Happiness Hollow

By Faye Lewellen

We all fear loss of independence, aging, and death. Helen certainly does when she comes to live at Happiness Hollow, an assisted-living facility described by some residents as a cult in which they are killed with kindness. Choosing the wrong path to maintain her independence, Helen finds her life and health going downhill. During her heart attack, however, she receives a powerful vision which renews her lagging faith and gives her a mission.

That mission is to use the seven sacraments in unorthodox ways to teach the Art of Living and the Art of Dying, and to liberate a small group of residents who, like her, have lost all joy, meaning, and purpose in their lives. Overcoming challenges, Helen and her group go on to revolutionize Happiness Hollow and beyond.

Aging and death are difficult topics to discuss, especially with those you love. This lighthearted story, replete with romance and mystery, follows this diverse band of residents as they derive peace and wisdom from their long histories, explore their fears and beliefs about death, find new strength and purpose, and create a positive and loving environment for themselves.

Happiness Hollow, with humor and probing questions, gently opens the way for introspection and discussion. The reading list at the end directs you to further resources.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: May 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781462409570

Faye Lewellen

Faye Lewellen, a retired college instructor, coordinated volunteers for a Meals-on-Wheels program and served as activities director at a senior-services facility. She has had a dozen magazine articles published and four plays produced by regional theaters. She and husband Gary live in Peachtree City, Georgia, with their pets.

Book preview

Chapter One

Helen stood, fists on her hips, glaring at the eyesore, the beacon of shame before her. Right there, on the front of her 1955 brick ranch, a piece of speckled plywood bordered by silver tape patched her shattered picture window.

She hadn’t heard the crash. The rock had been stopped by the heavy drapes, and the glass fragments had fallen on the carpet. She had felt sick on discovering the horror on Friday. She and her house had been vulnerable the entire weekend while waiting for Mr. Vargas to come.

Now Mr. Vargas coughed and shuffled his feet, impatient for his pay. When Helen took the envelope from her pocket and gave it to him, he grunted. That was all he ever did, grunt and bark out a price. Even though she had told him exactly what to do, this tacky patch-job was like all the other repairs he made. His cure for any and everything was a liberal application of duct tape.

She watched as he jammed on his battered hat, lifted his battered toolbox, and slung it into his battered truck. Same hat, same toolbox, same truck for the last—how long had it been? Ten years? Fifteen? When and how had he come to mow her grass, rake leaves, and make repairs? She had no idea, he was just there. Sometimes he was the only live human companionship she had for weeks.

Mr. Vargas’ truck chugged away amid the blare of car horns echoing in the strip mall across the street. A mail truck was coming along, its stops causing chaos in the traffic. After the mail truck passed, Helen went to her mailbox at the edge of the street. Cautiously, she opened the flap from the side and waited for a break in the traffic, then leaned in front of the box. She looked in and pulled out a handful of glossy ads. It took another grab to remove a large white envelope. Holding the papers and envelope away from her, she slammed the flap shut.

On her way back to the porch, she looked at her house both with fondness and dismay. She had been so proud when she, all by herself, had become owner of the brand new house, but now it had become an expensive island of charm in a sea of ugly urban sprawl. Around her, family homes had gone commercial. Parking lots had replaced lawns. The street was lined with gas stations, food joints, and bars with flashing neon signs. And now her lovely picture window was boarded up as if the place were abandoned. She pulled herself up the two steps by means of the handrail and rested. Next, drug addicts would be camping right here on the porch.

Back inside, she locked the screen and front door, picked up the shoebox of glass shards, and made her way along a narrow path in the living room between shrouded furniture, a patio set, and a birdbath. The path led to a hall, past a bath, and into the dining room. Behind a barricade of books, a narrow sofa was made up as a bed. Passing through the dining room, she entered the kitchen where bars of sunlight fell on the yellowed linoleum and chrome dinette table.

She tossed the mail into the sink and set the box beside the wheezing refrigerator. Lifting the white envelope, she studied her name and address which were correctly printed on the label and read aloud the return address. What a strange name, Happiness Hollow. Holding the envelope low in the sink in case it might explode or contain ominous white powder, she cut it open with a plastic knife. Slowly, she drew out a brightly colored brochure and, holding it by one corner, transferred it to the top of the washing machine by the back door. If it acted up, she’d throw it out the door although it would take several minutes to open all the locks.

Unexpected mail could be dangerous—it could change your life in an instant.

