Reflections of Love
Since retiring from her job as a cafeteria worker at a large regional high school, Elsa Varick often took afternoon walks along the shoreline of the quaint New England village that had been her home for more than sixty years. Only the most severe weather prevented her from enjoying her daily stroll. The two-mile seaside treks were not only taken for the sake of physical exercise, but they also afforded her time for contemplation.
At some point during every walk, she would stop and gaze at Serenity Island. Once a summer destination for the rich, it eventually became a graveyard of dilapidated mansions that have not seen human habitation since the Roaring Twenties. When she was sixteen, Elsa worked as a maid at Barol House during the summers when those Boston Brahmins who chose not to mingle with their peers in Newport, Rhode Island, took up residence on Serenity. During the six years she was employed by the Bartols, she got a glimpse into a world of wealth and privilege. It was a world she could only view from afar, not one she would ever be part of.
What good did all their millions do them? she wondered.
The family lost most of its wealth in the stock market crash of '29. Their only son, Raymond, was killed in Okinawa, and poor Mrs. Bartol died shortly after her boy, some say of a broken heart. As for Julius Bartol, the railroad tycoon, he ended his days in a state-run nursing home.
I suppose what they say is true: the bigger they are, the harder they fall.
The last time Elsa had visited the island, seventeen years earlier, five of the twelve houses that once made up the exclusive enclave were gone. Four had burned to the ground, and one was destroyed by a Nor'easter. The former maid was unaware that only one mansion was still standing: Bartol House, the largest and most elaborate of all.
Having reached the halfway point of her walk, she turned and headed back toward her home. Jan, her husband of more than forty years, would no doubt have a fresh pot of coffee on the stove. He always did. It was part of their daily routine now that both were retired. As she entered the front door of the two-bedroom Cape Cod, Elsa had no idea that the comfortable life the two shared was about to change, for at that moment, in a real estate office in Boston, a prominent lawyer purchased Bartol House on behalf of his wealthy client.
* * *
"Mrs. Varick?" the man in the Armani suit asked when the homeowner answered the door.
"Yes."
"My name is Irving Aaronson. I represent the new owner of Bartol House."
"I heard a rumor that the place was sold, but I didn't believe it."
"It's true."
"What can I do for you, Mr. Aaronson?"
"I understand you once worked at the house as a maid."
"That was back in the Twenties. I was just a teenager then."
"My client would like to retain your services as a housekeeper. She would also like to hire your husband to do odd jobs and take care of the grounds."
"That's considerate of her, but Jan and I are both retired."
"Your duties will not be too strenuous, nor will they be time-consuming. The pay is quite generous, and you can live in the caretaker's cottage on the property."
"How generous?" Elsa asked.
The offer was three times what she made from her Social Security benefits and pension combined. And that sum did not take into account what the owner was willing to pay Jan for his services.
"I'll have to talk it over with my husband."
"Of course," the lawyer said and handed her his business card. "Call me when you've reached a decision."
Jan, who was enjoying a well-deserved life of leisure after decades spent as a school janitor, was reluctant to accept the offer.
"This is a lot of money," his wife argued. "I don't see how we can turn it down."
"But we're not in debt. We've got a roof over our heads and food on the table."
"If prices keep going up the way they have, we might not be so fortunate."
"President Ford promises to whip inflation."
"He hasn't done it yet, though, has he?"
"And you think Carter will?"
Rather than get into another debate as to who would be a better choice come election day in November—Gerald Ford or Jimmy Carter—Elsa wanted to stick to the question at hand.
"I think we ought to accept the jobs. We could live in the cottage and rent our house out, which would bring in even more money. If we only work there for a year or two, we could build up a nice nest egg to fall back on, if needed."
Jan sighed. He knew his wife was right; she always was. As much as he hated giving up his free time, he knew they could not turn their backs on the windfall that had come their way.
* * *
Since the long-abandoned Bartol House was in the process of undergoing renovations, the Varicks' jobs would not begin for several months. That gave them time to find a tenant for their Cape Cod and to sort through their personal belongings, deciding which ones would be stored away and which they would bring with them to the island.
It was on a Monday morning in March of 1976, with the country making plans to celebrate its bicentennial, that the couple ceased to be retirees and rejoined the workforce. Mr. Aaronson arranged for their luggage to be transported from the mainland to the cottage. All the Varicks needed to do was board one of the boats that, since renovations began, made regular trips to Serenity.
