Chapter 13

About four months later, Chrissy and I were walking hand in hand from the bus stop to our house. We passed the Moresby Home, with Mrs. Ethel Moresby working outside.

"Hello, Connelly children," she said.

"Hello, Mrs. M," I said in return.

"I seem to see you two outside more often these days, always holding hands. That's so sweet how you care for your twin sister," she said.

"We don't just 'care' for one another," Christine said, "We love one another."

"Yes, dear—I understand, you are twins and there always is a special bond between twins, I was a twin," she said.

"Really, what happened?" I asked.

"Well, some of the details are fuzzy, I am 84 years old. Let's sit on my porch together?"

I went to help her sit as I sat first and Christine sat on my lap.

"It was almost seventy years ago. My twin brother Edward and I wouldn't go anywhere without the other. The year was 1944, and we were 16 years old. Edward wanted to join the war effort, even though he wasn't of age yet. But he had a friend fake a birth certificate to show he was 18."

She was misty-eyed and stopped for a moment due to a distant recollection.

"They took him and he was in London, occasionally writing back to me. He had made some friends over there and they all stayed at the Red Cross Club, on the seventh floor. I keep his final letter to me near my heart."

She pulled an aged piece of paper from her pocket and started to read.

"My dearest Ethel, I am having a wonderful time. My buddies and me all went to Piccadilly Circus, which is like Times Square only a bit smaller. We went to dinner and I had chicken while my buddies had rabbit. After eating we went outside trying to locate a pub."

"We were told that there was a dance up to the Columbia Red Cross Club, so we went there and found the place was full of mostly GI's and just a few girls. I sat down, thinking of you my dear sister. I wished you were here..."

Mrs. M stopped and broke down in quiet tears. I took the paper from her and continued on,

" ... I wished you were here, so I could tell you how much I cared, and we could dance. I love you Ethel—I miss you terribly! There is word that some of us will be shipped out to where the action is. When I can, I will write. Love you, 'little girl' forever," I read, carefully folding it up and giving it back to Mrs. M.

I looked at Christine who was crying almost as much as Ethel was. We both gave her a hug and started back on our way home. I turned back around and said, "My sister and I love each other, maybe as much as you and Edward did. Thank you for sharing such a wonderful story with us. Have you ever told anyone about your love for your twin before, Ethel?"

Hearing her name jolted her back to us, and she said, "No Christopher—you are the only ones who know, take care of one another. Life is short, and not fair, and love is all you've got."

"Absolutely, again thank you for your wonderful memory," Chrissy said, as we walked arm in arm to our home, deeply affected by our interaction with this wonderful woman.

We arrived at our house, going inside. I went to Mom, who was in the kitchen and I gave her a terribly satisfying hug and a light kiss on the cheek.

"Well, what was that all about, Chris?" she said.

"On our way home, we stopped and talked to Ethel Moresby, who confided to us that back in the 40s she loved her twin brother, who lied about his age and went to London to fight in the war."

"It was such a pleasant and satisfying recollection she had," Christine added.

"I remember talking to her once, kids—her mind is really clear on many tings that happened a long time ago. I didn't know she had a twin brother that she lost in the war," mom said.

"I wonder if she would be interested to be interviewed about her life. It would made a fascinating story, I could maybe get school credit for it," I thought aloud.

"It's early enough, go back out and talk to her, take your phone with you. Christine, stay and help me with dinner please?"

Looking at me, Chrissy said, "Sure thing, Mom."

I took a leisurely walk back to her house and saw that she was still sitting there, asleep on the porch.

Something didn't feel right, so I walked up to her and didn't see her breathing. She was either unconscious or dead, so I called 911 and got an ambulance. They were quicker than I'd expected, checked her and I saw the one EMT shake his head to the other. I got the letter from her pocket as they put her lifeless body on a wheeled cart, covering her.

"Are you related to her?" they asked me.

"No, just a neighbor—just a neighbor who talked to her today."

I started sobbing.

"Are you all right, young man?" the other EMT asked.

"Yes—yes, I am."

I saw Christine running down the sidewalk at me, and we hugged one another as they took Mrs. M. away. We got in the porch chair, just holding one another. After about 20 minutes, we got up and secured her place for whoever would be coming for her things.

"Oh, Christopher ... are you OK?" Chrissy asked.

"I don't know Christine. We just met her today, talking like we did. I feel bad we'd never spoken to one another before. We waved at each other from time to time, but it wasn't until today that I felt ... a kinship with her."

"At least she told someone about Edward and her, someone who is as full of love as they were for one another," my sister said as we walked back to the house, arm in arm.

Many neighbors stopped us and asked what had happened. We told them that Ethel Moresby, 84, had passed away from a broken heart.

When we got home, I related to Mom what had happened. I was constantly on the brink of crying, worrying that nobody was around to take care of Ethel's stuff.

I got online with the local newspaper, and wrote an open letter in their comments section, asking for anyone who knew Ethel Moresby, leaving my phone number.