Having disposed of the junk mail in the garbage can and having washed her hands thoroughly, she clicked on the radio on the counter, then made herself some tea. A siren screamed as a woman tearfully told a news reporter, She was gentle as a lamb. Why would anybody do this to an eighty-year-old lady? The reporter went on to explain that the woman lived alone in a transitional neighborhood and—

Same old story, Helen said to the radio. She’d been living in the same house fifty years, no problems, then BAM! Murdering robbers get you, or the thieving devil developers cheat you out of everything. Well, they won’t run me out. I’ll fight back—bet your last dollar on that!

She sat down at the table with her chipped mug of tea and the brochure, and began flipping through the pages.

Happiness Hollow—some kind of old folks home, she said aloud to the talk show host who came on after the noon news. Place full of wrinkled old babies with squirrely minds. One thought less each day. Look at them, the old goats, hamming it up for the camera. Sold out, didn’t you, just to be part of the herd. Gave up all control of your lives. March in step, hold hands, eat your mush, do just as you’re told. Ha! She sipped her tea, satisfied with her put-down.

Happiness Hollow. Sounds pretty hollow to me. Empty. Devoid of happiness. Devoid of individuality. Blaa-blaa-blaa. Hey! Get a load of this. ‘We’re like you. We understand. We’re a supportive community of friends who learn together—and have fun!’ Hogwash!

Helen pushed the open brochure away with a snort and sat back to finish her tea, only to find tears filling her eyes. Was there poison on the paper, she wondered. Had she been gassed? As tears rolled down her face and dripped off her chin, she could hardly breathe. This was unacceptable behavior. Where’s your self-control? she chided herself. Stop blubbering this instant.

Blinking away new tears, she found herself drawing the brochure back in front of her. One photo showed several ladies having tea in a well-stocked library. She sighed as she briefly imagined their genteel conversation.

Supportive community of friends, she said aloud. Learn together. Have fun. Setting the mug aside, she turned to the front to the brochure and began reading every word.

It was well past the dinner hour on New Year’s Day, a cold and drizzly Sunday evening, when Helen arrived in a taxi under the portico at Happiness Hollow. Carrying one small bag, she entered the foyer where her heels clacked on the tile floor. Empty. Not a sound. Not a soul. If the taxi had not already left, she would have bolted.

Finally, a broad-faced young black woman, wide of beam and heavy-chested, appeared and began tugging at Helen’s bag.

Miss Helen, at last! We’ve been waiting all day for you. You must be frozen. Let me take this bag. She pulled determinedly even though Helen held on. I’m Ermine. Er-mine. Have you had dinner yet? You must be starving. Most of our residents are away for the holidays, or they’re in yonder watching the movie, but we’ll get you a hot meal in no time. She gave a final tug but Helen refused to relinquish control of her property. Well, I’m sure you’d like to go up to your suite and freshen up a bit. Just go along here to the elevator, and I’ll get your key.

To Helen this all sounded like one long word, but she followed the pointing hand. Passing two potted trees, she came to a heavy, windowless door decorated by a painted garland of silver stars. A doorbell was beside the door. This seemed an odd arrangement for an elevator, but she was too weary to care and reached to press the button. Suddenly, she felt a strong push against her rear and heard a sharp voice.

Stop it! Don’t do that. Get away!

Helen turned to find a prim little lady with steely eyes, jutting chin, and white hair done up in a tight knot on top of her head. That’s where they keep them people locked up. The woman bumped Helen again with her black rolling walker. Don’t you never—

Oh, Miss Florence, Ermine said, hurrying to join them. I thought you were watching the movie.

You know perfectly well I can’t see, and I got tired of listening to the silly thing. This woman was about to open that door. Might’ve let some escape.

"That’s the Twilight Suite for our Memory Impaired, Miss Helen. You need to stay on this side. We never disturb the other side. Here’s the elevator. She took Helen’s elbow and led her back to the trees which had obscured the now open door. Always look for the trees, and you’ll find an elevator every time. Miss Florence, you ready to go up?"

This side. Other side. What did it matter? Helen thought. Weren’t they all destined soon to be like the people incarcerated behind that door?

The elevator chugged like a senior citizen up one floor and the door crept open. Across a foyer, two young women, one white and one black, sat in a glass enclosure. They waved and smiled, and Ermine waved and smiled. She bade Florence good night, then guided Helen over to meet and greet the evening attendants. Helen didn’t catch their names, but then she saw each wore a large nametag—Joan and Amber—on the shoulders of their matching pink smocks. Ermine then led her down one of several branching hallways where the residents’ doors were decorated for Christmas and New Year’s.

