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I am a Correction Officer assigned to a maximum-security prison of some notoriety in Western New York.
I have lived alone since my wife passed away five years ago.
The term insurance that I carried on my wife paid off all debt, and added to my net worth.
It did nothing to console my loneliness.
My house is a large three-story brick farmhouse.
Stately and mature black walnut trees surround it.
I also had a large stands of oak and hard maple trees 400 yards behind the house.
These are the predominate trees on my property.
My trees afford me shade and privacy.
I have two barns as well as a two-car garage.
My nearest neighbor's live a mile or so away.
I decided to convert the third floor of my house into a three-room apartment with a kitchen and full bath.
I am quite handy with my hands, learning carpentry, electrical and plumbing early in life, doing most of the work myself.
Soon the apartment was ready to rent.
I posted a yellow file card on the bulletin board stating by appointment only.
As it turned out, I rented to the first person I interviewed.
Her name was Elizabeth Adamczyk, a new employee.
She just started working a week prior as a secretary in the Personnel Office.
My yellow file card was probably up for less then an hour.
Elizabeth read it and put it in her purse to keep away prospective renters, thank God.
Elizabeth left work early that day and drove to my house.
She actually arrived an hour before I did giving her the opportunity to really look things over.
I could see an old beat-up red Ford sedan parked by the garage when I pulled into my driveway.
Elizabeth was standing outside on that beautiful fall day waiting to see the apartment.
While waiting, Elizabeth had gathered a bouquet of colorful fall leaves.
In this Elizabeth reminded me so much of my Bea.
Bea delighted in these simple pleasures as I loved and delighted in her.
So much of me died along with Bea, things I used to care about or notice.
I forgot how beautiful the individual leaves were, seeing merely a mess to rake up.
And I remembered how good my black walnuts tasted roasted hot out of the shell, or in Bea's turkey dressing.
That day I noticed the fall foliage was at its peak.
The leaves on the trees were vibrant and proud.
Displaying their rich shades of reds, oranges, and yellows.
Overshadowing the pensive green of the few remaining stubborn leaves in the background.
Those green leaves afraid to change and move on.
Such was I then.
Pensive and melancholy since my beautiful Bea. . . my wife Beatrice died.
The official paper work describing Elizabeth Adamczyk, contained in her impersonal personnel file.
Race: white, gender: female, age: 35, Height: 5’-6 “, weight: 125 lbs. , Eyes: hazel.
That is how the bureaucrats in Albany see Elizabeth.
I saw a lovely woman with a nice figure, clear complexion and youthful face.
I saw intelligent hazel eyes, a small turned up nose and sensuous lips.
Elizabeth's hair was pinned up sensibly for work, neat and professional, her precious little ears showing.
Elizabeth was wearing a white blouse and a dark gray skirt that day, with stockings and black pumps.
I got out of my truck, smiling and was fascinated with this pretty woman.
Elizabeth walked over to introduce herself.
Her handshake was firm and sincere.
Elizabeth was confident and looked me directly in the eye when she spoke.
The strangest thought or impression. . . feeling, perhaps all three came over me.
Beth. . .
I liked Beth immediately.
I showed her the apartment on the spot without an appointment.
Two weeks later I helped Beth move her belongings from a small storage unit in Batavia with my pickup truck.
After Beth had lived above me for about 18 months.
I got to know her routine and schedule.
Beth was friendly but reserved and mostly tended to keep to herself.
She never had any gentlemen callers and seldom went out.
Beth did bowl every Thursday on a women's bowling league.
When Beth first moved in, she offered to help cut the grass.
During the winter months, if she saw me outside shoveling, she would come out and help me.
In the spring I taught Beth how to operate the old farm tractor I used to mow the property.
Without thinking, I picked her up by the waist and put her on the seat.
What a surprised look Beth had on her face.
I immediately apologized, a little red in the face myself; what was I thinking, or not thinking.
The first few times Beth drove the tractor, I stood along side on the step up talking her through things.
The second time out and unable to stop, Beth ran the tractor into the red sumac bushes sending me flying.
Beth took over caring for the perennial flowerbeds my wife planted around the house.
I pretty much had left them to go a little wild.
As with the fall leaves, Beth delighted in watching the first buds on the plants.
She would insist on me coming over to look at each one when they bloomed.
Beth's favorites were the yellow daffodils, as were mine
For her, I would drop whatever I was doing to go look.
In the evening we often sat together under the walnut trees.
We made small talk and argued current events.
Politically we are diametric.
Our arguments are passionate but never contentious.
I would sit with my arms folded, rooted in place like my trees, not giving an inch.
Beth would circle my chair.
She would then stop in front of me.
Her hands placed firmly on her hips, leaning slightly forward.
Then Beth would make her point or counter argument.
Finally Beth would stand straight and give her head a little toss.
When she did, I often had the urge to grab her and kiss her mouth.