"We're about to start a new chapter in our lives," Elsa announced, feeling a surge of excitement. "I can't wait to meet our employer. I wonder what she's like."
"I don't know, but she must be loaded to afford such a big house," Jan said.
"Not to mention all the work being done on it. It'll be interesting to see what changes were made."
"Maybe for you but not for me. I never saw Bartol House, except for its exterior and that was only when my friends and I snuck over there when we were teenagers. That was a long time ago."
Although Serenity was nowhere near as large as Nantucket or Martha's Vineyard, it was still a long walk from the dock to the house, which was located on the far side of the island. Thankfully, a truck had been sent to pick up building supplies, and the driver gave the couple a lift.
"How are the renovations coming along?" Elsa asked as they passed the overgrown foundations of what had once been two nineteenth-century mansions.
"They're almost done."
"That was fast," Jan observed.
"That's because the building was structurally sound. When Julius Bartol had the house constructed, he didn't spare any expense. He built it to last, and it has. The work we did was mostly cosmetic in nature. That and some modernization."
"I hope you didn't make too many cosmetic changes," Elsa said. "It was a beautiful house just as it was."
"True, but it needed a facelift," the construction worker laughed. "Right now, we've got people giving the place a thorough cleaning. They ought to be done in a couple of days, and then you can start getting everything ready for the owner's arrival."
"You mean she's not there yet?" the housekeeper asked with disappointment.
"No, but she's supposed to arrive before the end of the week."
"I wonder what she's like."
"I never met her, but I hear she's a recluse. I suppose she'd have to be to want to live alone on an island year-round."
"Maybe with Bartol House being inhabited, more people will be tempted to buy property here. Serenity could become an enclave for the wealthy again or perhaps a tourist destination with beachfront hotels, quaint shops and even a boardwalk."
"I doubt that very much," the driver said. "From what I hear, the new owner didn't buy just Bartol House; she bought the whole island. That woman obviously wants her privacy."
* * *
"This is perfect for the two of us," Elsa declared when she entered the cottage. "And look, there's a television. See, all the comforts of home."
She walked into the kitchen where boxes of groceries, toiletries and cleaning supplies were stacked on the table and counters. Whoever had delivered them had the sense to put the dairy products in the refrigerator and the meats, poultry and frozen foods in the freezer.
"How about I put this stuff away and then make us both a cup of coffee?" she offered.
"Sounds good. While you do that, I'll see if the TV works. Hopefully, we can get more than one channel out here."
Jan was delighted to discover that Irving Aaronson had arranged not only for cable TV to be installed in the cottage but had also included a subscription to HBO.
"At least we'll have entertainment while we're stranded out here," he told his wife when he took a seat at the kitchen table.
"And it doesn't look like we'll run out of food anytime soon," Elsa said, scooping Folgers into the brewing basket of the Mr. Coffee coffee maker. "We'll have to replenish the perishables at some point, but other than that, we have enough food to withstand a siege."
"Do you think this will all come out of our paychecks: the food and cable TV bill?"
"I don't think so. Mr. Aaronson said our living expenses would be covered by our employer."
"Like I said before, she must be loaded."
Two days later, the last of the construction crews packed up their tools and left the island. The foreman stopped by the cottage and gave Elsa the keys to the house before departing.
"They're all yours now," he announced. "Good luck to you both."
With the renovations completed, the couple was left alone on the island. Jan, who had not been assigned any chores yet, was sitting in a recliner, watching a movie on HBO, oblivious to his surroundings.
"I think I'll go take a walk," his wife announced, slipping the keys into her pocket before she left the cottage.
Since her arrival on the island, she had listened to the racket of hammers and power tools. Now that the workmen were gone, it was almost too quiet. Only the sound of the surf breaking on the beach and the crying of seagulls disturbed the silence.
The new owner isn't here yet. Maybe I can get a good look at the interior of the old place,, she thought and headed toward the main house.
As Elsa opened the front door, she was temporarily transported back to the 1920s. She could almost hear Raymond's phonograph playing in the parlor. She closed her eyes and recalled an image of his face.
He was so handsome!
Although still a teenager, Raymond had been the heir apparent to the vast Bartol fortune. During the fall, winter and early spring months, he attended Choate, an exclusive preparatory school for boys; but he spent every summer on Serenity Island with his doting parents. The young student excelled at both his academic studies and sports. Given his family's money and his own innate charm, he had had a bright future ahead of him.
He could have become president, the housekeeper mused. But instead ....
