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By: Dasmeer

The Cadillac turned the corner of Elgin Street in silence and

grace similar to one of the great sailing ships of old. The

motor was tuned to perfection,the body cared for by expert

hands,the windows tinted darkly, a feature unusual for this

particular model, a 1976. Because of this, seeing the driver

was impossible. Eyes on the street glanced up, watching the

passing, knowing eyes inside were doing the same. There seemed

to be a chill in the air, strange for this time of year.

June.

Elgin Street, in the town of Hopewell Falls, was what the

locals referred to as their tourist area, one short block of

diminutive shops that catered to travelers looking for respite

from the unsightly strip malls dotting the landscape. Not

quite a border town but still retaining its status as a way to

the ocean, it had held on for over one hundred years. Founded

in 1903 by Yule Hopewell, an Anglo Saxon from Perth England,

a man of ruddy complexion and hardy personality, he went

about establishing a town that would retain it originally

flavor for centuries just as the ones he remembered from his

youth in quaint old England. He carefully controlled every

movement ,every street, gardens, even what the residents

planted in their window boxes. This was a far reaching plan

and not all residents were in an agreeing mood. Many arguments

arose first in the city council meeting, later on the streets.

But, when all was said and done, Yule not only won the battle

but the war as Hopewell turned into the pristine old world

town that he envisioned.

The inevitable marched through Hopewell Falls as the farms

sold to factories, the state upgraded the roads, creating

byways, wars moved the young off in new directions and large

old Victorians and wonderfully manicured lawns took a backseat

to an industrialized nation.The dust settled, darkness

enveloped the tiny town until the mid 80's when just

about every small berg in the United States decided it had the

potential to be a tourist town. No matter half of these places

had nothing to offer. Networking throughout the country,

registries were created, brochures printed, the run was on to

create perfection in your town.

Claims on a picture perfect postcard were many but one had

to admit Hopewell Falls did it citizenry proud when hiring the

world renown photographer Carter Chazall. Because of his

shots the town jumped ahead the daunting crowds as Elgin

Street was created with grandiloquence not seen since the

early days of New York ultra rich. Ornate details were added

to store fronts, the interiors became upscale boutiques, the

sidewalk bricked to lend flair.

Each new shop lessee was carefully scrutinized. The town

has seen its share of freethinkers, beatniks, flower children,

hippies and took pleasure in the fact that none of those had

chosen to settle within their coterie. They certainly

didn't want someone of that ilk to be standing in their

delicate shops when the money um tourist came upon Hopewell

Falls.

Henry Stewart, of the New York Stewarts, settled in

Hopewell Falls in 2000. Used to the New York's clamor,

precipitous, and abiding energy, the retirement took a full

two years to take effect. He had chosen the town because his

grandmother had spent her entire life there, he summering

there, becoming part of the quiet flow that made the town an

embodiment of your soul. Henry, tall, with a patrician face, a

full head of white hair and resounding voice at the town

meetings, slid into the duties of overseeing a town as easily

as he had run his banks in New York. There was one thing that

nagged at him though, which he tried to avoid, the

insurmountable boredom that was becoming part of him.

Henry couldn't remember when it has started but he

began sitting in the small park on Elgin Street. The town had

redesigned this area to assist in the beautification of the

shops on the other side, a place to eat ice cream after tiring

of shopping. Everyone in the town seemed to be thinking of the

coming season, except Henry. As he gazed randomly at nothing

in particular he once again noticed the white Cadillac parked

quietly at the corner, parking meter paid up, motor idling,

the low hum of the radio inside. Curiosity not usually one a

Henryi traits, with hackles raising on his neck, surprising

him all the more. Why this sense of foreboding? He remembered

seeing the car yesterday or maybe the day before. So what? He

shook the feeling off, raising slowly, keeping his eyes on the

car and proceeded down the street a full two hours before

schedule.

Comments

Donna

I would like to read more, you have captured my attention, and I want to know who's in the car. Great read.

September 20, 2014
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Corrie

I'm interested in seeing where this is going. I'd keep reading. There are some minor typos to be corrected. Line 77 "a" should be "of'? Line 78 Henryi should be Henry's? There were some earlier too.

September 24, 2014
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Will

The story has me curious to read the next part. And I was especially impressed with the reading by Corrie. Nice job, Corrie. (hehehe)

September 24, 2014
·

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