Going to Elgin with Estelle on Saturday morning with Mattie Krakowski’s boxes wasn’t much of a spring drive in the country. For one thing, there weren’t many open fields left in the thirty miles between Chicago and Elgin. Urban sprawl, corporate campuses, and housing developments had eaten up most of the farmland except for a stretch near Poplar Creek. At least Chicago had protected its forest preserves.
The weather was also dreary, drizzling all morning and overcast all afternoon, as spring sputtered to get started.
We found Hammond Manor on the east side of Elgin, not far from Lords Park. It was a converted three-story Victorian. As we climbed the front steps, I began to wonder how an old woman with a broken hip would fare with all those stairs.
Inside, an attendant took us up in a grinding, slow elevator to the second floor and down the hall to the small room Mattie Krakowski shared with another woman. The other woman was lying in her bed, watching the TV suspended high on the opposing wall. Mattie sat in a wingback chair on the other side of her bed, the only other piece of furniture in the room.
“You have guests, Mattie.”
The old woman pulled her attention from the TV and looked up at us brightly as we crossed the room to the foot of her bed, but she obviously couldn’t place us.
The attendant was still standing in the open doorway. “Would you like me to bring in a couple of folding chairs?”
“That’s okay,” I said, putting Mattie’s box on the floor. “We won’t be staying long.”
Estelle frowned at me, then turned to Mattie. “Do you remember us, Mrs. Krakowski? We’re the people living in your building now.”
“Oh yes.” Recognition flooded over her wrinkled face, washing away her bewilderment. “You did such a nice job fixing up my apartment. Will I be able to move back in soon?”
Estelle glanced at me before answering. “I . . . I think you’ll have to discuss your living arrangements with your son, Don . . . or do you call him Donny?”
“Hmm, sometimes Donny, but he hasn’t been by this week. Usually comes on Sunday.”
“Then maybe he’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Does that mean today’s Saturday?” She had seemed fairly alert, but I guess I could excuse her not being able to distinguish one day from another in a place like this.
“Yes, it’s Saturday,” assured Estelle. “But Mattie, do you remember why Don brought you to visit us a couple of weeks ago?”
“Oh yes, to get my box of pictures and papers from the basement. But . . .” A sad frown clouded her face. “. . . we couldn’t find it. Don’t know what happened to it. It was down there the last time I looked.”
“Well, we have some good news for you. We found it.” Estelle beamed as she nodded to me. “Harry.”
“Is this what you were looking for?” I picked up the box and put it on the floor in front of Mattie, then knelt down and pulled open the lid. “It got moved out to the garage attic before you came, and no one remembered it was up there. We just found it the other day.”
Mattie leaned forward to look and then clasped her hands to her withered cheeks. “Yes! Yes! . . . That’s our wedding picture. Oh, my. Wilhelm and I were only nineteen.” She chuckled. “Both our parents didn’t think we’d last, but we did, fifty-one years.”
I stood up and sat down on the edge of the bed while Estelle kneeled down and went through the pictures and keepsakes with the old woman. Mattie had a story for each one, and Estelle listened tirelessly. I watched them, regretting my previous impatience. Estelle was so good with elderly people. I felt a renewed pang of loss. Would’ve been so nice if Mom could’ve lived downstairs and enjoyed the support of my caring wife.
Mattie’s stories rambled on and on. I began to wish we’d accepted that offer of folding chairs when a bell chimed somewhere out in the hall.
“Oh.” Mattie sat up, eyes wide. “That’s the lunch bell.” She pointed to her roommate who’d been glued to the soap she was watching the entire time we’d been there. “She can’t get out of bed, but I’m up and around now. Would you like to come downstairs and have lunch with me? I can have two guests a month, no extra charge.” She made a sour face. “But the food’s not very good.”
Estelle stood up with a groan over stiff joints. “Maybe some other time, Mattie. It’s been so nice seeing you. Glad you’ve got your box now. Oh, by the way, we have another box out in the car. Has some hats in it. We’ll bring it in before we go.”
“Hats? I don’t remember any hats. Maybe they belonged to someone else.”
“We’ll bring ’em in anyway, and if you don’t want them, maybe someone else here would enjoy them.”
Couldn’t imagine anyone wanting those flowery things, but I kept my mouth shut.
Mattie rose slowly from her chair, steadying herself a moment by hanging on to it until she grabbed her cane hanging on the back. She raised it, pointing toward the door. “Don’t really need this any longer, but around here, they make me carry it for safety. When I get home, I’m gonna retire it.”
We accompanied her down the grumbling elevator. I ran out and brought back the box of hats. Then we said our good-byes, and left to grab something to eat at a Subway before heading back into the city.
We’d been cruising east on I-90 for fifteen minutes, lost in our own thoughts until I said, “She sure is countin’ on returnin’ to her old place.”
