Larry Wheeler loved to rummage about consignment stores, yard sales, or any place where antiques
or junk were for sale. Every day he checked the Manchester Evening News looking for things that
might interest him. This day, his research had brought him to a sale liquidating the estate of a recently
deceased man.
As he perused the furniture, clothes, and whatnots that were on display, he thought, as he always did, about how each item told a little piece of a grand story that was someone's life. To him, the small items; things like little figurines and vases, pendants, and curios were more revealing than the more ostentatious pieces like art or furniture.
Inspecting the items arrayed around him gave him an impression of a determined, organized, yet melancholy individual; the kind of person who hangs on in quiet desperation. He found himself disinclined to buy anything, not because he did not find any of it interesting. To the contrary, he was fascinated by almost everything he saw. He just had a feeling that to buy and remove any of these items would be to intrude into something that was very private. He was, however, particularly attracted to one
item that did not offend this sensibility.
When Larry had first arrived at the sale he had noticed an antique wardrobe cabinet, and after examining many other items, he returned to it. The cabinet was made of quarter sawn Philippine mahogany with panel doors swinging on wrought brass hinges. The longer he examined it, the more impressed he was with the workmanship. In spite of its age, the cabinet was still solid and true.
Larry approached the man conducting the sale and asked about the cabinet. The man introduced himself as Steven Lovett, and said that he was liquidating the estate of his father. He explained that many of the items had once belonged to his father's mother whose only other son had died in World War II.
As they conversed, Steven volunteered that the wardrobe was older than most of the sale items because it was one of the few of his grandmother's possessions that had survived when her house was hit by a bomb during the war. Eventually, they agreed on a price of fifty pounds for the cabinet, and Steven helped Larry load it into his small lorrie.
He took the chifferobe home and put it in what he thought to be the perfect place. The bedroom that he and his wife, Katrina, shared in their home had a closet so shallow that it was not possible to fit clothes hangers in it; this cabinet made that bedroom fully useful.
Larry and his oldest son had to struggle for quite some time before they managed to put the bulky piece of furniture in place, but, as he stepped back and looked, he was very satisfied that this armoire was perfect for his needs.
Over the next several months Larry and his family managed to hang, store, and fill the cabinet with all the things that their bedroom's tiny closet could not hold. Frequently, Larry or Katrina, remarked that having the wardrobe was a big help. They continued stuffing it full until, around Christmas, it became the repository for presents that needed to be hidden.
As is the case for any parents with young children, preparing for Christmas was an ordeal for Larry
and Katrina, but three days before the big holiday, they went to bed feeling that they were ready. All the presents were bought and wrapped, all the toys were assembled, and Larry had several days off from work. He went to sleep that night of December 22 feeling very relaxed.
II
Larry fell asleep quickly and slept soundly until, at some time around midnight, he began to toss and turn. Katrina also, was sound asleep and not aware of his stirrings. His uneasy slumber continued into the early morning when he finally relaxed again. Waking early he was anxious to recount a very vivid dream he had had, so he roused his wife.
“ I don't mean to be a bother,” he began, “but I must tell you what I dreamed last night. Usually I don't remember much about dreams, but this one's like it really happened. I was writing a letter; I could see my hands and the paper. I remember writing in very elegant penmanship:"
"My Dearest Maggie,
I gave this letter to Mum to give to you in case I'm lost on a mission. If you're reading this, then I shan't be returning. There were so many things I wanted to tell you, and so many things I had hoped we'd do together. Nothing could have made me happier than for this awful war to be over and to spend the next many decades with you in blissful ordinariness. I suppose now that can't happen, but I want you to go on. Life for you must continue, and I want you to be happy. Please know that I loved you more than anything, and, wherever I am now, I still do. Take that with you wherever you go and cherish it always, but, whatever you do, keep living. Don't let this terrible conflict claim you as its victim, too.
Mum is also going to give you something that I wanted to give you myself. I won't be able to do that, but, I hope that your having it will, nonetheless, be a source of happiness and strength for you.
Please remember me in fondness and without regret. I know we'll meet again, some sunny day.
My love always,
Clare”
Almost entranced, Larry finished, “I saw my hands folding the letter and putting it in an envelope on which I wrote Margaret Blanchflower. Then I saw myself hand the letter to a woman.”
As he finished speaking, his breath was short and his gaze unfocused.
