Martin's Story

Chapter I

The Letter

It was an unusually quiet day in mid-September when Andrea’s letter arrived. I had just begun the fall semester at Edson College with a new group of freshmen students and had not even completed their syllabus. I had learned from past semesters that one size does not fit all…and that applies to each new class of freshman who make the crossover from high school English to first semester College English—most popularly known as English Comp. I.

There are some first year college students who are ready to go on to essay writing and the development of complex paragraphs and then there are others who only know how to write fragment sentences and often fear the use of the semi-colon because they were taught in high school to avoid it.

It was unfortunate that some college professors thought that the mechanical engineer did not need to write good compositions or that the medical student could excel without knowing how to develop the basic thesis. They had been proven wrong!

The mood was somber; it was the second week of classes and the campus had weathered the storm of that first chaotic week when some students are still rebellious over the passing of summer. The leaves had begun to abandon their branches and most of the east coast was enjoying a stage of limbo between summer and winter—that was often the mood of the fall season.

I had not rushed back to my apartment that somber afternoon because there was no one to go home to and there was seldom any mail that was worth opening. My usual bundle of mail was not very exciting; it was most often from publishers wanting to court my favor with their new textbook, or an overabundance of solicitations for more magazines…which I did not want. I had not received any mail from Andrea since her departure more than a year ago, and was not expecting to hear from her because of the manner in which she departed and the journey which she had chosen to take.

My family was not aware of Andrea’s exact location, but we were kept informed by the Bernsteins and assured of her well-being. Ruth Bernstein played an active role in the newly formed T.A.H. Rossi Foundation now; she had become involved in The Foundation even before it had actually been formally established. It was shortly after Wendell’s death that Ruth Bernstein began to use her personal fortune and family influence to support the causes that Andrea had developed as a result of her sudden wealth and association with Susan and Mark Caldwell. Her generosity actually began when she convinced her family’s business to donate ten thousand dollars to Sloan-Kettering after Wendell died of cancer, but now she was personally involved.

There was so much that had happened in my dear cousin’s life in such a short period of time that I often found it incredible to accept.

Today’s mail was going to bring all of the past back into focus, however, because the mailbox did contain more than the usual ‘junk mail;’ inside was a notice of a special delivery letter and there was just enough information on that usually insignificant piece of paper to tell me that indeed it was ‘special,’ because it was a letter from Andrea.

I wasted no time sprinting to the post office. There was something about that calm day that prepared me for the joy I felt in knowing that the letter was from Andrea. But why the special delivery? It didn’t take long before my curiosity was satisfied. There was a document of some sort behind the letter, but that would have to wait until I read the letter. This felt like the morning of Christmas…not just any Christmas, but a wonderful Christmas of the past!

I decided to stop at a nearby coffee house for an afternoon tea while I read her letter. This was a special day…a special event. I didn’t want to read her letter alone in my apartment, and I didn’t want to share it with anyone. But I wanted to be in an atmosphere of people celebrating life, and that was often the mood at the coffee house. It wasn’t the sounds of Edith Piaf that one heard, or the haunting melodies of Gershwin, but there was usually a mood of life at its best and often an upbeat jazz artist from the past assisting the patrons with a positive mood. I didn’t really care about the cup of herbal tea that was sitting on my table, but the atmosphere allowed for my reading of the letter.

My Dear Martin,

I know this letter is long overdue, and I realize that now we do have the luxury of the internet. However, I am informed that we are not always within reach of those new signals and I also understand that one of the downfalls of this new method of communication is a lack of privacy. So I shall use the ‘old fashion’ form of being in touch: the mail service. Besides, you will notice that there is a check enclosed which I could not send you via the internet. This gift is also long overdue, but I certainly hope that it will not arrive too late to serve its purpose.

I had made other arrangements before leaving the states that will provide for any future emergency needs regarding our families, but I have decided that I want to do something personal for you in the interim: the time in life when you should enjoy your youth and your health (yes, my dear Martin, you do still possess youth).

It seems that no matter what projects I undertake and how much I pay out in establishing new projects for the T.A.H. Rossi Foundation, the enormous wealth that was accumulated by the loss of my dear husbands just seems to multiply! It has done so to the extent that I feel no guilt, whatsoever, in writing a check as I have for you and in this amount, as my way of thanking you for always being by my side when I suffered my losses. You were my big brother, and now I wish to be your big sister in the only way that I know how.

