Mrs. Sinclaire
By: Steven M. Finger
Enhanced Draft
Mrs. Sinclaire told us the best stories. Even years later, back when we first
became adults my brother Benny and I would still reference them to each
other. Every now and then, we still reminisce about her to this day.
It was so much better then any of these so called "Hollywood Blockbusters"
and "Got-To-Have" video games the kids drive me nuts for today, can ever be.
Many a day I thought, oh, how I'd love to hear one of her wonderful stories
again. She didn't talk down to us as children. She talked to us like a friend.
Mrs. Sinclaire was an elderly Haitian woman who used to sit in the park on
Saturday afternoons. She was always friendly and engaging toward us,
especially me.
At first, I remember how we thought she was scary but she had a familiar
and friendly face. Older people can seem so scary and unnatural in the eyes
of a child and at times Mrs. Sinclaire was no different.
One day, I just walked up to her and said "Hello" and we quickly became
friendly. She always seemed to be surprised to see us. Sadly, the other kids
in the park never talked to her. Whether it was because she was black or old
didn’t matter, either way it was their loss.
She always said I was special. Ben would protest and she'd tell him "child, of
course you are special too" and smile and some how all would be forgiven.
When I'd tease Benny about it, he'd say it was only because I was a girl.
When Benny got too old to pal around with his baby sister, I'd still go to the
park alone for another story and another visit with Mrs. Sinclaire while Benny
hung out with his buddies.
Mrs. Sinclaire would almost always be there, humming to herself and just
passing the time on a bench in the shade. She was always in her old-fashioned
clothes and big hat with flowers.
I'd always be the first one to say hello, just like that first time. I don't think she
could see very well. It's so hard to recall now but perhaps she was partially blind
or senile. No matter what the reason she always seemed surprised and happy to see
me.
She had told us long tales of witches and zombies. She told us about vampires and
demons, of magic and other worlds... and things that happened back in her country
long ago.
These were not the nursery rhymes kids are commonly told, these went
well beyond that. She'd tell us there was much more to life and ourselves
then we realized that there were things we cannot always touch or see
but she promised us they were there just the same.
She had answers for everything we'd ask. Benny thought he had her one
time and questioned her about how the undead knew where to find the
people they were after. She smiled and said, that the land of the dead was
very much different then the world we understand. Time and space were
meaningless there. It was as good an answer as any for us at that time.
One Saturday afternoon, old Mrs. Sinclaire picked a flower from her hat
and gave it to me. She said, I should hurry home it was going to rain.
The sky was growing dark fast, so I said goodbye and ran off. She told
me she'd see me soon enough and that next time, she'd tell me a marvelous
ghost story. I was very excited and couldn't wait to hear it.
When I got home... there was an ambulance and a police car in front of the
house. Some of the neighbors had gathered outside on the lawn. I ran past
them all as they grabbed at me and went right into the house.
That day my Dad had died of a heart attack. At the end of that week we packed
up and closed the house, moving out east to be near my Mom's family. In some
ways, I focused all my anger and emotion on Mrs. Sinclaire.
If she would have told me that ghost story I wouldn't' have seen my Dad lying
there in the kitchen. That it somehow, just wouldn’t be real. It was a child's logic,
and as time passed so did the resentment. In a way, it made it real and I could let
him go. Benny has his ashes now, I didn't want any mishaps with the kids.
The house was eventually sold to my Uncle, one of Dad's brothers. I pressed the
flower old Mrs. Sinclaire had given me in the family bible. We never saw Mrs.
Sinclaire again. Surely she is gone by now. Benny still remembers her but not the
same way I do.
After I married and had the twins, Joseph and Grace my Mother passed away. It
was both a joyous time and a time of sorrow. It must have affected Benny because
he married later that year after finally buckling down and finishing his business
degree in a local College.
We had stayed close and Benny and my husband Randy became really good
friends. Everything was going well but time claimed my Uncle just three years
after Mom. My Aunt was putting the house up on the market and going to Florida.
They never had any children so she offered it to each of us but we just couldn't
afford it. Besides, we had a life here in the east now.
Of course Benny and I flew out west for the funeral, after which my
Aunt encouraged us to go through the basement and attic. A lot of Mom
and Dads things were still there. It felt odd being back in the old homestead,
things were just so different after all these years.
I found the bible and the pressed flower Mrs. Sinclaire had given to me. I
began remembering all the stories and then her sweet smile and it brought me
a moment of joy in an otherwise somber day.
My Aunt upon seeing my reaction to it asked me what it was. I told her it was
a flower old Mrs. Sinclaire had given me the day that Dad died. I had clung to
it all during that sad time before finally pressing it in the family bible.
My Aunt told me I must be mistaken if it was the old Mrs. Sinclaire who used
to be our nanny, way back when my Mom and Dad both worked.
Benny said he never remembered Mom and Dad both working and neither did
I for that matter. I never even knew we had a nanny.
Oh, it wasn't for very long, you were only about four or so at the time my Aunt
told Benny. My brother and I were Irish twins as they say, having been born less
then a year apart from one another. Mom was always a housewife as far as we
were concerned.
My Aunt continued, your parents were unsure about taking her on at first due to
her age but she was so wonderful with you kids and enthusiastic they just gave
her the job.
She'd take you to the park and always made such a fuss over you two, especially
you Regina. I can still picture her in that big old-fashioned hat telling some tall tale.
It was only after she died in her sleep one night that your Mom then decided to stay
at home with you two. They knew they’d never find another Mrs. Sinclaire.
It can't be I said and Benny completely agreed with me for a change. My Aunt said
she still remembers the funeral, they were the only whites there but everyone was
kind enough to them. She must have been widely respected; it was the largest funeral
procession they'd ever witnessed. There was even a marching band.
At the end of the ceremony everyone thanked them for coming and giving her the
job. You kids gave her great joy in her final years. With their thick accents it was
hard to understand some of her family and most of the ceremony but they sang a
lovely spiritual of some kind at the end that was almost hypnotic.
She looked through an old photo album and eventually pulled out a photo of her
with us in the park. We were only infants in the black and white photograph. On
the back in pencil it had her name and directions to an old black cemetery, about
20 miles away.
I got chills up and down my spine. Maybe my Aunt Ellen was the mistaken one,
she was a bit of a drinker but she seemed so certain and had no reason to lie to us.
I was left really confused and Benny seemed to just shake it off quickly enough.
That night, I dreamed of Mrs. Sinclair smiling and humming. I had all but forgotten
the melody but it was clear in my mind now. Benny was still asleep so I asked my
Aunt to borrow her car for a while.
Benny had made plans to see his old buddies before we were to head back east that
evening, so I left him the rental car and drove out to the cemetery alone. I stopped in
the cemetery office and got directions to the grave. My Aunt was right. I located it
and read the dates on the headstone. I was only three years old when she died and
oddly enough, we shared the same birthday.
I wiped a few tears from my eyes and opened the bible. I took out the flower and
placed it on the grave and said thanks for the stories to Mrs. Sinclaire, thanks for
being my friend.
That night when I got back home the twins were up and so excited to see me, it was
hard to put them down for the night. I found myself humming the Mrs. Sinclaire tune
and shortly after they were out for the night.
I think this Saturday we'll all go to the park and start a new tradition. I think I'll tell
them... a ghost story.