Here we are, number 222. That’ll be easy to remember, and it’s here on your key tag. You can wear this on your wrist so you’ll always have your key with you. Of course, everybody’s trustworthy, but some residents get a little mixed up now and then. We have to be careful about medications, now don’t we? Better safe than sorry.

Inside the room, Ermine turned on the overhead light, then briskly headed toward the metal box under the window. I’m going to turn your heat up real warm so you can thaw out. Now, you see, all your new furniture arrived, and Mr. Tommy screwed it all together real tight. And here are your boxes. Now, just take your time, and I’ll see you downstairs. You should have everything you need, but if you don’t, just holler for Joan or Amber.

She paused beside Helen and gave her shoulders repeated squeezes. Don’t you worry about anything tonight. We’ll do the paperwork tomorrow. Oh, it’s so good to have you here! Just like bringing a new baby home to the family. Bye now.

That Ermine’s a gusher, Helen said aloud, but found herself not minding too much. Not that she believed for an instant that anyone was thrilled to have her there. Well, you big baby, this is home sweet home from now on.

She looked around at the 320 square feet furnished with a few pieces of furniture ordered from a catalog. At least I have some of my friends. She pulled the tape from one box and gazed fondly at her books. I hope you all survived your trip better than I did.

Wanting nothing more than to lie down and sleep, she managed to wash up without touching anything until she could scrub it all herself. She hid her purse, donned her room key bracelet, and carefully locked the door behind her. Amber and Joan waved and smiled as the elevator door, flanked by two palm trees, inched to a close.

Way too much waving and smiling, if you ask me, she muttered as she burst from the elevator after the tedious ride. To the left, she reminded herself, casting an eye over her shoulder at the closed door of the Twilight Suite.

She returned to the foyer, and this time encountered the décor of Happiness Hollow head on. Pink, pink, and more pink of every shade and hue, accented by tons of white Victorian fretwork, lush ferns, and a dark ‘hide-your-every-indiscretion’ green carpet. The foyer and dining room were exactly as pictured in the brochure, right down to the ornate grandfather clock. Ninety-six identical Happiness Hollows covered the U.S. Once across the threshold, you could be in LA, DC, Philly, or Tuscaloosa.

Gagged by the bubblegum color, she recalled reading that jails are often painted such a color to calm the prisoners. Was that the reason for the pink extravaganza here—to keep the inmates pacified—or was it because the female to male ratio was probably ten to one?

Ermine had spotted her over the half-wall dividing the foyer and dining room, and motioned her over to a table decorated with a pink checked cloth and a vase holding a pink silk poinsettia. Now, you sit down right here, Miss Helen, and tell me what you’d like.

Oh, it doesn’t matter. I don’t eat much. Maybe a salad. Or a sandwich would be fine. Or maybe a little soup. Yes, vegetable soup would be nice, and a cup of tea.

Great. I’ve got to run upstairs a minute, but Mary’ll serve you in a jiffy.

In somewhat more than a jiffy, a tall young black woman appeared wearing an oversized hairnet and a starched pink uniform with a white apron. From a cart, she took dish after dish and set them before Helen: turkey sandwich, green salad, bowl of soup, bread, crackers, butter, a cup, a small teapot, tea bags, lemon, and a tiny pitcher of milk.

My gracious, Helen said, calculating that there was enough food there for a week back home.

’Scuse me, m’am, but you ain’t said what dessert you want. We got chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, sticky—

Oh no, no dessert for me! Thank you for preparing all this for me so late.

The girl twisted her apron. Ain’t me fixed all of it. Mary, she the one fixed it up. She nodded toward the kitchen door where a tiny black woman in a matching uniform stood with her fists on her hips.

Oh, I thought you were Mary.

Yes’m, we both Mary.

I see. Helen decided she would have to think of them as Big Mary and Little Mary. Well, my thanks to you both, but I’ll never be able to eat all of this.

Big Mary bobbed her head and backed to the kitchen pulling the cart. Both women disappeared behind the door. As she began to eat, Helen found the food to be good, if a bit salty, and found her appetite to be greater than she had believed. Sensing that she was being watched, she glanced up to find both Marys in the doorway, one towering above the other, both scowling. What was their problem? She gestured with the spoon to the soup. Excellent, she mouthed. Really good. Thank you.

Apparently upset to have been caught spying on her, the women backed up in unison, and the door shut. Great, Helen thought. Would there be arsenic in the morning eggs?

