditioned them to remain distant.
That Pandemic was so bloody cruel.
Terry made his way back to the stage and after a few choice words of sympathy he announced a short break before the next teller was up. The audience naturally clumped into twos and threes and there was only one topic of conversation. What could have happened to Jeff?
Joe used this opportunity to seek out Mary, and gave her a business card, and offered his services to track down Jeff. “Listen, Mary. I’m retired, I have time, allow me to help you figure out what happened.” She agreed and they decided to meet at Better Living Through Coffee at ten o’clock the next morning.
After exchanging pleasantries over some wonderfully rich coffee, Mary provided Joe with details. Even though they had spent a few months together, she knew surprisingly little about Jeff. But it was enough to get Joe started.
Jeff had rented a small one bedroom apartment located close to Fort Worden, which was now rented out to another tenant, having suddenly been vacated with no notice. He drove a bright red convertible Mitsubishi Eclipse, and had a job working at the Centrum facility in the Fort.
Joe decided to start his inquiry with Jeff’s employers, but they were also mystified about his disappearance. He apparently had no family, or at least had not spoken of any siblings close by. His parents were deceased.
“This”, thought Joe, “is going to be a tough nut to crack.”
~~~~~~~~
Fast-forward now to late October, when the weather in Port Townsend was arctic cold, and a mighty gale blew, bringing with it sleet and a touch of snow to the already frosted roads and roof tops. A warm, yellow glow came from inside the Friends Quaker House on Sheridan Street, beckoning passers-by, and inside it was warm and cozy, and the hall was filled with expectant listeners. They had come to hear the conclusion of the story-with-no-middle-and-no-ending.
The noise of the hall, which sounded like a fast-running babbling brook, eventually subsided and became a pregnant hush as Terry got up from his seat and made his way to the stage. He beckoned Joe and Mary to join him up on the platform and began to welcome all to this rather special Friday-Night Story Night.
“Dear friends, it’s wonderful to see so many turning out on such a bleak evening for this special story telling evening. Tonight marks the close of our first face-to-face season since the Great Pandemic, but it’s even more special because Mary is back with us.
“If you remember, she was here in May, I think it was…” (he looked down at his notes and then across to his colleague Rick, who confirmed with a nod) “…and she told of her story with no ending.” Rick wanted to remind him that the story had no middle either but decided against.
Terry proceeded to give a short summary of Mary’s story, and then invited Mary to continue.
“Dear, dear friends,” she said. “I have come to love this town and all its folk, but especially this group here tonight. I am not going to say much though…” there came a disappointed sigh from the audience, and then she added, mysteriously, “…because, like you, I have no idea how this story ends. Joe has kept me completely in the dark. All he said to me a week or so back was that ‘it would be in my interest to attend the meeting tonight.’ So, I gracefully yield the microphone to Joe, and take my seat.”
She handed over the mic, looked into Joe’s eyes, and whispered sharply, “This had better be good!”
Joe cleared his throat, nervously, and smiled at Mary. Turning to the audience, he took in a deep breath and launched straight into it.
“So, what happened last May Day? Why did Jeff leave so suddenly?
“We can only know by looking at Jeff’s story.
“We can only assume that Jeff experienced a shock of great magnitude that sent him into a tailspin. What could have shocked him?
“I’m no psychiatrist, but my hunch was that he feared his future would repeat a past trauma.
“A previous relationship turned sour, maybe? We shall see..”
Joe was relishing this performance. He had his listeners on the edge of their collective seats.
“Since last May I have assumed the role of amateur detective, and I must tell you, it’s been quite exciting. I have really enjoyed myself.
“With the limited information that Mary gave me about Jeff (for she really did not know much about him despite their courtship) I was able to start by locating Jeff’s estranged brother, Michael, and then later to locate Jeff.
“His brother Michael lived in London, and via a Zoom-call with him I learned much about Jeff’s youth.
