The Lost Letter
by Vincent Bonina
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Page 1 of 5
My entire life, I’ve been searching for something more fulfilling then my current situation. Although I have a great life although I’m alone I’m generally happy, but I never have enough to keep me going. Never enough money, never enough time, never enough material things. All of my goals I meet seem so minimal when I get there, so I set goals, and they intern seem minimal. So I’ve always looked for something in my life to fulfill my intense need. What that need is, I’m not sure, so I search for that also. I’ve always felt there was something out there that would be the end for me and let me settle and gain final happiness and fulfillment. The following events may seem unreal, but one must put aside ones belief in all that we know, and take a leap of faith to truly believe what happened and the challenge I faced. Events so unbelievable, that I wake up in the morning and wonder if they’re true on not. But they are, this really happened and here is my story.
Almost every evening I sit in my chair and listen to the neighbors in the apartment below me argue about some meaningless aspect of their lives. Tonight was no different, I believe that Mrs. Olsen had forgotten to record Mr. Olsen’s favorite television show on the VCR, and it seemed that unless he saw it, the world may end as we know it. I usually tried to drown out the sound of their high-pitched voices by raising the volume on my radio, but tonight was too much, so I decided to take a walk.
I live on the third floor of an old house, built somewhere near the turn of the century. It’s large wrap-around porch and prominent stone facing made this a tribute to the skill of the men who designed and built it. The large home at one time, was an estate for a rather prominent family, the "Barbers" who started their fortune in coal. As one can guess, the industry died when most fuel turned to oil and so did the long reign of the Barber family. It’s sad to think that when they were in their prime, they probably felt that the coal industry would flourish forever. Never in a million years would something as unstable as oil ever take the place of good old reliable coal. But as time went on, and pollution engulfed the earth, cleaner and more economical fuels slowly but surely put thousands of people out of work, even destroyed entire towns and cities. I wonder what ever happened to these families, how the transformation came about and where did they all go?
As I walked down the steps, of the old house, the sound of the Olsens arguing got louder as I passed their floor, then faded as I approached the final stairwell, into the lobby. There a large painting of Jonathan Barber hung, abandoned in the hallway. It was probably found in the basement when the house was renovated, and no one even k who it was. It just looked nice, a painting of this handsome young man dressed for his time, standing alone in the front yard of this house. I then walked out of the front door and finally there was near silence, just a faint muffled sound of my inconsiderate neighbors could be heard as I stood on the large wrap around porch that was one of this house’s most beautiful features.
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The Lost Letter
by Vincent Bonina
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Page 2 of 5
It was around seven o’clock in the evening, here in Myattburg, as small town just outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. This is one of those towns where the coal mining flourished for generations, and kept these families rich in life, and happiness. As I look around I could see, all of that was gone. Not much here to remind anyone of those prosperous days, just a few old timers who could tell you the story of when President Coolage visited the town in 1928. Now it’s a college town, rich in movie theaters, bars, corner stores, and of course tons of fast food restaurants. With all of this going on, it is still a lovely place, rich in magnificent mountain scenery and a small hometown atmosphere.
I walked down the steps of the porch and looked down at the broken brick sidewalk below my feet. I thought I would walk toward the center of town. I enjoyed watching the kids laughing and having a good time, thinking that they owned the town, and maybe they did now. As I entered the business district, I could hear the noise of the town getting louder, horns sounding, kids shouting. I stopped on the corner of Pellet St.and saw a police officer talking to a group of kids. He wasn’t reprimanding them, but standing there talking and laughing with them. The police here really have a good attitude about the town, they know where the economy comes from and respect it, even enjoy it. Pellet St. is the first street light on the west side of town. This is where the business district starts. I can smell the hamburgers and onions frying over at Johnson’s Grill and thought I may go over there and indulge in the delicacy of one of Mr. Johnson’s greasy burgers and terribly over salted French fries. I don’t do this often, but anything in moderation can’t hurt. I probably tell myself that too much. Johnson’s moved in about thirty years ago, before that the small building was a drop off point for the mail which eventually would be delivered to the men working down in the coal mines and also for the mail being sent by the these men. The small shanty like building, now painted bright white with dark blue trim, was over a hundred years old and stood the test of time. I Jay-walked to the opposite corner and entered the Grill. Inside was a small crowd of regulars, mostly college students. There is a diner type bar through the center of the place which also served as a divider between the seating area and the kitchen. I walked to the end of the counter and sat on one of the tall round padded stools. Banny the cook came over to me and with his predictable wiping of the counter in front of you, proceeded to ask what I wanted, never making eye contact. I placed my order, and without delay, started admiring the wall decorations. Someone had saved tons of pictures of the old building before it was Johnson’s and placed them on the wall all over the Grill. It was amazing to me to see how similar the old building was. It really hasn’t changed since the earliest picture, which was dated 1923. Just a few coats of paint and some windows were the major differences. I slowly walked around and looked at every picture I could. There were pictures of the old Postmaster who would make sure that all the mail got delivered to the respective mines.
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The Lost Letter
by Vincent Bonina
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Page 3 of 5
I suppose this was an important job, many of the minors would leave their families for months and literally live in the mines. My attention was grabbed by a letter that was framed on the wall by the door. I wondered why this letter was never delivered. It was addressed to Miss. Joanne Jamison, 2134 S 3rd St. Philadelphia, PA. It read:
March 26,1931
My Dearest Joanne
These mines are so lonely without you, Only one more month and you will be my bride. Meet me here in Myattburg on the 29th of April. I live for that now, and have the need to see your shining smile every day. It won’t be long my love until we are one. Until then my life has no meaning.