Katrina took his hand and said, “Well! That's quite a dream. It's amazing that you remember it in such detail. Have you watched some old movies lately?” Hesitating, she continued, “But it's just a dream. Come on. Get up. Let's get a jump on the day, and maybe we can relax with a toddy this evening.”
Through the day, Larry busied himself with fine tuning the decorations, drinking egg flips, watering the tree and watching a video of a football match between Tottenham and his home team, Manchester United. Katrina spent almost her entire day baking while the children simply tried to contain their anticipation. From time to time during the day, his mind flashed back on the previous night's dream, but the thoughts simply came and went.
After a busy but, nonetheless, relaxed day, Larry and Katrina retired for the night. Again, Larry slept soundly until just before midnight when unsettling visions began to overtake him. Several quick images paraded in front of him before his vision settled on a World War Two fighter plane. He saw himself walking toward and boarding the aircraft which bore British markings and the identification letters
“LKL.” He felt his fingers starting the engine and his hands closing the canopy. He watched the aircraft gain speed down the runway, lift off the ground, and then climb skyward joining the tumbling mirth of moon split clouds. He became aware that he was flying through the darkness in a formation with other fighters like his own.
As he glanced from side to side, he heard in his headset an animated, desperate voice crying, “Jerry's on me; I'm hit.”
The ominous silence that ensued terrified Larry as he saw other planes with crosses on their wings and fuselages triangulating on him. He could see their guns blazing as he awoke trembling in a cold sweat.
His abrupt, unsettled awakening also awakened Katrina who exclaimed, “What's wrong? Are you alright?”
Somewhat more settled now, Larry answered, “Just another dream, but this one was bad.” Taking a
breath, he continued tenuously, “I'm sorry I bothered you. Let's just go back to sleep. I'll tell you about it in the morning.”
After that, the night passed without further incident
When Larry and Katrina awoke, it was Christmas Eve morning. Although he did not want to dwell
on the previous night's unpleasantness and preferred to look forward to Christmas, Larry needed to talk about his dream. As he told his wife about the most vivid details, the plane and the dogfight, he also recalled brief glimpses of other things; a house, a young woman dressed in nurse's uniform, and the wardrobe cabinet that he had bought earlier in the year. Recounting what he had experienced made him feel a little better, and the approaching holiday took his attention away from the dream. Nonetheless, the images remained with him, and, from time to time intruded unwantedly into his awareness.
Christmas came and went; so did New Year's Day. Before long, the new year forced itself onto the Wheelers, and life moved ahead. The memories of the dreams settled to the back of Larry's mind.
III
The days rolled past, and winter released its icy grip, giving way to the blooms of spring, long summer days, and the browns, reds, and golds of autumn. Another year had gone by, and another Christmas was coming. The Wheelers decorated their house, set up their tree, and wrapped their presents. With two days left before the big day, Larry came home from work, not having to go back until after the holiday. The children were already in bed when Larry and Katrina retired, their thoughts focused on making the final arrangements for Christmas.
Thoughts of the strange dreams of a year before were murky memories in Larry's mind as he drifted into sleep. Around midnight, however, strange thoughts again asserted themselves. Once again, he saw himself in the cockpit of a World War Two fighter. He could hear the droning of his plane's engine and the roar of other engines around him. The glare of searchlights and the muzzle flashes of machine guns ripped through the black fabric of the night. Occasionally, he could see another type of illumination; the fireball of a plane going down. Almost hypnotized by the spectacle, he was shaken back to reality by the clatter of bullets hitting his fuselage. Instinctively, he banked the plane away from the gunfire and went into a climb. The pounding of his heart and the rushing of his blood kept him from embracing the excruciating fear which would otherwise have overcome him.
Larry gasped as he looked around and was suddenly aware of Katrina shaking him and talking to him.
As he began to reorient to the familiar surroundings of his bedroom, he gradually became fully alert and recognized his wife's voice, “Wake up! Wake up, Larry! You're having a nightmare.”
Momentarily, as he became keenly aware of his heart pounding, his rapid breathing, and the soaking wet sheets where he had been lying, he spoke in frustration and dismay, “What's going on? It's like last year. Why do I keep having these dreams?”
Katrina held him and answered, “I don't know, but they're just dreams. It's over now. Look you're
soaking wet and so's the bed. Why don't you get up and go in the sitting room while I change these sheets?”
Although still shaken by the dream, Larry thought her suggestion was a good one, and left the bedroom.