“The siblings were very close, and they confided in each other about everything. He told me much of interest, but it was when I asked him if Jeff had experienced any difficult relationships that he immediately told me about two lost loves.
“The first was while at high school, at the age of fifteen; his first love was called Rosie. They were inseparable, together in a close relationship for about a year, when his girlfriend suddenly walked off, giving no explanation.
“When I heard this, I just shrugged my shoulders and thought, ‘surely this happens to all of us around that age?’
“But Michael said that the breakup had troubled and shaken Jeff dramatically, and caused him to leave school prematurely. Apparently, he was a very bright pupil, and his teachers were very concerned for him.
“After a couple of false starts looking for a job that suited him, he landed a post as a Civil Servant working as a mainframe computer operator in Essex.
“At that time a number of IBM consultants were employed to train the staff, and one of them took a shine to Jeff. A relationship naturally developed; they were both ‘computer geeks’. Then one day he came into work, but she was not there. He learned later that she had been killed in a car crash the evening before.”
At this point Joe decided it was wise to allow time for this sad news to sink in as the brook began to babble once more and then die down to a hush.
Eventually he said, “She was in the back seat of a car driven by a young lad who was over the limit, and the car had twice the legal number of passengers. Two people lost their lives.
“That was tough for me to hear. I asked Michael for her name.
“He stiffened a little and lifted his chin and told me that her name was Jeannie.
“Well, a couple of dark incidents in Jeff’s life, but life sometimes deals a tough hand.
“Michael could not tell me much more, because soon after that Jeff emigrated to the States and the two brothers never communicated again. Jeff became a ‘family recluse’. He never returned to visit his family, and their parents passed away without Jeff returning for the funerals.
“But with a stroke of luck (or was it excellent sleuthing?) I managed to discover that Jeff had lived for a while in Seattle – working for a healthcare start-up company, and I discovered from his former boss that he actually got engaged. This is something that Mary already knew; Jeff didn’t keep it secret, and he told her that they just ‘drifted apart’ a couple of years ago.”
Joe looked towards Mary and she nodded, still clutching her hanky.
He continued, “But that was not quite true. I finally arranged to meet Jeff in August at a Starbucks in Vancouver, BC, for that’s where I tracked him down. I asked about Rosie and Jeannie, and also his recent engagement. But he was not inclined to talk. Eventually, he gave-in and told me that his fiancée had in fact died of cancer. He had not told Mary that detail – he felt it best to bury the past. It was too painful for him.
“I asked him for his fiancée’s name. He told me that it was Lynn.
“So, now you have the facts, laid bare. Jeff’s story is one of three lost loves in quite a short life. Much trauma indeed.
“But, why did Jeff bale on his wedding last May? At what point did he realize that he could not continue with the wedding? What prompted his sudden flight?”
Joe grew a broad grin on his face.
“My friends, I have to admit that I am keeping something from you; the information that makes sense of that day.
“You remember that Jeff’s first puppy-love was called Rosie?”
The audience was glued to his every word, and all nodded.
“And you remember that the girlfriend he lost in Essex was called Jeannie?”
More nods.
“Well, Michael also told me that she actually went by her middle name, which was Rose.”
Everyone in the audience leant back in their seats and seemed to sigh, ‘No.’
“But there’s more.” They leant forward again.
“The name of Jeff’s late fiancée, Lynne, was in fact a contraction of her full name which was Roselynne.”
Now members of the audience were turning to each other and discussing what this meant. Some had not seen the connection, and others were offering an explanation.
Joe turned to Mary, who was in tears, and invited her to return to the microphone. “I think,” he said, “that Mary now needs to add the very last piece of the jigsaw.”
Mary held back her tears enough to stand up and speak. “I think I now understand. Jeff ran away just at the point that I was signing the wedding papers. He must have looked down at the papers and realized something for the first time.”
Joe said, “You never told him your real name, did you? You had no reason to.”
“That’s right,” she said nodding her head and holding a tissue to her nose.
