by Gwendolyn M Plano
Recently my mother gifted my great-aunt’s bed to me. It was hand-crafted in Hawaii where she lived for a number of years. I’ve loved this bed since I was a child, and I’ve wondered about the stories it could tell.
My aunt was a writer, and though she never married, she was inseparable from her lifelong friend. The two women traveled and lived together until their sleep became eternal. Wherever they went, they brought laughter and good conversation.
C. S. Lewis has a line in The Four Loves which reads, "You have not chosen one another but I have chosen you for one another.” What follows is my fictionalized account of that early choosing.
My aunt was a writer, and though she never married, she was inseparable from her lifelong friend. The two women traveled and lived together until their sleep became eternal. Wherever they went, they brought laughter and good conversation.
C. S. Lewis has a line in The Four Loves which reads, "You have not chosen one another but I have chosen you for one another.” What follows is my fictionalized account of that early choosing.
My heart leapt the first time I saw her, standing alone with her glass of ice tea, gazing up at the snowcapped San Gabriel Mountains. Perhaps it was the way her tailored suit clung to her waist, or the cloche hat that offered but a glance of her eyes—blue I noted. Whatever it was, she had my attention from the first moment.
“Hello,” I ventured, “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Rebecca O’Hare.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” she replied with a playful smile. “I read your articles in The Sun; that’s why I knew about today’s reopening of the Club.” Reaching out her hand, she said, “My name is Sue, Sue Brown.”
For the prior three years, I had helped with fundraising to relocate and rebuild sections of the original Pomona Ebell Club. As the only women’s organization of its kind, it was particularly close to my heart.
“I’m pleased someone reads the articles,” I responded. “I write in a vacuum and never know if there is a readership.”
“Well, you can’t have doubts now; just look at the turnout, hundreds of women!” she said, glancing at the crowd.
The new auditorium had seating for 300, and it was filling quickly.
“If you'd like, I’d be happy to give you a tour after the opening.” I said, hoping for her interest.
“I’d love it!” and with a bewitching twinkle in her eye she added, “How could I pass up an invitation from the notable Ms. O’Hare?”
The afternoon passed quickly, with conversation stretching from voting rights to education and travel. I was surprised by Sue’s easy responses. She wasn’t concerned about convention, but then she wasn’t working for The Sun. I always felt scrutinized at the paper, by anything I said or did. With Sue, laughter came easily.
Guests were leaving, and I needed to say my goodbyes. Turning to her, I asked, “Can we continue this conversation at another time?” She answered with a mischievous nod, and as she turned to walk away, I wondered, had the setting sun ever been more beautiful?
“Hello,” I ventured, “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Rebecca O’Hare.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” she replied with a playful smile. “I read your articles in The Sun; that’s why I knew about today’s reopening of the Club.” Reaching out her hand, she said, “My name is Sue, Sue Brown.”
For the prior three years, I had helped with fundraising to relocate and rebuild sections of the original Pomona Ebell Club. As the only women’s organization of its kind, it was particularly close to my heart.
“I’m pleased someone reads the articles,” I responded. “I write in a vacuum and never know if there is a readership.”
“Well, you can’t have doubts now; just look at the turnout, hundreds of women!” she said, glancing at the crowd.
The new auditorium had seating for 300, and it was filling quickly.
“If you'd like, I’d be happy to give you a tour after the opening.” I said, hoping for her interest.
“I’d love it!” and with a bewitching twinkle in her eye she added, “How could I pass up an invitation from the notable Ms. O’Hare?”
The afternoon passed quickly, with conversation stretching from voting rights to education and travel. I was surprised by Sue’s easy responses. She wasn’t concerned about convention, but then she wasn’t working for The Sun. I always felt scrutinized at the paper, by anything I said or did. With Sue, laughter came easily.
Guests were leaving, and I needed to say my goodbyes. Turning to her, I asked, “Can we continue this conversation at another time?” She answered with a mischievous nod, and as she turned to walk away, I wondered, had the setting sun ever been more beautiful?
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