She quickly pushed the thought from her mind. More than thirty years had passed since Raymond was killed in Okinawa, and yet she still felt the stab of grief whenever she thought about him.
"That was then; this is now!" she said firmly and crossed the threshold into the foyer.
She turned on the light switch to the right of the front door and was immediately dazzled by the brightness of the elaborate chandelier that hung from the high ceiling above her. It must have taken someone hours if not days to clean its hundreds of crystal prisms. Having spent forty hours a week for six summers polishing and dusting furniture, sweeping floors, cleaning carpets and washing windows, she had committed most of its décor to memory. She was grateful to see that the new owner had not made extensive changes to it. Nearly all the rooms on the main floor still looked like they did when the Bartols lived there.
It was the kitchen, located at the rear of the house, that benefited most from the renovations. The icebox was gone, replaced by a refrigerator-freezer, and a modern gas range was installed where the old stove and oven once stood. On the wall opposite the sink, there was a shelf. On it were a dozen or so new appliances including an electric can opener, toaster, blender, food processor, coffee maker and slow cooker. There was even an ice cream maker.
As she climbed the grand staircase to the second floor, she began having doubts about her new job.
How am I ever going to keep this place clean? she worried. Back in the Twenties, we had a full staff of people working here.
Of course, the role of Bartol House had changed since then. Where once it was a summer home to a family and a house full of guests every week, now it was to be occupied by one woman. Elsa was fairly certain that since the new owner sought privacy, she would not be throwing parties or inviting friends to spend the weekend.
And if it gets to be too much for me, I can always quit, she reasoned. It's not as though I'll be an indentured servant or a ....
She immediately lost her train of thought when she opened the door to what had once been Mrs. Bartol's bedroom. Expecting the room to be much the same as it was when the former owners lived there, she was astonished to find it looked completely different. The delicate ivory and lavender wallpaper was gone as was the woodwork. In its place were floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Every wall in the huge room was covered with them.
The new owner must be a narcissist to have this many mirrors!
* * *
"It sent shivers down my spine when I opened the bedroom door," Elsa told her husband when the couple sat down to dinner that evening.
"So, she's not only loaded, but she's crazy, too. Is that what you're telling me?" Jan asked.
"Maybe not crazy but definitely strange. That room looks like the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles."
"Sounds more like a carnival attraction if you ask me."
"Not really. It wasn't a maze of mirrors, just one big room. You've got to see it to believe it."
"No, thanks," Jan said, reaching for the mashed potatoes. "If I'm asked to fix something at the main house, I'll do it. Otherwise, I'll stay here in the cottage."
The following day, a chartered ferry arrived at the dock. A limousine drove off the boat and slowly made its way along the pothole-strewn road to Bartol House.
"That must be her," Elsa cried to her husband as she peered out the window. "Why don't you put your shoes on and we'll go over there and introduce ourselves?"
"You go; I'll stay here."
"Don't you want to meet her?"
"Not particularly."
Despite his professed lack of curiosity, Jan joined his wife at the window in time to see a uniformed chauffeur open the rear door for Irving Aaronson.
"It's only the lawyer," he said with disappointment.
Then the chauffeur walked to the other side of the car and helped the second passenger get out.
"It's her," Elsa announced.
It was impossible to tell her age. Her hair was covered by a kerchief and she wore large, dark glasses that obscured most of her face. Once she was out of the car, Irving took hold of her arm and led her into the house.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Jan exclaimed. "Our new employer is blind."
"Don't be ridiculous!" his wife exclaimed. "Why would a blind woman cover her walls with mirrors?"
Elsa, eager to meet her new employer, did not wait for an answer.
Despite the door to the main house being unlocked, the housekeeper knocked before entering.
"Ah, Mrs. Varick," Irving said upon opening the door. "Come in and meet Miss Malory."
The owner had removed her kerchief but still wore dark glasses. Now that she could see the woman close up, Elsa assumed, from her lack of facial wrinkles, that either Elaine Malory was young or knew a good plastic surgeon.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."
"No need to be so formal. Please call me Elaine. And there's no need for you to knock on the door. Just walk in from now on. If the door is locked, use your key. I'll be spending most of my time on the second floor, and I'd rather not have to go up and down all those stairs if I don't have to."
"Yes, ma'am. I mean Elaine."
