Talking To Edwin - by Deborah

Prompts for this one were: Grandmother, Birdbath, Encyclopedia. (This one was VERY hard for me - just couldn't grab a plot bunny as they went zipping by!)

My grandmother, Mildred Pearce, lost her mind in 1932 at the tender age of 20. She passed away last week after having lived 97 years, most of them spent in a state of mild but certain mental imbalance.

Born in 1912, Mildred had been a New York high-society girl; her name and picture had been a frequent sight in the gossip pages beginning with her debutante ball at the age of 17. After breaking many hearts, she'd stunned society by falling in love with, and subsequently marrying, a simple onion farmer named Edwin when she was 19. The birth of her son and my father, David, had occurred exactly nine months after the marriage, thus putting to rest the rumors of the marriage being one of necessity.

The stock market fell in 1929 but the effects weren’t fully felt by the New York farmers until a couple years later. Grandpa Edwin’s income had been suddenly cut by three quarters. He and Mildred had barely scraped by. Feeding young David had been difficult and the three of them went to sleep hungry more often than not.

Edwin disappeared in the summer of 1932. It was said that he simply couldn’t take the stress of providing for his family. No one ever heard from him again. Another rumor circulated that he’d gone off and killed himself, unable to bear the shame of not being able to properly care for his wife and child.

Edwin’s disappearance had a brutal impact on my grandmother. She tended to the farm herself, little David strapped to her back in a makeshift cradle while she went about her 18-hour days working the fields and bringing the produce to market where it fetched so much less than it had in past years. She ran herself ragged trying to keep the roof over their heads.

On top of all the hard work, she refused to accept that Grandpa Edwin was gone. Grandma had begun speaking to him as if he were still there, improvising his half of the conversations in a voice several octaves lower than her own.

My earliest memory of Grandma is a visit to her farm when I was about five years old. It went something like this:

“Well hello Tina! We’re so glad your daddy brought you to visit. Would you like to come into the kitchen? I’ve just made some oatmeal cookies. Edwin says I spoil my grandchildren but I told him that’s my privilege as a grandmother.”

We had entered the kitchen and I began getting down to business with the finest oatmeal cookies I’ve ever tasted. Halfway through my snack, Grandma had suddenly turned to the empty corner of the kitchen and yelled, “Edwin! How rude! Tina does NOT have a weight problem and the cookies are a treat! I’ll ask you to please mind your manners while we have guests present.”

And so it went with every visit to Grandma’s farm. Things would be going well and then she’d suddenly address Edwin as if he were standing right there in the room with us. At first it scared me but, as I got older, I found it rather entertaining. In every other facet of Grandma’s life, she was a strong and capable woman. But when it came to Edwin, she was a complete and utter looney.

The family sympathized with her. Whatever the truth was, whether he’d simply run off or killed himself, my grandmother had been stuck with a hard life but she made the best of it. The farm had started turning a profit again in the late 40’s. Grandma used the profits to invest wisely in the stock market as stocks were selling at bargain-basement prices then. Though she'd made a fortune, she never gave up the little farm in upstate New York.

Grandma’s will left me several acres of the farm, including the original farmhouse. The property is now valued at over a million dollars due to the nearest city’s encroachment. As soon as I discovered this, I thought about selling the place. But then I read her diaries, which she had also left to me in her will. One entry in particular stood out from the rest:

“July 7, 1932: I didn’t mean to do it. Edwin just made me so angry that I couldn’t help myself. Ninety dollars thrown out the window! It took me more than seven months to save that much. While David and I were at church this morning, Edwin happily handed over our savings to a traveling salesman pitching encyclopedias. I sacrificed so many things for myself and my baby to save that much - it was supposed to help us get through these hard times. My memory isn’t too clear on the details, but I know I was preparing our Sunday lunch in the kitchen. David was crying something terrible and wouldn’t stop. Then Edwin told me the money was gone, proudly showing me the leather-bound books. Something terrible came over me and I took the cast-iron skillet from the stove and hit him over the head with it as hard as I could.

He wasn’t breathing when he fell from the chair. Lord knows I didn’t mean to kill him but that’s what happened. I put the baby down for a nap and then went outside. I pulled the birdbath from the garden and dug a deep hole in the ground where it had stood. I put my dear Edwin in to the hole and buried him, replacing the birdbath when I was done.

I know he’s gone, but I still feel him right here next to me. I think I will always feel him here with me. After today, I will not again think about what I’ve done. I’m going to pretend none of it happened. Edwin is still here with me and will always remain so.”

I don’t think I’ll be selling right away. At least not until I have a chance to deal with the problem in the garden.