The Enchanted Cottage

What is it, Harriet?

Laura just phoned.

They can't make it. Oliver has to work.

Ohh.

If it isn't too late, they'll come out.

But she says you mustn't wait for them.

I think you should go ahead, John.

You can play it for them some other time.

I guess so, yes.

Good people.

I'm afraid this performance will be a little bit like Hamlet –

without Hamlet.

Because I've just received a message that Oliver and Laura may not be here.

Oliver has to work.

Ohh, what a shame!

He salacious to get the blueprints

of his new plane before the board at least next week.

I daresay, the airplane industry is a little more important than

listening to a musical composition.

Even mine.

So perhaps I better begin.

I suppose you could call this the first public performance

of my new tone poem, "The Enchanted Cottage."

It's too bad that Laura and Oliver can't be here

because it's their story, really.

You're going to have to let your imagination

supply the orchestral accompaniment.

No place has ever had – could ever have had – a more enchanting legend.

Here it was.

All that remained of a great estate.

Built long ago by an English nobleman,

come to live out his life on these New England shores.

The house had burned.

But it's plan was still marked by the crumbling walls.

Overgrown now with moss and ivy.

Wild roses and forest violets.

Miraculously, one wing had been saved from the flames.

It had been remodeled.

And the nobleman used to lend it to young married couples

to live in as long as they wished.

But by the time I first came upon it,

this gracious tradition was abandoned and almost totally forgotten.

The present-day owner, I had learned, was a lone widow.

Mrs. Abigail Minnett,

who kept her distance and made others keep theirs.

Being blind, I could only see the cottage,

only with the inner eye of imagination.

And through the eyes of my young nephew.

I had him walk me to where I could stand.

To try to sense the rapture of the love.

The happiness so many men and women have known there.

Those things mean music.

And as a composer, I longed to capture that music.

But it continued to elude me.

It was not until that wintry Sunday morning several years ago,

when Laura Pennington first came to the cottage,

that I began to feel...

perhaps the meaning of this

strange enchantment would reveal itself to me –

somehow.

- Oh, hello, Danny. - Hello, Laura.

I was just taking a walk.

And so I thought maybe –

Well, nobody around here ever gets to see her or anything.

So I came in to find out myself about the witch.

What witch?

In there.

That's just Mrs. Minnett who lives in there, Danny. And you know it.

I'm calling on her myself.

You don't think I'd go calling on a witch, do you?

Well, everyone says that she is.

Well, I'm afraid you're just a couple hundred years too late for witches.

I guess I'm a couple hundred years too late for anything.

Well, I wouldn't worry about it.

I think something will turn up.

- You really think so? - Mmm-hmm.

Taxi!

Here, Uncle John.

My Uncle John calls me Taxi.

So excuse me, will you? I've gotta catch my fare.

Who were you talking to, Danny?

Oh. This is my Uncle John. This is Miss. Pennington.

I'm John Hillgrove.

How do you do?

I hope that Danny hasn't been up to anything he…shouldn't have been up to.

Not a thing.

I'm staying in the village for a while with Dr. Stanton, my brother-in-law.

And when Danny and I take a walk,

it's frequently a little confusing as to who's responsible for whom.

Uncle John's a great piano player.

He plays the piano.

It would be nice, Danny, with your enthusiasm,

if you were a paying audience.

Goodbye, Miss Pennington.. Nice to have met you.

Thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Hillgrove.

Your friend Miss Pennington has a very pleasant voice.

Yeah, but there's this you don't know, Uncle John.

She's terrible homely.

That's not nice, Danny.

Don't you always say to me that I should tell the truth?

And doesn't Mom? It doesn't Pop?

You just can't please people.

There's a time and place, even for the truth, Danny.

If you say so, Uncle John.

But she is homely.

'm Laura Pennington, Mrs. Minnett.

My landlady said you wanted to see me.

Come in.

You can take off your wraps and lay them there.

I'll bring some tea.

How do you like your tea?

One lump, please. No milk.

I understand you're looking for a job?

Yes, I am.

I suppose I'm really looking for a home.

I need a young woman to help me.

Someone who doesn't cling to the foolish belief

that this cottage is –

What do you think of this cottage?

Why, it's – it's –

It's not haunted.

You know that, don't you? It's not haunted.

Well, I'm sure when people say haunted, they don't really mean it.

So you're not superstitious. That's good.

You just came back to Eastwood a few weeks ago, didn't you?

Early in November.

Things didn't work out with your mother's cousin in Vermont.

There wasn't enough for her and her family, let alone –

Some men are meant to be wanderers.

Others, it's no good for them to go looking for things.

How long since you've been away?

Seven years?

Nearly eight.

When my mother died,

there wasn't anybody left here that I belonged to.

I thought when you went away, you'd come back.

I hope here where I grew up, I might find –

Well, I, uh, really don't know what I was I wanted find.

A place I belonged, I guess.

A place that when I woke up in the morning, I'd be glad it was another day.

And when I went to sleep, I'd felt like it meant something to have been awake.

I've rented the cottage.

And I need somebody to help me with the work.

The people are coming again today to look at it.

They wanted for several months with a housekeeper and maid.

That'd be us.

Well, if you want me, I'd be glad to.

Your work won't be hard.

You'll get your room and board. And the regular wages.

That's quite satisfactory.

Then we better get started.

They'll be here directly.

You can get your things later.

There isn't very much to get, really.

These people who're renting the cottage, are they a honeymoon couple?

Didn't ask.

I was hoping you were going to renew the old tradition, Mrs. Minnett.

What old tradition?

The one about this cottage.

How for over a century, it was rented to honeymooners.

That tradition was broken.

I broke it.

Oh!

This cottage was deeded to my husband as a wedding present.

It was too have been our home.

Tom's and mine.

Only I've had to live on here alone.

Nearly 25 years.

Do you know what loneliness is?

Real loneliness.

- Yes - I thought you might.

That's why, when I heard that you'd come back –

They're here.

You open the door for them.

Come in.

Hello?

Anybody home?

Come in, please.

I hope I'm not too early, Mrs. Minnett. I brought Miss –

Oh, I'm sorry.

This is not Mrs. Minnett, darling.

I'm Oliver Bradford.

I stopped by last week and persuaded Mrs. Minnett to read her cottage to us.

Yes I know. I'm Laura Pennington.

- Hello, Mrs. Minnett. - Good afternoon.

This is Miss Alexander, Mrs. Minnett.

How do you do, Mrs. Minnett?

- And is must be – - The maid, oh, yes.

- Is there a dining room? - No.

I thought we could dine by the fire, dear.

Oh.

- Would you like to see the upstairs? - Thank you.

I'll stay here, dear. I've already seen it.

All right, Oliver.

My mother warned me that men are never interested

in the practical side of housekeeping.

It's a law.

Hmm. What an odd pattern.

Does this belong to the old boy who first built the place?

It was his family crest.