"Good. Now, obviously, this place is too much for one woman to take care of. Your only duties will be to clean my suite of rooms, cook my meals and see to the kitchen. As for the rest of the house, Irving has arranged to have several girls come over once a week to clean it. Since the other rooms won't be in use, they shouldn't require more than a light dusting and vacuuming."
"Would you and Mr. Aaronson like me to make you some lunch?" Elsa inquired, relieved to learn that her duties would be light.
"That won't be necessary. We ate before boarding the ferry. But I would like a cup of tea. What about you, Irving?"
"I'm afraid I've got to get back to the mainland. I have a great deal of work to get done. Goodbye, Mrs. Varick. I'm counting on you to take good care of my favorite client."
"Have no fear. She'll be in good hands. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go make that tea."
* * *
The alarm clock rang at five, and Elsa immediately got out of bed. Unlike her husband, she never used a snooze button to get a few extra winks.
"Why do you get up so early?" Jan asked sleepily. "You told me she doesn't come down to breakfast until after eight."
"I like to have everything prepared for her. Should I make two cups of coffee, or are you going back to sleep?"
"I'm awake now. I might as well get up."
While the coffee was brewing, Elsa quickly got dressed. She was not required to wear a uniform, so she put on a plain blue dress, a white apron and comfortable shoes. When she returned to the kitchen, her husband was pouring milk into their cups.
"Don't you think it's odd," he asked, "that all I've been asked to do so far is change a lightbulb? The owner's been here a month already, and I've done nothing but read the newspaper and watch television."
"It's the time of the year. There's not much yard work to do in early spring. Just wait until summer when you have to mow the lawn and do the gardening. Then in the fall, you'll have to rake leaves. And come winter, you might have to shovel snow. So, rest up while you can."
"I suppose you work hard enough for both of us."
"Not really. I make her breakfast, lunch and dinner and clean up the kitchen afterward. The only other chore I do on weekdays is make her bed and clean her bathroom. Come Saturday, when the girls from the mainland arrive to dust and vacuum, I do the laundry."
"I know I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, but I can't help wondering if there isn't a catch to all the good fortune we have now."
A shadow seemed to pass over Elsa's face. Though normally not a perceptive man, Jan sensed his wife's unease.
"There's something you're not telling me," he said.
"I don't think Miss Malory is—how should I put it? I don't think she's of sound mind."
"You mean she's nuts?"
"I'm not saying she ought to be put away or anything like that. But she's ... peculiar."
"How so?"
"She stays upstairs in her room all day long. I bring all her meals to her on a tray."
"What does she do up there?"
"Needlepoint. I've seen some of her finished pieces. They're beautiful. But when she's done with them, she sticks them in boxes and stores them in the closet."
"I've heard needlepoint is good therapy," Jan said. "Even men do it. Look at that former football player, Rosey Grier, who was a bodyguard for Bobby Kennedy. He did needlepoint."
"I'm sure he didn't do it all day, every day."
"No, but I don't think our employer is crazy just because she's obsessed with her hobby."
"That's not all."
"Oh?"
"She talks to herself. I hear her when she doesn't know I'm there."
"What does she say?"
"I don't know. I can't make her words out through the closed door."
"Maybe she's not talking; maybe she's singing."
"I know the difference between the two," Elsa insisted. "She's definitely talking. And because she pauses between her sentences, I believe she's listening to someone who isn't there."
"She seems a little old to have an imaginary friend, but that still doesn't make her crazy. Perhaps she just needs to get out more and interact with people."
"I don't think she wants to."
* * *
Spring turned to summer, and as Elsa had predicted, Jan was kept busy with yardwork and minor chores around the house.
"I'm glad we took these jobs," he announced one afternoon as he brought a bouquet of freshly cut flowers to his wife in the kitchen of the main house. "I'm sure I would have eventually grown bored staying home with nothing to do all day."
"You just say that because you like that ride-on lawnmower Mr. Aaronson purchased."
"I admit it. It's fun to drive the John Deere. It sure beats pushing my old Troy-Bilt around."
"Why don't you sit down? I'll make you a sandwich."
"Got anything cold to drink?"
"Iced tea."
"Sounds good. How's she doing today?"
Jan rarely referred to his employer by her name. There was no need to; other than his wife, she was the only woman on the island. And if he was talking to Elsa, he would not use a third-person pronoun.
"Same as usual. She's been holed up in her room all morning."
"Maybe you ought to try to make friends with her."
"I'm her housekeeper, an employee."
"So? That doesn't mean you can't enjoy each other's company."