Not to silence her mind you, but just because Beth was so damn stubborn.
We seldom agreed about politics and most often agreed to disagree.
We wanted the same good things for our country, but approached it from different directions.
Beth would sit until after dark and crochet hats, scarves, mittens and blankets that she donated to the needy.
On those days, Margaret might join us, bringing the fixings for homemade ice cream, maple & black walnut ice cream.
Margaret was a neighbor lady that I first met when I was eight years old.
Many nights Beth and I would sit outside under the stars quietly enjoying each other’s company in unspoken agreement.
One fall morning, when the black walnuts were ready, Beth and I gathered bushel after bushel.
I brought out two pair of heavy neoprene rubber gloves and showed Beth how to husk the nuts.
Without the gloves ones hands would soon be stained yellow/brown for several days.
I showed Beth how to rinse them and to discard the floaters.
This was followed by putting them in racks two to three nuts deep to dry in the rafters of the barn.
Finally, after two weeks of drying, I set up a small gas grill outside.
We roasted and shelled them and sat together under the trees and ate fresh hot roasted walnuts, and drank apple cider, nothing better.
On this we both agreed.
She never talked about her past personal life.
I never talked about mine.
Beth was a good tenant except for one thing.
She was frequently late with the rent.
Annoyed with her, I decided to make some discreet inquiries.
On my lunch break I went to the Personnel Office to speak privately with my friend, Margaret.
Margaret stored her 1967 Chrysler Imperial Convertible in my barn rent-free.
From November to May until the weather turned warm enough to drive it.
I knew that Margaret would help me.
The first thing that Margaret asked me when I walked into her office was.
“When are you going to find yourself a nice girl?"
"I don't know any, Margaret. "
"You have a very nice one living above you, Elizabeth"
"I don't think that Beth is interested in a relationship, Margaret. "
"Did I just hear you call her, Beth?"
"I meant Elizabeth. "
"Have you ever talked to Elizabeth and come out and asked her?
"Asked Elizabeth out on a date?"
"Invited Elizabeth into your home, and I don't mean outside under the trees?"
"We talk politics and current events.
She helps me with the flowers. "
"I know all that.
How about taking Elizabeth bowling?"
"Elizabeth loves to bowl. "
"I don't know how to bowl, Margaret. "
I said, stubbornly.
"You forget, I have known you since you were a little boy, Ricky. "
"Put your arms down, and stop being so stubborn.
I don't want to argue with you. "
Margaret had over 40 years of state service.
Margaret knew all the passwords to access restricted computer files.
This enabled her to retrieve documents and information from the Central Office in Albany.
Margaret was well liked by everyone.
The secretaries working under her especially liked Margaret.
Margaret is like an old mother hen with connections.
I spent a great deal of time at Margaret's house growing up.
I found out that Beth was originally from the Buffalo, N. Y. area and had never married.
Beth attended Notre Dame College to get a teaching degree.
While attending college, she worked nights as a waitress.
Beth's father died suddenly, leaving her mother, not a well woman without savings or adequate insurance.
Beth dropped out of college and moved back home to support her mother.
In time, Beth's mother became too much for her to handle alone.
She reluctantly placed her mother in a nursing home to receive skilled nursing care.
After her mom's death, Beth lost the house because of liens filed against it by the home to defer the cost of her mother’s stay.
The last occupation listed on her state job application form was at J. C. Penny’s.
Beth worked as a salesperson in the shoe department.
"That’s all you need to know, Ricky.
I like Elizabeth very much.
She is a hard worker.
Elizabeth is perfect for you.
Take my word for it.
You are renting to a nice, hard working girl. "
Margaret has a way with people.
Margaret also has to have the last word.
Before I left, Margaret reminded me again to find myself a nice girl.
Pointing out again there was one living above me.
Margaret hinted that Beth might be more then interested and was available.
I was too obtuse to pick up on Margaret's hints.
When I described our first handshake, Beth’s fingernails were short and sensible.
They were much longer on the day I visited Margaret.
With colored nail polish instead of clear.
I don’t like them that way.
Come to think of it, I noticed a lot of Secretaries with long painted fingernails.
Maybe it’s the new style or something.
On the way out, I saw Beth trying to ignore an outside repairman fixing the photocopy machine.
He was in his early twenties and seemed to be pestering Beth and was acting forward and over familiar.
For some reason I didn't like the looks of him.
I walked over to say hello to Beth and said.
"I won't be home right away, Elizabeth.
I'm going to stop and get a new nozzle for our hose.
Then, when we water the flowers we won't get wet from the water squirting out at the connection.
I also caught the man's eye, giving him a mean look, warning him to back off, and causing him to walk away and get his tools.
Beth gave my hand a little squeeze and rewarded me with kiss on the cheek.
Perhaps I should buy a new hose as well.
Beth had beautiful thick long hair then.
It was dark brown with reddish highlights and blunt cut reaching almost to her waist.
