“Amethyst…” just a hoarse, whispering sigh. I shivered. It reminded me of that movie, the one where the old man dies with the name of his childhood sled, “Rosebud,” on his lips. Then I had an hysterical urge to giggle, picturing old Mr. Wellbeck flying down a snowy hillside on a bright purple sled, although I knew Amethyst was his late wife’s name.

I was Mr. Lowell Wellbeck’s housekeeper and friend of 15 years. His family, instead of being here to see him out of this world, were downstairs arguing over who most deserved to inherit what. I smoothed Low’s hair and straightened his head on the pillow, patting his wrinkled cheek one last time – it was still warm and alive feeling – then went to inform his loving relatives of his passing.

Mr. Wellbeck hired me as his housekeeper shortly after his wife’s death. I was already thirty-five when I took the post. I’d thought then that it would be for just a short time. I was engaged and expecting to be married in less than a year, when Tom, my fiancé, returned from three years abroad on a government job.

But Tom had never returned. He’d just disappeared. The government was no help, even tried to deny he’d ever worked for them. I did everything I could to find him or some trace of him, but Tom was beyond finding. My job had been my hold on sanity, and Low had been kind and supportive throughout.

I went down to inform the family, said my piece and left them to themselves. I needed to get out of the house, away from the greedy offspring, needed to be out in the open air. Although the Wellbeck grounds were spacious, I wanted the freedom and anonymity of a public place, so I walked the three blocks down our hill to the small public park that bordered the creekside.

Joggers bounded gracefully past me, singly and in pairs. A family on bicycles pedaled across my path on their way to the street. I stopped to look around. The grass was soft and green with the beginning of spring. I had a sudden urge to throw myself down upon it and roll back and forth, feeling it’s cool, prickly dampness on my skin. I turned regretfully away from the lawns and sought an empty bench in the sunshine.

Although my hair is auburn, I owe some Mediterranean ancestor a debt of gratitude for the pale olive complexion that lets me sit in the sun without burning. I hadn’t been there long when a man of about my own age, that is to say, fiftyish, came down the path pushing a baby carriage.

He nodded to me, indicating the bench. I nodded my willingness to share, and he sat down. I assumed he was a proud grandfather out with his grandchild. He was quite an attractive man, tall and clean featured, but it was the spark of humor in his eyes that drew me.

He sat rocking the carriage up and down by its handle and staring dotingly into its interior. When he turned to smile at me, I asked, “Is that your grandchild?”

He started to speak, then seemed to be overcome with shyness, just nodding and going back to his rocking and doting. Finally, probably fearing that I might think him rude, he turned back to me. “This is my granddaughter, Simone.”

At first I thought he was calling me by name, knew that was not possible, then understood that the baby’s name was Simone. I had to laugh at that. Seeing his look of dismay, I hurried to explain. “My name is Simone! You don’t see many babies being named Simone anymore.”

“Oh!” He laughed with me. “Yes, my daughter named her after a character in a book.” He turned back to take the sleeping baby from her nest of blankets. She was, of course, adorable and sweetly sleeping.

“She’s beautiful. And so good.”

“Yes, she’s no trouble at all,” but a shadow of sadness seemed to slide across his face. I would have liked to know why a man with such a twinkle in his eye would look so sad, but I had to return to the house and get dinner.

I stood. “Little Simone is a lovely baby. It was nice talking to you.” I stood there wondering why I was so reluctant to leave. It was a frozen moment when the two of us looked at each other and knew we would have to either move ahead or never see each other again.

He jumped up from the bench, extending his hand. “My name is David Ashby, Simone,” then he blushed, “if I may call you that.”

I took his hand and grinned quite fatuously, I am sure. “Please do, if I may call you David.” He nodded happily and pumped my hand up and down. I was reluctant to pull away from that warm grasp, but I really had very little time.

“Goodbye. Perhaps we will see each other again.” I let the implication dangle there between us.

He rushed to take me up. “I’ll come here every day at this time...I mean, I do come here every day at this time...oh, and in the morning, too.” Now we were both blushing. Really! Two mature adults behaving like a pair of adolescents with their first crush. Yet I left the park with a jaunty spring to my step and a lift in my mood. Silly.

Later that night, I was visited in my kitchen by both Wellbeck offspring. Mr. Lowell Wellbeck, Jr., wanted to be sure I knew that I would have to leave the house after the will was read, then he and his family would be moving in. Quite a presumption on his part – he seemed to believe saying it out loud would make it so.