"I'll think about it," Elsa said, hoping to put an end to the conversation.
It was not that she didn't like Elaine. After all, she barely knew the woman. But there was something odd about her.
I suppose it all stems from her spending too much time by herself, she reasoned. Maybe my husband is right. If I make an effort, I might bring her out of her shell.
Not long after Jan returned to his John Deere, the homeowner made a rare appearance downstairs. As usual, she wore dark glasses.
"I made tuna salad," the housekeeper announced. "Would you like to eat it in the dining room?"
"I’ll just eat here in the kitchen."
Elsa was at a loss for something to say until she saw the flowers in the middle of the table.
"Aren't these lovely?" she asked.
"I suppose so," her employer replied.
"Would you like Jan to cut some for you? I can put them in a vase and take them up to your room?"
"No, thank you."
"Don't you like flowers?"
"Not particularly. They bring back too many painful memories."
Elaine did not clarify her statement, and Elsa thought it rude to ask for an explanation. Instead, she returned to her cleaning and let the woman eat her lunch in peace.
When summer ended and autumn arrived, Jan put away the lawnmower and took out the leaf blower. Again, Mr. Aaronson spared no expense. Unlike his forty-five-dollar Craftsman from Lowe's, this was a twenty-five-hundred-dollar Billy Goat Force self-propelled walk-behind leaf blower.
Meanwhile, as her husband was enjoying his new toy, Elsa went through her daily routine without complaint. From time to time, when the monotony of her job got to her, she wandered through the first-floor rooms of Bartol House, remembering the time she spent there in the Twenties. Those bittersweet memories always centered on Raymond.
I was foolish to ever think that he and I ....
She shook her head as though that simple gesture could drive him from her mind. Why dwell on the past? She hadn't done too badly for herself. Jan was a good man, and theirs was a reasonably happy marriage.
If it weren't for him, I might be the one sitting in a room by myself doing needlework.
* * *
On Thanksgiving Day, Elsa prepared a small turkey and all the traditional side dishes. For the first time since moving to the island, the couple ate their meal in the dining room of the main house with their employer. Conversation was minimal and was limited to mundane topics.
"Farmers' Almanac predicts we're going to have a bad winter," the housekeeper announced as she spooned cranberry sauce onto her plate.
"If we do, I'll be prepared for it," Jan said cheerfully. "Mr. Aaronson bought me a tractor with a snowblower attachment. It's even enclosed so that I'll stay warm and dry while I'm riding in it."
"That man is spoiling you."
"Nonsense," Elaine, wearing her ever-present dark glasses, declared. "We can't have your husband breaking his back or risking a heart attack by clearing the snow with a shovel."
After the pumpkin pie was finished, bringing an end to the meal, the homeowner sought the privacy of her bedroom; and the handyman returned to the cottage to watch football, leaving Elsa to clean the kitchen. Once the leftovers were stored away in Tupperware containers and the good dishes returned to the china cabinet, there was nothing else for the housekeeper to do. She doubted anyone would want to eat dinner after the holiday feast, so there was no need for any further cooking.
What am I going to do with myself for the rest of the day? she wondered.
Since she disliked football, she had no desire to return to the cottage.
If only I had something to read ....
Then she remembered Julius Bartol's library. Hoping there were still books there, she climbed the stairs to the third floor. Although the room needed a thorough cleaning, none of its contents had been disturbed. Obviously, there were no books published after the 1920s, but she was able to quickly find something to pique her interest: a collection of stories by Edgar Allan Poe.
With the dusty volume tucked beneath her arm, she descended the grand staircase. She had no intention of stopping on the second floor, but when she heard her employer's voice, her curiosity got the better of her. She tiptoed to the closed door of the master suite and put her ear up to it.
She's talking to herself again. What on earth could she be saying?
"How many times must I tell you?" Elaine cried. "I don't want to hear about Guinevere's plight! What woman can feel sympathy for her rival?"
I was right. That poor woman is mad.
"You were lucky Arthur didn't have you both killed as was his right."
Guinevere? Arthur? Could she be speaking of King Arthur and his queen?
"Why can't you just be happy being here with me? Isn't it better than living in exile?"
There was a brief pause as though the speaker was waiting for a reply. Then she spoke again.
"Today was Thanksgiving, but what have I got to be thankful for? All you do is complain. I won't release you; I can't release you. I don't want to live without you. I'd much rather end my life and be done with it!"