After she had changed the sheets, Katrina called him and he nervously returned to bed. With some difficulty, he fell asleep, and was aware of nothing else until waking the next morning.
Throughout the day, as he went about taking care of details to get ready, Larry's thoughts continued drifting back to his dream of the previous night. Try as he might, he could not shake the recollections of the fear and panic he had experienced in an airplane that, as far as he knew, never existed. The joy that he would otherwise have felt this day was constantly tinged by his memories of the night before, the year before, and his trepidation over the night to come.
As the day ended, he uneasily prepared to retire. The notion struck him that he might just stay awake all night, but the more rational part of him knew that he would have to sleep sooner or later. Apprehensively, he lay down and steeled himself as he put his head on the pillow.
Sleep did not come easily, but, after tossing and turning for over an hour, he finally dozed off. Nonetheless, on this night, like the other nights, he began to dream around midnight.
As before, there was a surreal quality to what he was perceiving. While he seemed to be seeing what he was doing himself, he was not initiating or controlling what he did. It seemed more like watching a movie, except that he was actually part of the action.
The cacophony of engines revving, guns firing and explosions assailed his ears, and the tension and anxiety seemed like a presence in the cockpit with him. The moving searchlights, burning planes and muzzle flashes ominously illuminated the sky around him. Again he heard the impact of bullets on his plane. That dreaded sound told him that a German plane had him in its sights, and his next maneuver could be the difference between life and death.
As his plane abruptly decelerated and the nose dropped, moving him out of the German's line of fire,
he could see another British plane being fired on by two German fighters on its tail. Larry's guns fired and hit one of the Germans, but he did not have a shot at the other one. He knew the only chance to save the other English plane was to get between it and the remaining German. He dived in front of the attacking plane causing it to pull up steeply. As it did so, however, its guns were still firing and Larry came into its line of fire. Again he heard the impact of bullets on his plane, but this time they hit not only the fuselage, but also crashed through the top of the cockpit. He felt searing pain as the projectiles ripped into his body, and suddenly he was unaware of anything around him and time seemed to slow down. Now barely conscious, he could vaguely make out the smell of smoke and hear the whining sound of his plane in a downward death spiral. The only images remaining in his mind were the nurse he had seen before and the wardrobe cabinet. Then all was black and silent, and Larry awoke violently.
He leaped up shouting, “It's the wardrobe! It's the bloody wardrobe!”
Katrina sat up quickly asking, “What are you talking about? What happened?”
Still raving, Larry answered, “The nightmares: that damn cabinet is causing them. Don't ask me how, but it is; it's part of them. I can't keep putting up with this. I'm getting that bag of wank out of here tomorrow.”
Katrina's attempts to calm her husband were only moderately successful.
He continued ranting and pacing for several minutes before exclaiming, “I'm not spending another minute in the room with that thing. I'm going to spend the rest of the night in the guest room.”
Larry did not go back to sleep that night, and was up and dressed by the time everyone else in the house began stirring.
IV
It was Christmas eve, and there was a lot of work to do before Christmas day. In Larry's mind, however, nothing was more important that moving the wardrobe cabinet out of his bedroom, so, by the time Katrina was up, he was already busy taking it apart.
“What are you doing?” she asked incredulously.
Without stopping, he replied, “I know it sounds crazy, but this cabinet has something to do with my bad dreams. I've seen it in two of them, and it was the last thing I saw before I died in the dream last night. I never had nightmares before this thing was in the house.
“There's not time to take it anywhere, so I'm going to put it in the attic until after Christmas; then it's out of here.”
“So what are you doing now?” Katrina asked with her head cocked and her brow slightly wrinkled.
Larry answered, “It's too big to fit up the attic stairs, so I've got to take the doors off and undo the sides.”
Katrina shrugged, shook her head, and left the room.
Larry struggled to remove old screws that had not been touched in decades, but had the doors off in a short time. As he tugged on the first side to remove it, something fell out of the frame. Picking it up, he held it at eye level and examined the object. It was a small box with a hinged top and covered with faded velor. Larry's eyes widened and his jaw dropped when he opened the box; inside was a diamond engagement ring. He removed it from the box and studied it more closely. It was a narrow band with a small stone in an unpretentious setting, but, somehow, the paucity and simplicity of the ring created a look of austere elegance, nonetheless. He put the ring back in the box and took it to show it to his wife.