The daughter, Mrs. Nancy Wellbeck-Halsey, was more conciliatory in her approach, which made me decidedly nervous. “Miss Pagett. I just wanted to thank you for looking after father and this house all these years. I know he appreciated you efficiency and your kindness.”

This sounded quite proper and what one might expect, if I hadn’t known Mrs. Halsey too well to take her at face value. I merely said a polite, “Thank you,” and waited for the punch line. It was not long in coming.

“We don’t want you to worry about what’s to become of you. Mr. Halsey and I would be happy to accept you into our home.” So there it was. She’d been trying to hire me away from her father for years. I wasn’t Cordon Bleu for nothing.

When I didn’t respond, she continued with a cat-like smile on her round little face. “Of course, we aren’t in a position to pay you the exceedingly high salary that father did, but we are concerned for your welfare, so we will make the sacrifice.”

Don’t let her buffalo you! She’s a nasty little cat, and we both know it!

I jumped as though I’d been jabbed in a tender place with a sharp object, swiveling my head wildly to search out the source of the whispered comment. When I saw an insubstantial but unmistakable Mr. Wellbeck, Sr., leaning against the refrigerator, I had the sensation that my head was floating away.

She can’t see or hear me, Simone, he explained kindly. Now answer her before she thinks you’ve gone into a fit.

I forced my eyes back to Mrs. Halsey, who was indeed looking a trifle wary. “Thank you for the kind offer, Mrs. Halsey. But I believe Mr. Wellbeck has left me a small inheritance which will allow me a little leisure before I have to make a decision about my future.”

You tell her, Simmie! I always said you had spunk. I had to smile at that. Wrong thing to do.

“Oh, so you think you’ve worked your wiles on my father and gotten him to leave you a hefty hunk of cash, do you?” She stood there, head thrust aggressively forward, hands on hips, every trace of the gracious society matron gone. “Well, we’ll see about that!” She turned to stomp out of my kitchen muttering about “alienation of affections” and other equally inappropriate legal terms.

When I turned back to share the joke with Low, the wraith had vanished. At first I felt only regret, then realized that I must have imagined the whole thing. I flopped down on one of the stools at my work island. Low was really gone, and, although I had bravely stated my certainty that I had been provided for in his will, I felt a sense of emptiness and, yes, fear for the future.

I was glad to clear away the dinner that night. I was exhausted and depressed. Now I really had no one in this world. Even if Low had left me a reasonable sum of money, I had no one to share it with. I was over fifty. I may have still felt like a girl, but the calendar had to be reckoned with. And it wouldn’t be so easy to find another position so enjoyable as this one.

The next morning, I found myself remembering the man in the park. A sweet little baby was just what I needed to take my mind of death and a bleak future. As soon as I’d cleared up after breakfast, I left the house feeling like a kid playing hookey.

At the park, my heart beat a little faster when I saw Mr. Ashby and baby Simone at the same sunny bench. I hesitated about joining them, but he had seen me and jumped up with a grin to motion me over. I told myself the heat in my cheeks was from my brisk walk, but his cheeks were rosy, too. We sat silently enjoying the sun until I got up the courage to a ask, “Do you baby sit for your daughter every day?”

There was that shadow again. What had I said? He stared intently at the baby, reaching out to caress her tiny cheek with one finger. “My daughter and her husband are dead.” He turned to face me. “They were killed in an automobile accident shortly after Simone was born.”

"Oh! I’m so sorry!” I felt the tears start in my eyes. “I shouldn’t have asked.” I was staring down at my clasped hands in mortification when his warm hand stole over mine to give them a squeeze I felt deep inside. I looked into his eyes.

“I’m glad you asked. I needed to tell someone... someone kind...like you.” If we hadn’t been sitting there in a public park, I am certain we would have kissed. And we were virtual strangers! But the attraction was so strong.

Instead, I blurted out the story of my employer’s death and even told him about my fears. David was very kind, putting his arm around my shoulders to give me a very innocent squeeze, but it didn’t feel innocent to me. I rushed into inanities to avoid thinking about what his proximity was doing to my composure.

During our visit that morning, we got to know each other better. He told me that he had lost his wife when they were still in their twenties and had never remarried. I told him about my ill-fated engagement with Tom. I learned that David and his granddaughter lived just a few blocks farther down the hill, where he ran an internet consultancy from his home. That was why he had the freedom to take his granddaughter to the park twice a day.