“I’ve never used my real name, not since I was five years old. My Grannie always used to call me Mary, and it stuck. He must have seen my signature and it sent him into shock.”
A loud booming voice came from the back of the room. “You’re right!”
Everyone turned around to face the tall attractive man who had just entered, and they gasped. Whispers could be heard…'could this be Jeff??'
He came marching down the gangway towards the stage. “That’s exactly what happened. I am so sorry, Mary. Please forgive me.”
Jeff leapt onto the stage and gave Mary a hug and kiss and the audience broke out in applause.
Well, dear reader, I could wax-lyrical and provide details of Mary’s middle-story and story-ending, but I think sometimes it’s best to leave room for the imagination.
Suffice to say that Rosemarie Carter did indeed forgive Jeff.
(And by the way, they vowed, should they have a daughter, they would not call her ‘Rose’.)
Like a true sun-worshipper, Terry wore a bright red-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt, and khaki shorts that evening.
He said, “Dear friends, I am delighted to see you all here at our monthly storytelling event. I see many regulars and several new faces. This will be our twentieth year of weaving magic up on this stage, and we’re looking forward to a great season. Let me first give thanks to our Quaker Friends for again letting us use their facilities.”
Terry was doing a great job of warming up the audience. That evening saw about fifty people in the hall, a fairly good showing. Each month a guest storyteller was invited to spend an hour weaving tales which would fascinate the punters, and then audience members would be invited to come up to the stage and tell a five-minute story of their own - no holds barred. Stories could be about anything, true or false, humorous or sad. There were only two rules. 1) stick within the five-minute limit and 2) the story must not be read; rather it must come from the heart.
The guest speaker that evening was Joe Spinner.
Joe was born in England, and after a life of continent-hopping, had settled in Port Townsend. Now well into his retirement years, he was a regular storyteller who often drew upon his own early history growing up in the East End of London, often referred to as ‘The Smoke.’ His schtick was to enhance his ripping yarns with a few related songs.
Regular attendees knew that his stories often drew from his own experiences and wished deeply that they were “absolutely true”, but they also realized that some embellishment was required in order to engage the imagination of the listener. Many’s the time he heard someone asking, “Joe, was that part about the ghost really true? No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know…It’ll spoil the magic.” And Joe would grin and know that his job was done.
That evening, after a brief introduction, he settled-in to tell the story of how much the smell of “coal tar soap” meant to him. A strange “hook” with which to catch the punters’ attention, but that’s another story.
As he spoke and sang he looked around and tried to engage with the audience, but tonight he felt a tinge of sadness creep into his lilting, as he focused on one particular young woman who seemed to be very close to tears throughout the evening.
What could wrong?
Had she lost someone to the recent Great Pandemic?
Was she ill?
What could it be?
And he had a vague recollection of seeing her before, but he could not remember where.
He forced himself back to the task in hand. “Musn’t lose concentration”, he thought.
After the performance, Terry started working his way through the audience-teller list, and Joe was very surprised when third-up proved to be the sorrowful lady with the tears. She fumbled a little as she made her way up the short flight of stairs, and then settled down on a stool to speak. She almost hid behind the microphone.
“Hello,” she said, very nervously, hanky at her eyes, mopping-up the teardrops. “I really don’t know why I am up here talking to you right now. It was like an invisible force took me by the arm and led me to this stage.”
She paused for quite a while, stared out at the audience, and her slight facial expressions seemed to invite the audience to draw closer.
“Well, I’m no seasoned storyteller, but it seems to me, based on what I have heard so far, that stories need a beginning, a middle, and an end. Well, I have a story that has a beginning, but nothing more. No middle – no ending.”
Another pause.
“So, maybe you will not want to hear it.”
But now, everyone was mesmerized, and wanted to know more.
“Go ahead,” yelled a man at the back.
“Yes, please carry on, we are here to listen – er – er - and that may help you.” This from a young woman at the front.
“Thank you. I will do just that, and maybe my story telling will be cathartic.