Until we are together Your Love
Jonathan
The letter was from Jonathan Barber. One of the Barber’s who lived in the house that I was now occupying the third floor of. Just then Banny rattled the plate where I was sitting. My order was up and I strolled over to the bar and sat down again. As I sat there eating, I couldn’t help to wonder why this letter was never delivered. Maybe it didn’t have postage, maybe the address was wrong and it was returned. Who knows, but it was kind of sad that Miss Jamison never saw it. Banny was the owner of the Grill now so I called him over and thought he may know the answer to my question. He said that letter was found when the building was purchased thirty years ago. He believed it fell in a crack between the wooden floor boards which were now covered with a single sheet of linoleum. I ask if anyone ever tried to contact Miss Jamison? He told me he didn’t know, It was on the wall when he bought the place. After thoroughly enjoying my snack, I proceeded to leave the Grill, taking one last look at the letter on the wall. Slowly I walked toward my home. I couldn’t get the thought of this letter off on my mind. I remembered it word for word and even the name and address of who it was meant to be with. That evening I had much trouble sleeping, I don’t know why this letter upset me so much, there was nothing that could be done about it, but I still had this unsettled and driving urge to find out more about it. The morning finally came after a long unsettled night of deciding my plan of attack to solve this mystery I uncovered last night. It was Saturday, I didn’t have to work, so I set off to the library to do some research about Jonathan Barber. This time I drove into town, it was about 10:00 A.M. when the library opened and I had about an hour to kill. So I went to the local graveyard where all the Barbers were buried. There I saw a large gravestone with about six Barber names on it, one of which was Jonathan. It said "Jonathan Amos Barber born April 10, 1910 - died March 27th 1931’ One day after he wrote the letter to Joanne. Twenty one years old, what a pity I thought. After writing down the information I just read, I drove to the library and started my research into his death. I went through several old spapers of the time, most of which were filled with adds and editorials about the world coming to an end. Until I fumbled across the spaper from the date of Jonathan’s death.
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Copyright © 1999, 2000, 2001 Vincent Bonina, sffworld.com. All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the author. The author has submitted the work in accordance with and in agreement with the following Submission Guidelines.
The Lost Letter
by Vincent Bonina
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Page 4 of 5
Right there on the front page was the headline "Son of Coal Tycoon killed in Mine Shaft Accident". As I read the article, I realized the story was not uncommon about what had happened, with the exception that a Barber was killed this time. I had the impression from the article that the family was well liked and respected by the workers. Jonathan was sent there by his fathers orders to learn how it was to be a working man so when he took over the business some day, he would never forget how it felt to be in the mines.
All of my research that morning still did not answer the question of what ever happened to Joanne. I can only imagine how she felt, and never to see the last written words of her true love. I still felt driven, more driven than before, I still can’t explain why, but I had to make some phone calls to see what happened to her. I went back to my apartment. I realized that if Joanne was still alive, she would be about eighty two years old now. I had this crazy idea she could still be living in the same house and have the same name. I picked up the phone and called directory information for the Philadelphia area. I couldn’t believe it when I asked for her name at the address in the letter and the recording came on with a telephone number. I excitedly wrote it down, then hung up the phone. This was too easy I told myself, but this uncontrollable urge to make this connection would not quit, so I dialed the number. It rang about four times when the voice of a young woman answered. I explained who I was looking for and to my amazement, Joanne was still alive, living there, and her live in nurse had answered the phone. The nurse said that Joanne was still in good physical health and had never married after Jonathan’s death. She still talked about him like he were alive. I told her about the letter and I was so excited that I would deliver it myself tomorrow. Philadelphia is only about an hour away by airplane, so I booked a flight for 8:00 am the next morning. I ran down the street to Johnson’s grill and told Banny I found Joanne. He smiled and had no hesitation in taking the letter down, frame and all and giving it to me.
Morning finally came after a restless night, the flight to Philly landed about 9:10, and I hailed a cab in front of the airport. I gave the driver the address and in about twenty minutes I found myself standing in front of a large brownstone townhouse. Modernized, but still holding on to its history. I looked at the letter and then the black address numbers on the wall, 2134, they matched. I walked up the four steps and rang the doorbell, and waited. Minutes felt like hours until a small dark hared women in her early thirties answered. She k by the look on my face who I was, smiled and asked me politely to come in. Upon entering the house, she pointed to Joanne, sitting in a chair next the window. Her silhouette was overwhelming. I felt like I k her. I sat down on an ottoman in front of her and smiled. She looked up at me and smiled back. She asked if I had s about Jonathan, and I explained to her as gently as I could about the letter I found which was addressed to her and never delivered.
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The Lost Letter
by Vincent Bonina
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Page 5 of 5
I handed it to her and watch as her shaking hands unfolded it. She silently read it as I noticed a tear come from her eye. She looked up at me and smiled again, and said Now my life is complete, he is calling me back and we’ll be together and start again’ I didn’t quite know what she meant but didn’t question it, I just gently squeezed her hand, stood up and showed myself out. My mission was complete. I took the next cab back to the airport so I could be home by dinnertime.
Arriving back home, I had a sense of completion in my heart, I don’t understand what called me to do this, until I walked in the front lobby of the Barber house again. There on the wall where the painting of young Jonathan standing by himself hung, was the same painting. This time it was a wedding painting, of him and Joanne, It was her all right, sixty six years younger, but it was her. I stared at the picture, they were both smiling and Joanne’s eyes were looking right at me as if to say thank you. When I got upstairs, I called Joanne’s house in Philadelphia. This time a man answered and told me that Joanne Jamison sold the house to his father back in 1931 and never came back. I hung up the phone and smiled. The letter some how was an invitation from Jonathan, a link which by some accident, broke fate, and once it was delivered, it allowed time to be relived in it’s proper format. You see today is April 29th, the day, 66 years ago that Joanne was supposed to meet Jonathan here in Myattburg. And it looks like she finally did
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