Katrina, too, was surprised at this unusual find and asked from where it came. Larry explained that there was a hollow area in the wardrobe and that the ring must have fallen into it. He further voiced his
curiosity that whoever lost it had not taken the cabinet apart to find it.
Handing it back to him she asked, “What're you going to do with it?”
Thinking for a moment, he answered, “I don't know. Why don't you put it somewhere for now. I'm in the middle of something.
Katrina agreed and Larry went back to taking the chifferobe apart. A little later, with his son's help, he had the partially disassembled cabinet stored in the attic, and was ready to get on with Christmas.
Two days later, after the holiday was over, Larry asked Katrina where she had put the ring.
Excitedly, she answered, “I'll get it for you, and I want to show you something; there's some engraving on it.”
Fetching the ring, she drew his attention to an inscription on the inside of the band, Maggie and Clare. Larry inspected the ring closely and, in a tone both inquisitive and incredulous, continually repeated the name “Clare” under his breath. Saying nothing more and casting a blank stare at his wife, he took the ring and left the room.
V
Larry sat at the desk in his study sipping tea, looking at the ring, and fidgeting with it. Finally, he turned to his computer and began typing. He spent several hours with the computer and on the phone before he picked up the ring, stood and went to find Katrina.
She was washing a punch bowl when he entered the room, but put it down when she saw the odd expression on his face.
Turning toward him, she said, “You look like you've seen a ghost.”
Almost mechanically he replied, “Not seen one, exactly.”
Frowning, narrowing her eyes, and tilting her head to the side, Katrina asked, “Do you feel alright?”
He motioned at the kitchen table and, still in a mechanical tone, invited her to sit. She did so, and he joined her.
After a long hesitation, he began speaking, “I think I misunderstood those dreams I've had the last two Christmases. I don't think they were supposed to be frightening; I think they were messages. I know this will sound like bollocks, but hear me out. In the first dream I had last year, I saw a letter written to someone named 'Maggie' and signed by someone named 'Clare.' Those are the names inscribed in the ring! The woman who used to own the cabinet was named Lovett, so I wondered if that was Clare's last name. In one of the other dreams, I saw a World War Two plane. I looked on the internet and recognized the plane as a Hawker Hurricane. I also saw its identification letters. I contacted the National Archives and found that a Hawker Hurricane with the identification that I saw was piloted by a captain Clare Lovett, and he was shot down over Manchester during the Christmas Blitz just after midnight on Christmas Eve, 1940.”
With eyes wide, Katrina started to speak, but Larry waved her off and continued, “In the letter that I told you about, I saw that Maggie's last name was 'Blanchflower.' In two of the other dreams I saw a young woman dressed like a nurse. I wondered if, perhaps, Maggie had been a nurse. It took some
work, but I found that there had been a nurse named Margaret Blanchflower working at Withington from 1939 until 1942. And she's still alive in a nursing home in Hertfordshire.”
Katrina was motionless and silent for a very long moment before she slowly slurred, “That's too crazy for you to have made it up. So...now what?
He replied simply, “I guess I'll have to take Maggie's ring to her.”
VI
After New Year's, Larry was up early on a Saturday morning. It was about a three hour drive from Manchester to Hertfordshire, and he wanted to have time to make the trip and be back before dark. He arrived at the nursing home around 11:00 AM, having called beforehand to make sure it would be alright to visit Margaret Blanchflower. An attendant directed him to her.
As he approached her, he took note of her appearance. She was quite elderly; he guessed her to be around ninety. She sat motionless in a wheelchair with a blanket over her lap and legs. While she looked very frail, she looked impeccable, nonetheless. Her gown was clean and crisp and her short, snowy white, thinning hair was perfectly in place.
Larry approached her saying, “Ms. Blanchflower? My name is Lawrence Wheeler. May I join you for a few moments?”
She looked up and smiled and answered in a thin but firm voice, “By all means. I rarely have any visitors; I'd love some company.”
He put a chair opposite her and sat down, and, observing the expectant look on her face, said, “My reason for coming is a bit awkward, and I hope you won't think me presumptuous if I ask if you ever knew someone named Clare Lovett.”
Hearing that name obviously had an effect on her. She sat more stiffly and while a glow began to radiate from her face, tears began to fill her eyes.
Slowly she answered, “Oh my goodness, sweet Clare. I haven't heard anyone say his name in years. I certainly did know him; we were very close, but he died in the war. I still think of him often. But, why do you ask? What do you know about him?”