“My name is Mary. ‘A simple name for a simple gal,’ is what I’ve always said. Mary Carter, and I’m pleased to meet y’all.”
“I’ve never needed much from life, and to tell the truth I have never wanted for anything. Life has always been good to me. I grew up on a farm in eastern Washington and was sent off to a boarding school in Massachusetts at the age of five. I later went off to Switzerland to earn my degree in molecular biology. After that, I settled in Seattle working as an assistant in a genome-sequency lab. As you might think, it’s a very absorbing occupation. But recently I discovered the delights of Port Townsend. I fell in love with the town and the people I met, and I decided to throw in the job, move out here, and let the chips fall where they may.”
You could tell now that she was relaxed; she was well into her stride. Joe was intrigued to know where this was all leading.
“Well, I’ve been here now for ten years and, with the help of a dear local lady called Laura, I was encouraged to sing and to learn guitar and to start performing at open mics. I am not sure what I would have done without Laura.”
She looked over at her friend and smiled.
Joe thwacked his forehead with the palm of his hand, startling the audience and arousing ‘tuts’ from one or two. “Ah,” he thought, “that’s where I’ve seen her.”
Joe also attended the many musical open mics in the area. He remembered now that this young woman often showed up and sang sixties folk songs; Joan Baez, Sandy Denny, and Anne Briggs, if his memory served.
She continued. “Well, it turned out that my background in microbiology enabled me to get a job at Don’s Pharmacy and start my training as a pharmacist.
“All was well. Life was good.”
“And then I met Jeff. Jeffrey Walden. Oh, Jeff, Jeff, where are you now?”
A sharp intake of breath was heard from many a folk in the hall, preparing for the worst.
“It was love at first sight. We spent several months a courtin’, and together we explored Washington State in a way I had never dreamed. My favorite times were when we went kayaking out in the clear crystal Cascade Mountain lakes . Then, after three months, he suddenly popped the question, and I had no hesitation. We organized a wedding for May 1st – just two weeks ago.
“May Day it was, but it turned out to be a true ‘Mayday’ for me. How was I to know that I would soon be all at sea and in deep distress?
“We had chosen Finnriver Cidery as our venue. What better location?
“There I was, in my wedding gown, and Jeff looking resplendent in his grey tuxedo.
“Everyone was having a good time.
“Then suddenly, part-way through the ceremony, Jeff turned to me, held both my hands, looked into my eyes, and apologized. ‘Mary, I am sorry, I cannot go through with this. Please do forgive me.’
“He turned round and was gone. He walked back down the makeshift aisle, got into his red convertible, and disappeared.
“And I really do mean ‘disappeared’. No one has ever seen or heard from him since. No one knows his whereabouts and his cell phone has been disconnected. He has vanished without a trace.
“And that is my story. There was meant to be a middle, with maybe a house, and children, and maybe a dog. And we were meant to live out our lives together and retire to a cabin on Lake Crescent. But now it is not to be so.”
And that was that. After a terse, “Thank you for listening,” she made her way back to her seat, and a few of the audience tried to reach-out to her, wanting to give her a hug, but then holding back. The Pandemic had conditioned them to remain distant.
That Pandemic was so bloody cruel.
Terry made his way back to the stage and after a few choice words of sympathy he announced a short break before the next teller was up. The audience naturally clumped into twos and threes and there was only one topic of conversation. What could have happened to Jeff?
Joe used this opportunity to seek out Mary, and gave her a business card, and offered his services to track down Jeff. “Listen, Mary. I’m retired, I have time, allow me to help you figure out what happened.” She agreed and they decided to meet at Better Living Through Coffee at ten o’clock the next morning.
After exchanging pleasantries over some wonderfully rich coffee, Mary provided Joe with details. Even though they had spent a few months together, she knew surprisingly little about Jeff. But it was enough to get Joe started.
