There used to be a pond down at the bottom of the orchard. From what I've heard, that's the pond where old Mrs. Laurence drowned herself. They brought the dogs all the way from the next county over; that Patterson man, he brought them. You know, the one who's wife.... well, I'm not one to gossip.
 
Mrs. Laurence had cancer. Eating her up from the inside, it was. I don't know that I blame her for drowning herself, first a husband like the one she had, then a horrid disease like that. It's too bad, too. Such a nice woman.

Ada Laurence was about 78 when she died. When she got to the point where dyin' seemed to be the better prospect than living, that's when she put her house in order, hiked up her skirts, and went wading one final time. Dyin' isn't really what this story's about though, it's really more about livin', in a round about sort of way.

Ada Laurence was the oldest girl in a family of eight. She had an older brother, three younger sisters, and three younger brothers. They grew up right here in town, one of the more prominent families around. First ones to go to college, too, back before most folks even got a chance to finish high school.  Every one of those children had an opportunity for college, and every one of them went for at least a year. Ingenious scheme they'd worked out too, to make it work. No one had much money in those days, but this was truly a case where if there's a will, there's a way. And the Laurence family had a strong will, and a thirst for education.

Their mama borrowed money from an old bachellor uncle to finance the first one's college. Each college student worked summers, nights and weekends earning money to send the next one to college. Took a whole summer of working hard to do it too, but each child did it without complaint, so's the next one would have the same chance they'd been given. Once they got 'round to the youngest, he worked his summers same as everyone else, and paid back the uncle that had loaned the money in the first place.

Ada Laurence was the first of the family to leave home. She married some man by the name of.... oh damnation, I can't remember his name. It'll come to me before I'm done. They had two children, and moved the family up to New York, where Ada hoped to get work in an architect's firm, which is what she'd gone to school to study. An unusual thing for a woman to study in those days, to be sure. She was determined though, and seemed to have the talent for it. Parnell, that was his name. Otis Parnell. What a mistake that turned out to be. Not the movin' to New York, but Otis Parnell. Ended up that he was the kind of man that was a mite more taken with Lady Luck than a family man ought to be. Gambled away everything Ada worked hard for, and didn't do more than a lick of work himself the whole five years they were married.

There was Ada, with a no-good husband, two little kiddies, and a high pressure job. So what did she do? She threw him out, of course! She sent her two little kiddies home to live with her mama for a year or so, so she could get back on her feet. She did all that, and more. Ada Laurence became the first woman partner that architecture firm ever had before, or since. She had a special genius that earned her the respect of every architect and builder in the city, and that was no mean feat, let me tell you.

The kiddies continued to come back home to their grandma every summer, so they would know not only city livin', but small town livin' as well. They played with their dozen or so cousins, ran barefoot through town like all the young'uns did then, and caught fireflies in canning jars during hot summer nights.

After living as a divorcee for nearly 20 years, Ada Laurence, at 45 years of age, met the love of her life. He was a diplomat stationed at the U.N., a man from Belgium, I think it was. Or maybe it was Luxembourg - I've always gotten those two mixed up in my mind. Somewhere they spoke French, but weren't French, anyway. If you thought the folks around here had something to talk about, you'd be right on the money, but not nearly as much as when they found out his name was Jakob.

Jakob and Ada planned to marry in September, when her children came back to the city from spending the summer with their grandma. In August, he flew to his home, to visit his family, and let them know about the impending nuptials. On the last day of August of that year, Ada got a cablegram from Jakob's mother, whom she'd never met. Jakob had died in a tram accident two days before, and wouldn't ever be returning to New York to marry Ada. Jakob's mother asked if she could bury her son in his homeland, though it might mean that Ada would never even get to see his grave. How could she deny the man's own mother this last consolation? She of course, agreed, and arranged for a private memorial service in New York for his friends, his  colleagues, and of course, herself.

You could see her broken heart from half way 'cross-country. You could feel the confusion in her letters when Jakob's mother sent Ada a bank draft for half of his estate. Though they'd planned to marry, it wasn't to take place until September, and Jakob died in August; yet here, his mother was treating her as if she were indeed a full daughter-in-law. You could hear the sadness in her voice forever after that day.

Ada used some of the money to help her son go to medical school, and eventually put the balance of it in a trust for her grandchildren. She continued to work up until the day she turned 70, then she retired from the architectural firm in New York, where she'd worked for so many years, and moved home. She bought her childhood home from the bank, who had held it in a kind of trust for 10 years or so, ever since her mama died. Her brothers and sisters had meanwhile, belatedly scattered all across the country, and the old wooden home held no interest to any of them.

Three years after she retired and moved home, Ada Laurence was diagnosed with cancer. She lived for five more years before she decided enough was enough. I can almost imagine Jakob, the love of her life, holding his hands out to her as she walked forward, and felt the water sliding over her head. She must have been walking towards something, rather than away. I always hoped so, anyway.