I understand that you have been in contact with Hector Picquet. I am very pleased to know that; he is a real gentleman and I know that he could become a trusted friend for you. If you should decide to travel in the direction of Switzerland, perhaps you may want to look up Barry and Howard. I didn’t get to know them very well during the short time we met at Wendell’s funeral, but he spoke so well of them and trusted them as his confidants while he was in Switzerland. So, I am quite comfortable in suggesting that they may be supportive friends for you at some future time.

I’m sorry that I did not spend more time paying attention to your personal needs and interests during those past ten years when I was taking so much of your energy and compassion. I did come to realize your personal needs, during one of my more cognizant moments, when by chance I stopped by Marie’s Crisis where I sometimes submitted myself to the music of the Gershwins and saw you standing at the piano bar chatting with an individual. I realized then that my dear cousin wasn’t having much of a chance to live his own life because he was so caught up in mine and the expectations of our middle-class ‘old world’ families.

I should have made you aware of my presence that evening, but I wasn’t sure that you were ready to share that part of your life with me, so I made a quick exit and stored that evening in my mind for a future time such as this has become.

I hope that you will combine a sabbatical with a second year to make use of this check for extensive travel. Discover the world and the people in it. And have no regrets. Just live life to the fullest and don’t hesitate to take a chance as long as you are happy and guard your safety and tender emotions.

I’m not sure when we will next meet or…for that matter if we shall. Don’t be distressed by that comment. You know I have made a commitment which I fully intend to keep and that may keep me away indefinitely. Just know that I am happy with my work and have not experienced any new dark days in my life since I said my farewells to our families and since Carlos’ passing. Perhaps that was the end of my dark hours. Every day is a joy for me now as I seek new horizons and look for ways to benefit the children who desperately cry out…often unheard and who are truly the poorest of the poor.

I am only one of many who are trying to make a difference. I am pleased to be among those Americans who are supporting these causes. Regardless of the enormous wealth that the T.A.H. Rossi Foundation has amassed, mine is still only a drop in the bucket compared to the others who have saved so much of the world’s poor by providing vaccines and schools in the villages of the forgotten.

I keep in touch with my parents through a middle media source, but I prefer doing it that way. My mother and father have always been understanding of my method of doing things and I know that your parents also respect my need for operating in this manner. I would prefer that the check enclosed, at least the sum of that check, be kept confidential…you know, sister to brother.

Let me assure you that if this sum does not satisfy your travels and needs, there shall be no hesitation from me to issue a supplement. I certainly do not need luxury or even more than bare necessities in the lifestyle which I have chosen. And if you had not been there for me when I experienced the loss of my husbands, perhaps I could not have found the strength and will to do this very important work.

Much love,

Andrea

My eyes swelled up with tears as I finished reading Andrea’s letter. Our love for each other as cousins had been so much more. We were like brother and sister; the term ‘soul mates’ was even appropriate if one can consider that term without inserting the idea of romantic love. We had even dated in order to accommodate each other’s social needs. And I never needed anything more from Andrea than to know that I was easing her pain and guarding her vulnerability during those terrible years in which she experienced so many losses—more than any woman could be expected to endure in a lifetime: the loss of three husbands in such a short time…all unexpected and…all loved.

Perhaps before I attempt to tell my story I should bring you up to date on the last chapter that is known about my dear cousin. Andrea would have never known the other side of life if it had not been for visiting Wendell’s sister Susan and her husband Mark. She quickly realized that Mark was not a missionary who carried the word of God to his community, but Mark did the work of God within his community. Andrea might never have children of her own, but now she had the world’s children who she carried on her back—those who were rejected by society and even within their own families.

Like so many others who have wealth…considerable wealth…Andrea chose the unexpected path of caring for the less fortunate rather than traveling the world in private jets or aboard luxury liners. She was the Diana, the Mother Theresa, the Ghandi of her time. She acted quietly. In fact, she acted so quietly that even her family did not know her exact whereabouts, but she knew ours. She seemed to have angel’s helpers who kept her informed and threw out the safety net at any moment in our lives that we might require it.

I never expected the letter…and I certainly never expected the generous gift that was attached to that letter. I was content to have her love and her friendship. Like Andrea, I never sought great fortune. But then I also never experienced the terrible losses that she was made to endure. I’m sure that I will read her letter many times over and try to find a little more of Andrea in the letter with each reading.