Jeff had rented a small one bedroom apartment located close to Fort Worden, which was now rented out to another tenant, having suddenly been vacated with no notice. He drove a bright red convertible Mitsubishi Eclipse, and had a job working at the Centrum facility in the Fort.
Joe decided to start his inquiry with Jeff’s employers, but they were also mystified about his disappearance. He apparently had no family, or at least had not spoken of any siblings close by. His parents were deceased.
“This”, thought Joe, “is going to be a tough nut to crack.”
~~~~~~~~
Fast-forward now to late October, when the weather in Port Townsend was arctic cold, and a mighty gale blew, bringing with it sleet and a touch of snow to the already frosted roads and roof tops. A warm, yellow glow came from inside the Friends Quaker House on Sheridan Street, beckoning passers-by, and inside it was warm and cozy, and the hall was filled with expectant listeners. They had come to hear the conclusion of the story-with-no-middle-and-no-ending.
The noise of the hall, which sounded like a fast-running babbling brook, eventually subsided and became a pregnant hush as Terry got up from his seat and made his way to the stage. He beckoned Joe and Mary to join him up on the platform and began to welcome all to this rather special Friday-Night Story Night.
“Dear friends, it’s wonderful to see so many turning out on such a bleak evening for this special story telling evening. Tonight marks the close of our first face-to-face season since the Great Pandemic, but it’s even more special because Mary is back with us.
“If you remember, she was here in May, I think it was…” (he looked down at his notes and then across to his colleague Rick, who confirmed with a nod) “…and she told of her story with no ending.” Rick wanted to remind him that the story had no middle either but decided against.
Terry proceeded to give a short summary of Mary’s story, and then invited Mary to continue.
“Dear, dear friends,” she said. “I have come to love this town and all its folk, but especially this group here tonight. I am not going to say much though…” there came a disappointed sigh from the audience, and then she added, mysteriously, “…because, like you, I have no idea how this story ends. Joe has kept me completely in the dark. All he said to me a week or so back was that ‘it would be in my interest to attend the meeting tonight.’ So, I gracefully yield the microphone to Joe, and take my seat.”
She handed over the mic, looked into Joe’s eyes, and whispered sharply, “This had better be good!”
Joe cleared his throat, nervously, and smiled at Mary. Turning to the audience, he took in a deep breath and launched straight into it.
“So, what happened last May Day? Why did Jeff leave so suddenly?
“We can only know by looking at Jeff’s story.
“We can only assume that Jeff experienced a shock of great magnitude that sent him into a tailspin. What could have shocked him?
“I’m no psychiatrist, but my hunch was that he feared his future would repeat a past trauma.
“A previous relationship turned sour, maybe? We shall see..”
Joe was relishing this performance. He had his listeners on the edge of their collective seats.
“Since last May I have assumed the role of amateur detective, and I must tell you, it’s been quite exciting. I have really enjoyed myself.
“With the limited information that Mary gave me about Jeff (for she really did not know much about him despite their courtship) I was able to start by locating Jeff’s estranged brother, Michael, and then later to locate Jeff.
“His brother Michael lived in London, and via a Zoom-call with him I learned much about Jeff’s youth.
“The siblings were very close, and they confided in each other about everything. He told me much of interest, but it was when I asked him if Jeff had experienced any difficult relationships that he immediately told me about two lost loves.
“The first was while at high school, at the age of fifteen; his first love was called Rosie. They were inseparable, together in a close relationship for about a year, when his girlfriend suddenly walked off, giving no explanation.
“When I heard this, I just shrugged my shoulders and thought, ‘surely this happens to all of us around that age?’
“But Michael said that the breakup had troubled and shaken Jeff dramatically, and caused him to leave school prematurely. Apparently, he was a very bright pupil, and his teachers were very concerned for him.
“After a couple of false starts looking for a job that suited him, he landed a post as a Civil Servant working as a mainframe computer operator in Essex.
“At that time a number of IBM consultants were employed to train the staff, and one of them took a shine to Jeff. A relationship naturally developed; they were both ‘computer geeks’. Then one day he came into work, but she was not there. He learned later that she had been killed in a car crash the evening before.”