“Yeah, sounds like all her memories are tied up there. Kind of a sweet nostalgia.”
“Kinda sad, if you ask me. She’s living for this fantasy.”
We rode on in silence for another mile or so when out of the corner of my eye I saw Estelle lean forward and turn to me. “Harry, maybe it doesn’t have to be a fantasy.”
“What? Whaddaya mean?”
“Well, we have to do something with that apartment. I don’t know what her finances are, but what if she could move back in?”
“Estelle! She couldn’t make her payments before; what makes you think she could afford rent now?”
Estelle leaned back. “I don’t know. It just seemed like . . . like it might be a God thing, ya know. Like he might bring her home to spend her final days.”
“Yeah, but you’re . . .” I stopped myself from accusing Estelle of getting caught up in the fantasy. I loved her for the soft heart she had for elderly people, and I didn’t want to crush that. “I just don’t think it’s practical,” I continued. “But you’re right, we do need to put it on the market soon. With Mom’s passin’ and all, we just haven’t had time.”
“You’re probably right.” Her voice trailed off.
But the disappointment in her voice got to me. It was a crazy idea. It would’ve meant another jerk around in my life. The old lady had to move out because she couldn’t make her mortgage, so now she was gonna move back in? Nah! Wasn’t gonna happen. But . . . a thought whispered in the back of my mind . . . wouldn’t that be just like God?
Arrgh! Just give me a straight path, okay God? Besides . . . “Besides, Estelle,” I said much too forcefully, “what about Rodney?”
My wife gave me an odd look. “Rodney? What about him?”
“Where would he go?”
“I don’t know. You weren’t thinkin’ . . . Harry, we never promised him anything. In fact, at one point you were real clear that he couldn’t even come.”
I sighed. “I know, but . . . where’s he gonna go? He’s doin’ good. Got a job. I’m thinkin’ maybe it’s not right to kick him out on the street.”
“Of course not, Harry. I’m not sayin’ kick him out. But he’s grown. Don’t you think we should at least raise the question of what’s next?”
“All right. We’ll ask him, but I don’t want it to come across like we’re tryin’ to get rid of him. Been thinkin’ ’bout how I wasn’t there for him all those years. And now, when he’s tryin’ to do good, maybe the best thing would be for him to stay in that apartment where he’s close to DaShawn—gotta think about him too, ya know. And we’d be right there to lend support and give him . . . give him—”
“Some free meals,” Estelle offered, and we both broke into a hearty laugh, relieving the tension that had arisen.
“Ha. Remember that ol’ cigarette ad, ‘I’d walk a mile for a Camel’? Well, you can bet Rodney’d walk a mile—or more—for a little of your cookin’. We all would!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But seriously, Harry, with his job, he could get his own place.”
“Or pay for the apartment downstairs.”
“On what he makes?”
I shrugged. “Well, we were gonna give my mother a break on the rent, charge her just enough to help us meet our mortgage. Why not give Rodney a similar deal?”
Estelle waited a moment as an airliner zoomed low over us and touched down at O’Hare Airport. Then . . . “You’re serious, aren’t you? Well, I’d be open to that if it’s the right thing to do. But what we need right now is a little guidance from the Lord.”
“Now, that would be great.” The cynicism in my voice surprised me. “What I mean is . . .”
“Well, what do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” Maybe I needed to exercise trust.
But before I could say more, Estelle said, “Well, can we pray about it?”
“Oh, sure. That’d be good . . . but would you pray?”
I didn’t know whether she was peeved at me or just collecting her thoughts, but after several moments, she began in a soft voice. “Father God, we thank you for how good you’ve been to us. We thank you for the beautiful home you’ve given us. And we want to use it to your glory. We don’t know whether that space downstairs should be Rodney’s or someone else’s. But most of all we want your will. We want it to be used for your glory. And, Lord, we thank you for the good things that are happening with Rodney, and we pray that they continue. Don’t let him fall back into his old life. Plant his feet on the solid Rock, Jesus, and you are that Rock. Bring him to you. We’re askin’ this in the mighty name of Jesus, Amen.”
Estelle’s prayer touched me. Whether Rodney lived downstairs or in some other apartment, the good things happening in his life might not last without a relationship with Jesus. I knew that’s what he needed, just like I’d needed it. Lately, I’d been blaming God for derailing all my plans. But Estelle’s prayer reminded me that it wasn’t all about me.
I felt a sudden swell of love for my wife. Estelle always seemed to raise me up to be more than I’d be otherwise. That’s how it’d been from the time we first met. It’s how I knew she was the one for me. She saw me as the man God intended me to be and made me want to be that man—for her, for my family, for God.
I slowed for the tollbooth, but when I got back up to speed and had merged into the traffic, I prayed too. “Yes, Lord. We both want what’s best for Rodney. Please guide us . . . and I wanna thank you for my dear wife.” I started to choke up but managed one more. “Thank you.”