When it was time to say goodbye, we arranged to meet again the next afternoon – Low’s funeral was in the morning. I floated back to the house, where not even Mrs. Halsey’s sniping or her brother’s arrogant attitude could bother me.

Back at the house the next morning, after the services, Mrs. Halsey instructed me to set out the luncheon things as they would be eating as soon as the will was read. But Mr. Hiram Baxter, my late employer’s attorney and oldest friend, took my arm to lead me toward the study.

“Now Nannie, he said over his shoulder – I could hear her gasp of annoyance at his use of the diminutive – “you’re not lady of the manor just yet. Come down off your high horse, and let’s get this think over with.”

Mr. Baxter and Mr. Wellbeck had gone to Harvard together. They’d been inseparable pranksters, known as Hi and Low – the more amusing as Hi was small and Low was tall – a silly joke they still enjoyed in their 80’s. There was no way for Mrs. Halsey, “Nannie,” to quash this exuberant sprite, who’d known her since she was in diapers.

As the bequests were read, I found that I would not only have a little income to rely on for my old age but would have enough cash to make a down payment on the home of my own I craved, or to take a trip around the world, or so many other things. I felt a presence at my side.

Now I want you to have some fun with that money, Low instructed. You’re far too sensible. You need a life of your own. I smiled but didn’t turn my head.

Hearing my own name again, I drew my attention back to the here and now. Mr. Baxter had paused until he saw that I was listening. “To Miss Simone Pagett, I leave my beloved wife’s amethyst brooch. It’ll look better on her than any of the rest of them, and it’s not worth much, so they shouldn’t care anyway,” he read with a smirk and a puff of laughter.

I was more touched than I cared to admit. Low had told me many times how he had had the brooch made when he was still a struggling young entrepreneur, using every cent he could spare on the token of his love. Mr. Baxter stepped across to hand it to me.

It was very pretty, a large center stone set in a pewter frame of lilacs and daisies. By chance, I was wearing a lavender and teal heather jacket over my dress. I pinned the brooch to its lapel, pleased with the way it looked there.

I sat in a daze for the remainder of the reading. When it was over, I hurried to the kitchen to set out the buffet I had prepared. Once the coffee urn was perking and the wine was decanted, I whipped off my apron and headed out the door. If I ever needed a little silly flirtation, it was now.

It was a little early for our meeting, so I used the time to stroll the circular path around the lawns and along the creek. The sun was warm today, and the lilac bushes gave off a delicious scent in its heat. Their color reminded me of the brooch on my lapel.

I sat down on what I now thought of as “our” bench and was admiring the pretty thing when I heard Low beside me. I wanted you to have that Simmie, because it stands for romance. His expression was serious.

Here comes your young man. I bridled at that, but he made a patting motion to still my unspoken protests. He’s a very nice fella, and he likes you a lot. He leered over at me and would, I am sure, have jabbed me in the ribs, if that were possible. And you like him! He disappeared then, his old man’s cackle of glee echoing after him.

I stood, feeling silly in case David had seen me talking to thin air. There must have been something in my flushed face, because he hurried up beside me with an eager expression. He carefully placed baby Simone’s carriage and locked the brakes, then drew me into his arms.

It felt so good to be in a man’s arms again. I leaned my head back to tell him so, but when our eyes met the world went still, and we were alone. “Simone, I think I’m in love with you.” A whisper but such a passionate whisper, I wanted him to kiss me. And he did.

Then we both seemed to come to the realization of what a picture we must make, two middle-aged people kissing passionately, there in public, with attendant baby and carriage. I giggle, he laughed, then we were sinking onto the bench, helpless in the grip of our amusement and our longing.

We didn’t talk much that day, just to plan out time together. The Wellbeck estate was being donated to a charitable organization which would use it as a study center for its members. I would be staying on to keep things in order and oversee the transition. We would have the time to be sure what we felt was...really what we felt, if you know what I mean.

The fire was bright in the grate, the champagne was on ice, the baby was asleep, and David and I were locked in a lusty embrace. Blissfully wedded only three weeks after our first meeting, we were looking forward to a romantic and fulfilling life together. We separated long enough to drink a toast, “To us!” before we got back down to being lovers in earnest.