At this point Joe decided it was wise to allow time for this sad news to sink in as the brook began to babble once more and then die down to a hush.
Eventually he said, “She was in the back seat of a car driven by a young lad who was over the limit, and the car had twice the legal number of passengers. Two people lost their lives.
“That was tough for me to hear. I asked Michael for her name.
“He stiffened a little and lifted his chin and told me that her name was Jeannie.
“Well, a couple of dark incidents in Jeff’s life, but life sometimes deals a tough hand.
“Michael could not tell me much more, because soon after that Jeff emigrated to the States and the two brothers never communicated again. Jeff became a ‘family recluse’. He never returned to visit his family, and their parents passed away without Jeff returning for the funerals.
“But with a stroke of luck (or was it excellent sleuthing?) I managed to discover that Jeff had lived for a while in Seattle – working for a healthcare start-up company, and I discovered from his former boss that he actually got engaged. This is something that Mary already knew; Jeff didn’t keep it secret, and he told her that they just ‘drifted apart’ a couple of years ago.”
Joe looked towards Mary and she nodded, still clutching her hanky.
He continued, “But that was not quite true. I finally arranged to meet Jeff in August at a Starbucks in Vancouver, BC, for that’s where I tracked him down. I asked about Rosie and Jeannie, and also his recent engagement. But he was not inclined to talk. Eventually, he gave-in and told me that his fiancée had in fact died of cancer. He had not told Mary that detail – he felt it best to bury the past. It was too painful for him.
“I asked him for his fiancée’s name. He told me that it was Lynn.
“So, now you have the facts, laid bare. Jeff’s story is one of three lost loves in quite a short life. Much trauma indeed.
“But, why did Jeff bale on his wedding last May? At what point did he realize that he could not continue with the wedding? What prompted his sudden flight?”
Joe grew a broad grin on his face.
“My friends, I have to admit that I am keeping something from you; the information that makes sense of that day.
“You remember that Jeff’s first puppy-love was called Rosie?”
The audience was glued to his every word, and all nodded.
“And you remember that the girlfriend he lost in Essex was called Jeannie?”
More nods.
“Well, Michael also told me that she actually went by her middle name, which was Rose.”
Everyone in the audience leant back in their seats and seemed to sigh, ‘No.’
“But there’s more.” They leant forward again.
“The name of Jeff’s late fiancée, Lynne, was in fact a contraction of her full name which was Roselynne.”
Now members of the audience were turning to each other and discussing what this meant. Some had not seen the connection, and others were offering an explanation.
Joe turned to Mary, who was in tears, and invited her to return to the microphone. “I think,” he said, “that Mary now needs to add the very last piece of the jigsaw.”
Mary held back her tears enough to stand up and speak. “I think I now understand. Jeff ran away just at the point that I was signing the wedding papers. He must have looked down at the papers and realized something for the first time.”
Joe said, “You never told him your real name, did you? You had no reason to.”
“That’s right,” she said nodding her head and holding a tissue to her nose.
“I’ve never used my real name, not since I was five years old. My Grannie always used to call me Mary, and it stuck. He must have seen my signature and it sent him into shock.”
A loud booming voice came from the back of the room. “You’re right!”
Everyone turned around to face the tall attractive man who had just entered, and they gasped. Whispers could be heard…'could this be Jeff??'
He came marching down the gangway towards the stage. “That’s exactly what happened. I am so sorry, Mary. Please forgive me.”
Jeff leapt onto the stage and gave Mary a hug and kiss and the audience broke out in applause.
Well, dear reader, I could wax-lyrical and provide details of Mary’s middle-story and story-ending, but I think sometimes it’s best to leave room for the imagination.
Suffice to say that Rosemarie Carter did indeed forgive Jeff.
(And by the way, they vowed, should they have a daughter, they would not call her ‘Rose’.)
Unless otherwise stated