As I said, to Beth's credit she keeps it pinned up all neat and proper while at work.
My Bea had long honey blond hair, although not as long as Beth's.
It fell exactly 3 inches past the bottom of Bea's shoulder blades.
Long enough to wear up, or braid, but not too long to hold a curl.
That was how I liked it, 3 inches past Bea's shoulder blades.
Like Bea, Beth is a proper modest Lady.
The background information out of the way: It was the first week of August.
Beth's rent was over due.
She still owed me for June and July.
Beth promised me a check on Friday for both months rent.
We both work the day shift 7-3 and have weekends off.
It was hot and sticky that Friday, the temperature in the nineties.
At the last minute, I was mandated to work eight hours unscheduled overtime on the 3-18 shift.
I telephoned Beth and told her I was working a double.
I instructed her to get the spare house key hidden in the barn behind an old license plate and leave the rent check on the oak table in the foyer.
At 6:00 PM the Chart Sergeant sent me home early.
I pulled into my driveway approximately 6:20 PM.
I parked my truck next her Ford in the garage.
I found the front door unlocked.
There was no rent check on the table.
Pissed off, all I wanted was a shower and a half hour nap in my bedroom.
This was the only room in the house with air-conditioning.
I walked up the stairs on the way to the bathroom.
When I reached the landing, I observed that my bedroom door was closed.
I could hear the window air-conditioner running.
Suspicious, when I reached the bedroom door I slowly turned the doorknob and quietly pushed it open.
I couldn’t believe what I saw.
She was asleep on my bed wearing her bra and panties.
Beth's beautiful hair was pulled back in a ponytail and held in place with a pink scrunchie.
The walk-in closet door was open on my wife’s side.
There was a pile of my wife’s dresses laid out on the bed next to her.
It was if Beth had tried them all on before falling asleep.
I quietly walked to my dresser and observed my alarm clock was on the left side instead of the right.
Upon closer inspection, the alarm was set for 10:00 PM.
One hour before my overtime shift was supposed to end.
Opening the top dresser drawer I removed a pair of stainless steel Smith & Wesson handcuffs.
I quietly walked back to the bed.
Snapping the handcuffs in place on Beth's wrists before she had time to react.
Beth looked up at me with surprise and confusion.
She took a deep breath as if to say something.
Before Beth could get it out I slapped her buttocks, once.
"Don’t you dare say a damn thing to me!”
I took the end of her thick shiny ponytail and wrapped my hand around it until it was tight with the scrunchie.
I took control of the handcuffs with my free hand.
I made Beth stand and pulled her close.
I put my face up to her ear.
Beth's scent was that of my wife’s perfume.
Whispering harshly in Beth's ear, my breath on her face, I said.
"You know what you did wrong.
Here is the deal.
I will forgive everything including both months rent.
Starting right now until Sunday night you are mine.
"You will be my surrogate wife since you like to wear her dresses.
You smell like her, since you are wearing Bea's perfume.
I in turn will act like a good husband.
We will make love as Bea always allowed.
You will have the run of the entire house.
You will allow me to take you places.
You will concede to dress the way I request.
You will fix your hair the way I want it fixed, just like any good wife would. "
Tugging on Beth's ponytail for emphasis.
“Yes or no, do we have a deal?"
Beth did not answer.
"I'll assume that we have one then, Beth. . . you didn't say no. "
Releasing Beth's hair, I removed the handcuffs.
"I am going to take a shower and then put on some steaks for us. "
I took a longer shower the usual.
I knew I was wrong and had over reacted.
I was angry at first, but that had passed.
I stood in front of the mirror and I shaved off my handle bar mustache that I grew after Bea died.
I ran my hand over my short- cropped blond hair, wondering if I should let it grow out.
Bea loved to run her fingers through it when it was longer.
I planned our weekend.
I undressed Beth in my mind, like I often did when we sat under the trees.
I returned to the bedroom with a basin of cold water, a washcloth and nail clippers.
I made Beth stand facing me while I gently washed the makeup from her face.
I hated seeing Beth wearing that much makeup.
Beth was far to pretty.
When I finished I commented.
"That’s better, Beth
You are too pretty to wear so much makeup. "
I took her face in my hands and closed my eyes.
I lightly kissed her sweet lips and sighed, thinking more luscious then I imagined.
At my request, Beth cut her nails shorter.
“Wife, please take off your bra and panties.
Beth actually complied.
"Wonderful, now take the scrunchie out of your hair and shake your head. ”
She dropped her bra and panties on the floor.
Beth then reached back and removed the scrunchie, shaking her hair loose and free.
I inhaled sharply holding my breath momentarily, unable to speak.
At that moment, all I could think of was; My God, she is so beautiful. . . . . . . . .
Looking back I am sure that Beth must have seen my reaction, the look on my face.
When I recovered, I sat on the bed.
.