As I looked back, I realized that her letter came during that same month of the year when Jack, her first husband, had died. I wondered if Andrea thought of that as she was writing this letter. How could she have not? It was the first of her tragic losses, but then eventually one overshadowed the next—those past few years had been incredible in testing her faith. But she won and despair lost. Yes, Jack’s sudden death was only a prelude to a wretched ‘unfinished symphony’ of tragedies: the first dark shadow in a series of several.

I hardly knew Jack Albright, but then…had Andrea even gotten to know her husband since they were married less than a year when his death came so unannounced and without warning. I believe it was about seven months that they had been married. Yes, both Andrea and Jack were cheated out of any kind of happiness. How can anyone know their lover, their soul mate or…significant other in only that short period of time? And yet there is enough time to grow together to the extent that when the heart is deprived of the memories of precious moments the pain is severe.

I still remember that call when Andrea, in a trance-like voice, was asking that I come to her as soon as it might be possible. She was trying to be considerate even in the time of distress. I almost did not recognize her voice because I had never heard her speak in such a shallow tone. It were as though she was speaking from a far off distance…like being at the other end of a tunnel when she uttered the single sentence informing me of Jack’s death.

I suddenly began to feel guilt in lamenting over my own losses; they had never resulted in death, but often from the inability to use good judgment or to face the reality of what could never be. My guilt turned to outward crying when I opened the folded sheet that was enclosed. It was not a document, but contained a check…a rather large check… in the amount of $200,000. Now I regretted being in the public arena of the coffee house. I looked around and was grateful to find that I was the only one in the shop besides the barista, and he was a safe distance from my tears. I was not only shocked, but humbled while at the same time feeling enormous gratitude over the discovery of this generous gift.

I had certainly not earned this sum—no matter what I had done or tried to do for her. After all, it was nothing more than a brother would have done for an abandoned and grieving sister.

Chapter II

Martin’s Call to Hector

I hadn’t anticipated this new chapter in my life. I was prepared to accept life as I knew it when Andrea was still a part of it, although I had begun a dark side shortly after entering college…or at least I thought of it as a dark side…when time allowed for it. I wasn’t especially proud of my behavior, but neither was I ashamed of it. Perhaps that doesn’t make sense, but it did to me.

Suddenly, my well organized school year became as disorganized as my students fall semester of classes. There was so much to do in preparation for this new chapter: a trip of a lifetime. Of course the very first thing that had to be done was to assemble my family: my parents and Andrea’s parents to inform them of Andrea’s letter. I would honor her request to refrain from disclosing the size of the check; I’m sure she had reason for the request, and I knew that my parents would not press me for that information. I decided that the news warranted celebration…and a bit of theatre.

When I called my mother, I told her that I had a rather pleasant surprise to share with her and my father, but that it also had to be shared with Aunt Clara and Uncle Ted. My mother became quite eager to learn of the surprise but after a few futile attempts she realized that she could not pry it from me.

We often played these games which only heightened the drama of the situation. None of the past games of such foolery had compared to this, however. She agreed to prepare something special and to invite Aunt Clara and Uncle Ted over for dinner at my first free evening. I didn’t really want to be cruel in developing anxiety, so I agreed to meet with them that very weekend.

I called Hector shortly after the gathering of my family. I kept my word in not disclosing the amount of Andrea’s check, but I had to tell him that Andrea had sent me a gift of funds for travel. I needed to rely on him for information that would be necessary in making my visit to Paris a successful one. Oh yes, it was going to be one of the major cities on my itinerary. Andrea had been successful in whetting my appetite for Paris—especially after her second trip there with Carlos.

Tara Bernstein was still there, working for a fashion house while completing an internship with an interior designer. I would ask Tara about some of the restaurants to which she had introduced Andrea and some of the places of interest that only a local would suggest, but I needed Hector’s knowledge of Paris even more since it had been his home before coming to the states. And I knew I could rely on him. I was fortunate that I could profit from both of these individuals who had come to mean so much to Andrea.

Hector expressed delight in the news of my letter from Andrea. He told me that he was not at all surprised that she would choose to bestow such a gift to me. But of course it wasn’t difficult for Hector to ascertain the approximate amount of the check when I informed him of the length of time that I might be travelling.

He was quick to give me the name of a personal friend. He explained that Caroline worked at Air France and had been a close friend of his when he lived in Paris. He told me that she was a few years younger…perhaps my age, and that they had been introduced some years earlier by a mutual friend. He warned me that she was very consumed by her work at Air France, but knew that