Fearing her employer might harm herself, Elsa pushed open the bedroom door. Elaine stood alone in the center of the bedroom, looking at the mirrored wall in front of her.
"What ...?" the housekeeper managed to say before astonishment stilled her tongue.
The mirror reflected not only her employer—seen for the first time without dark glasses—but also an entire landscape of trees and green fields and, in the distance, a tall castle. In the foreground of the pastoral setting stood a handsome man dressed in medieval knight's attire.
"Help me!" the two-dimensional image of Lancelot called to the housekeeper.
"Help you? How?"
"Break the mirror and release me from my captivity."
"No!" Elaine shouted. "You mustn't!"
"Please! She's kept me prisoner since the sixth century."
Despite not knowing if the famed Knight of the Round Table was real or just a figment of her imagination, Elsa took pity on him. She hurled the heavy Poe book across the room. Upon impact, the mirror shattered into thousands of shards of glass.
"Look what you've done!"
Before the housekeeper's startled eyes, Elaine of Astolat, the Lady of Shalott, who suffered from unrequited love for Sir Lancelot, started to age at a rapid rate. Her dark hair turned white and her skin shriveled up like a withered apple. Shortly after the mirror broke, there was nothing left of Elaine Malory but dust.
* * *
"Who did you say she was?" Jan asked after his wife gave her account of their employer's passing.
"The Lady of Shalott," Elsa replied. "I don't imagine you ever read the tales of King Arthur?"
"You know me. All I read is the sports section of the newspaper."
"According to Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Elaine of Astolat lived on the island of Shalott under a mysterious curse. Here, let me tell you what he wrote."
She opened the poetry book she had found in the third-floor library and began to read.
"'She knows not what the curse may be, and so she weaveth steadily.' Apparently, Miss Malory switched from weaving to needlepoint."
"You're saying she stayed up in her room all day because there was a curse on her to keep sewing?"
"That's not the worst of it. She was also forbidden to look upon the world. She could only view it through a mirror. Hence, the dark glasses she always wore when she wasn't in her mirrored room. Listen to what Tennyson wrote. 'And moving through a mirror clear that hangs before her all the year, shadows of the world appear.'"
"But that's just a poem. It's not a history book. You can't take what it says literally."
"I saw it with my own eyes. Somehow Elaine managed to capture Lancelot in her mirror. He begged me to end his captivity by breaking it, which I did. But I didn't know my actions would cause her death."
"You mustn't feel too bad. If what you say is true, she had a hell of a long life!"
"I suppose we ought to phone Mr. Aaronson and tell him what happened," Elsa said.
"I guess this means we're out of a job. I'll go start packing and let you explain everything to him. Frankly, I don't think he's going to believe a word you say."
After her husband headed for the cottage, the housekeeper went to her employer's bedroom to use the phone on her nightstand. As she reached for the receiver, she felt a stirring of fear.
Jan is right. Who in their right mind will believe my story? she reasoned. I saw it with my own eyes, and I have trouble believing it!
No, she decided, it was too fantastical a tale. She would simply tell everyone that Miss Malory went out for a walk and disappeared. Suspicion might still be cast on the Varicks, but in the absence of a dead body, no one could prove foul play had been done. Resolved to follow the safest course of action, the housekeeper dialed the lawyer's number and waited for him to answer.
"Elsa."
When she heard a voice—not her husband's—call her name, her eyes went from the telephone to what was left of the mirrored wall.
"Raymond!"
"You remember me?" he laughed.
"How could I forget you? You were the love of my life. If your parents hadn't forbidden us to see ...."
"Hush! Don't think about that now," the reflection of the long-gone Bartol heir said. "The past doesn't matter anymore."
"Hello," Irving Aaronson's voice said over the telephone line. "Is that you, Elaine?"
Elsa put the receiver back in the cradle without replying.
"My parents can't come between us anymore," Raymond continued. "We can be together at last."
"But you're a young man, and I'm old."
"Take a good look at yourself in the mirror."
Through some mysterious miracle—such an astonishing transformation could never be considered a curse—the mirrored wall was restored and Elsa was sixteen years old again, the age she fell in love with the handsome seventeen-year-old Choate student.
"But my husband ...."
When Raymond's reflection took hers in his arms, all thought of Jan Varick left her mind. After he released her, she crossed the room and locked the bedroom door, gladly willing to bear the curse of Elaine, the Lady of Shalott.
This story was inspired by Arthurian legends and uses quotes from "Lady of Shalott" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the biggest pest of all?