She returned to the sanctuary of her new home. And new it was. She had sworn to begin life anew, so everything she had previously owned had been donated, sold, or trashed. Even her beloved books had been culled to a mere hundred or so. Having turned down the bed made up with monogrammed Happiness Hollow sheets, she tore open the bags containing her new pajamas and robe, and readied herself for bed.

With the lights out, she decided to open the blinds and see her view. Apparently no previous tenant had cared to look out since the cords were tangled and the mechanism balky. The more the blinds defied her, the more determined she became to see the view. After all, blinds ought to open.

Crash! The whole set of blinds clattered to the floor, leaving Helen gaping in surprise. Miss Helen. The voice at her elbow so startled her that she yelped, jumped back, lost her balance, and fell to the floor along with Amber, the well-meaning intruder.

An hour later Helen was still trying to convince Amber, Joan, and Ermine that she didn’t need to have her blood pressure checked, that she was physically uninjured. What was injured was her pride. She would surely be the talk of the dining room the next day. She ushered the women out and locked the door.

Alone at last, but wide awake, she finally looked out the window. Directly below, she could see a wide flagstone patio. On its far side stood a perky white gazebo. She told herself that the glass-enclosed structure would probably make a sunny place to read on a wintry day. Then she looked beyond the brick wall which surrounded the patio. She recalled that the brochure had promised the added serenity of proximity to a medical facility, but she hadn’t realized that meant right in the back yard.

She was looking down a steep hillside at the entrance to a hospital emergency room. There were lights enough for an airport, and the orange windsock on the roof foretold midnight helicopter landings. If she had a mind to in the coming days, she could watch the walking wounded tottering in, and shrouded gurneys rolling out at all hours.

Now, there’s an added bonus, she whispered as she read a small sign with two arrows near the emergency room door: morgue and hospice. How convenient.

When an ambulance arrived, Helen watched with morbid fascination as the staff rushed to attend the patient. She was so caught up in the scene that she failed once again to hear someone entering her room. She looked down to find, in the light of the open door, what had probably once been a tan chihuahua, but was now a little bloated blimp on bowed legs. A pink tongue drooped from its tiny mouth, and rheumy eyes gazed up at her without blinking.

May I come in? a woman’s voice asked from the doorway. I’m Mrs. Bayer, the director here. I just want to welcome you. I understand you had a bit of a tumble. She entered without invitation and switched on the overhead light, leaving Helen in her pajamas at the window exposed to the world.

This is Suzy. She’ll let you pet her. Just say ‘Suuuuzy, come to Helen.’ This baby talk seemed strange coming from the elegantly dressed and carefully coiffed matron who came to stand in front of her.

Helen didn’t move. She would run down the hall naked before she would coo and curry the favor of such a glassy-eyed, stiff-jointed, double-chinned, rat-tailed creature as Suzy.

All our ladies love her to death. Now, Suzy, behave yourself. May I sit down?

She took the recliner and Suzy sat panting at her feet. Feeling like a nine-year-old in her jammies, Helen sat on the bed. The welcome to Happiness Hollow began in a velvety, soothing tone. Mrs. Bayer told her about the executive assistant Ermine, and about the various floor attendants, hairdressers, Mr. Tommy, and the bus driver known as the Judge. Helen was distracted from the hypnotic voice by Suzy’s stare which seemed to hold a plea. Help me. Help me.

Exhausted in body and spirit, Helen reluctantly followed Mrs. Bayer to the wall across the room where a cord with a golden knob hung. Mrs. Bayer swung the knob slowly back and forth before Helen’s crossed eyes.

All you have to do is pull this cord—

Helen shook herself awake and blinked rapidly as Mrs. Bayer turned to place the knob gently against the wall. —anything from ice cream to a medical emergency, a hug or a backrub. And since I have an apartment here in the facility, I am personally available to you at all times.

Her pale eyes fixed Helen’s. There was no depth in them, and no warmth in her perfect smile as she took Helen’s hands. I know from the biography you gave us that you are alone in the world. Let us become your family. We want to be your family. You need us, you really do. So many of our residents are without loved ones or their loved ones are too far away or too busy to concern themselves with the happiness of others. But you can relax here now. Relax and give up the struggles and the problems of the world out there. Here there are no harsh realities, no demands, no—

No choices? Helen snatched her hands away. Tired, filled with regret at giving up her dear little house, feeling so alien in this strange place, she wanted to scream, kick the dog, and pummel this smug woman.

Mrs. Bayer