Feeling a need to get to the point, Larry explained, “I bought a piece of furniture from his brother's estate, and after I had had it my house for a while, I found this in it.”
As he finished speaking, he produced the small jewelry box and handed it to her. Margaret opened
the box tenuously, and then gasped. As she stared at the ring inside her old, tired, and sad eyes began to shimmer and glisten like a schoolgirl's.
She had some trouble speaking, but after a moment said, “I always felt that there was something else. Ever since that awful morning when I found out he was gone, some part of me has been waiting for something all these years. I knew he would have asked me to marry him; that's why I never married anyone else. Thank you so much for bringing me this, but how did you know? How did you know about me; about us?”
He replied hesitantly, “It's hard to believe...even for me...now, after I've lived through it, but I believe Clare told me.”
Larry proceeded to tell Margaret about the dreams and his accidental finding of the ring.
When he mentioned the letter in the dream, she interrupted, “Clare's mum told me that on the night he was shot down he was writing a letter when the call for him to join his mates came in. She said he sealed it as he was rushing out and told her to give it to me if something happened to him. She wasn't able to do that 'though because the letter was in a part of her house that was destroyed by a bomb that same night. She couldn't tell me anything about what was in that letter. Do you, by chance, have any idea what it might have said?”
Larry recounted the letter as best he could, but was specific about one part, “The last part of the letter said, Please remember me in fondness and without regret. I know we'll meet again, some sunny day.”
Margaret had ceased trying to hold back her tears, and with a cracking voice managed to say, “He always knew the right thing to say; we both loved that song. I think he knew that those words would comfort me. I've thought for a long time that I would spend the rest of my life here, alone with nothing to look back on except the short time Clare and I were together and the life we never had. But for these last few minutes, I've felt his presence again, and now I can let myself believe that we, indeed, will
meet again.
“Mr. Wheeler, I'm a poor woman and can't offer you anything for what you've given me, but even if I were the queen herself, I wouldn't have nearly enough riches to compensate you for this gift.”
It was clear that Margaret had become too choked up to say anything more, but that was fine with
Larry. He was getting choked up, too. He decided that he had done what he came to do, and would serve no good purpose by staying longer. He stood up and excused himself, taking Margaret's hand as he did so. She, in return, took his hand in both of hers, and despite her frailty, Larry felt great power in her grip.
On the long drive back to Manchester, Larry could not stop thinking about having seen the passions, sorrows and joys of Margaret's long life crystallized into the few minutes he had spent with her. In that brief time he felt that he had experienced more of the essence of living than in all his own life before. He also had an overwhelming urge to to get to his wife and children as quickly as possible and hug them for as long as he could.
#####
After he got back home, life returned to normal for Larry, but as the year proceeded he realized that this year was different from any other. This year life seemed more vivid, and he was more aware of the people closest to him. It had become very important to him to be with his family as much as possible and pay close attention to every moment. He also decided to put the chifferobe back in his bedroom.
Twice that year, Larry went back to Hertfordshire to visit Margaret. On his second visit, the nurse attending her thanked him for coming, saying that Margaret was stronger and in better spirits than at any time since she had been at the home.
In what seemed like no time to Larry, it was almost Christmas again, and he and his family were back into the usual routine of the holiday. This year, however, he felt the Christmas spirit with a depth he could previously have not imagined. During the day on Christmas Eve, he thought of Margaret and
decided to give her a call.
When his call was answered at the nursing home, and he asked to speak to her, the voice at the other end asked if he was a relative. He answered that he was only an acquaintance, and the voice then informed him that Margaret had passed away just after midnight that morning.
Saying nothing more, he hung the phone up and looked blankly around the room. Catching sight of the chifferobe, he walked, almost entranced, to the cabinet and moved his hand hypnotically across its smooth surface.
When he mechanically opened one of the doors his eyes widened and his breath deepened. Hanging on a hook on the inside of the door, was something that had not been there the night before; a scarf like the ones worn by RAF pilots in World War II. He removed it, examined it closely, and, pulled it through his fingers. Still holding it, he stepped back, and, standing in that otherwise quiet room, stared at that very unusual piece of furniture, while, from some distant, obscure place, music that sounded like an old Victrola reverberated in his head.
In that dull, murky sound, a plaintive female voice reached out from decades past, singing the almost forgotten but once popular lines, “We'll meet again, Don't know where, Don't know when. But I know we'll meet again some sunny day...”
THE END
