The 55-acre Jefferson Mansion sits on the summit of an 850-foot-peak of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Central Virginia. On long summer evenings, the golden glow of the 64-room statehouse casts a shadow over the city of Charlottesville in the valley below.
Thomas and Mary Jefferson enjoy the bustling activity of the unique home that quarters 28 master bedrooms and 21 full baths. Three fully maintained kitchens are busy day and night with the constant flow of guests, family and friends who fill the home and surrounding gardens with happy laughter and friendly camaraderie.
A 55-foot-long music chamber nestles in the heart of the mansion, and each of the 12 16,000-square-foot guesthouses enjoys its own private spa, beauty salon, media room, kitchen and flower garden.
The staff come and go from separate living quarters secluded on the back of the property . These apartment dwellings include master bedrooms, hot tubs, nurseries, children’s playground, tennis courts, game rooms and a private pool.
Guests are arriving from the city of Charlottesville, a few minutes away. Glittering golden lights line the three-mile roadway to the mansion, and droves of white doves welcome visitors at the crystal blue gates that reflect every color of the rainbow. Evening attire is soft comfortable clothing and no shoes
Invited guests wait with bated breath while the gleaming white and gold doors to the mansion swing open and Mary stands in the arched entrance with a welcome smile and small trays of sparkling fruit juice. Dressed in flowing garments of earth colors with her tiny toes peeking out below, she greets each person with a soothing kiss on the cheek as she places a sparkling goblet in their hands.
As each special guest steps through the two-story gold encrusted entrance, it seems he has entered through a gateway into another world. A breathtakingly beautiful waterfall drops from the center of the great room and splashes gently on bare feet, washing away worry and stress. Subdued colorful lights make one feel hypnotic and free. The fragrance from the mired of flowers is just enough to make everyone tilt their head in anticipation.
The sparkling waterfall disappears under the floor only to reappear splashing freely through clear sunlit tubes that lead underground. The walls and ceiling are covered with sprays of exotic flowers shipped in every day from various parts of the world. A glowing bronze walkway leads downward to a cool 10,000-bottle wine and juice cellar and onward toward an expansive underground city filled with intimate sunken rooms.
Candles of all colors glow in every nook and corner. Colorful snapping fireplaces invite one to sit and enjoy fresh tasty fruits at small tables. Soft music of angel voices are barely perceptible to the ear and surround each person like a thin film of protection, relaxing every muscle and awakening feelings that have been asleep for a long time.
Further along the smooth path, the magical guesthouses are laid out in perfect detail.
Those who follow the gilded tiles from the front entrance on an upward incline, enter into a complex of day spas that no one had ever seen in its entirety. Large pools of pure clear water are surrounded by rippling streams filled with colorful little fish. Mineral waterfalls add an ambiance of slow movement and swirling whirlpool baths surrounded one with peace and serenity. Hypnotic aromas raft through the cool fresh air, and one imagines the slightest of sea breezes flowing from room to room.
To be pampered and catered by Mary and her family at the world-renown Jefferson Mansion near headwaters of the Rivanna River is considered the gift of a lifetime.
This famous home was handed down to Mary from her parents who had spent most of their life designing and redesigning the great mansion. Many ideas and furnishings came from their frequent trips around the world. When her parents died during a global flu pendemic, Mary had chosen to share her riches freely with the world. She invited rich and poor alike to get renewal and strength from the grand mountaintop home.
Today, only 15 guests arrived to spend a week of luxurious relaxation and unearthly spiritualness with Mary and her family. For almost a decade, thousands had been entertained, pampered and rejuvenated in the comforts of this unusual southern home.
But now, as each guest sipped the cool refreshing drink and stood in awe at this scene of purest beauty, Mary sensed that something was not quite right. Maybe it was an unsettled sigh she heard in the air, or lack of something. Sometimes her unconditional acceptance had brought in people who did not appreciate her generosity and graciousness, but entered on their own terms, not respectful of others and anxious to explore outside the expected paths. Mary was always mindful of those few.
As the evening sunset left it’s warm glow over the gardens, Mary felt satisfied that everyone was settled into their space and happy. She quietly entered into a secret garden accessible only to close family members. Her husband and 12-year old daughter, Martha, were going to watch a new movie with their guests. Their older son, Peter was out of town.
As Mary relaxed in the rose garden with her watercolors, and added the final touches to her butterfly painting, she was startled by a loud popping sound in the vicinity of the media house. Fireworks were never allowed on the property because of the many birds and small animals that nested there. She knew something was terribly wrong, even as she tried to excuse the noise as fireworks.
But, stepping out of the soft woods, her heart sank with an ill feeling. Someone was running. Terrified screams rang out into the gathering darkness. Several bodies lay silent and still on the ground. Suddenly, Mary was looking down at the lifeless body of her husband and, like a slow-moving arrow, she fell into a dark abyss at his side. That was the last she remembered of the night that took away her loving companion and beautiful little daughter.
Word of the insane shooting crackled around the world as 'Breaking News' within minutes, but Mary neither saw nor heard a word of it. For weeks, she lay in a deep catatonic coma. Peter did not know if his mother would live or die. Everyone present at the movie had been killed or died soon after. The mentally ill man who created the fatal catastrophic event had killed himself, and Peter had no one to pour out his grief to except at the bedside his silent and unmoving mother.
Eventually, Mary responded to the tender care of her nurses and Peter's persistent urgings, but she was never the same sparkling women who had opened her doors and arms to the world.
Everyone had been shocked at the decline in Mary’s health and change in her personality. She had fired every housekeeper, cook, maid and gardener. She turned off the magical waterfall and let the flowers die. The living spas became a molting tomb, and the colorful flower gardens had become tangled with weeds and vines.
Now, three years later, she never left her bedroom and refused to accept visitors. Peter left food and water outside her door when she ignored his pleas to enter. Today she responded no differently to Peter's gentle tapping, but she peeked through the thick curtains to the dry grass below. The open gate tilted to one side even as rainbows still sparkled from the broken crystal. She noticed a long black car parked out front with a strange symbol on the door. She heard the tapping, but made no effort to respond.
Peter was the only one left to look after his mother, and he was worried and dismayed at the changes he could not control. She had locked the doors and closed her heart to everyone. He knew her health was failing and it broke his heart. He peered through the dust-encrusted great room window. His mother was nowhere in sight, and an unpleasant odor penetrated his nose even from out on the formidable foyer.
Pushing the heavy door open once opened in welcome by his mother every day, Peter averted his eyes from the gray walls that in years past were alive with lush, living growth. His feet slipped on the moldy tiles as his steps led upwards to his mother’s room where she sat in darkness. Stepping into his mother's living area, he saw dirty dishes and dry, stale food. Discarded clothing was scattered on the floor. The rooms were darkened with shades drawn tight. The magnificent home on the hill that had once sparkled with love, laughter and mirth was still and silent. The air was heavy. His mother had no strength to welcome her only son.
But today, Peter had good news. Even though he knew his mother couldn’t comprehend the magnitude, he wanted to share something that he hoped would bring back some spark of life to his mother’s heart. He had been offered 50-million dollars to restore the mansion into something called, “The Laughing Place”.
Thursday
Tuesday
Mary's Grief
“Mom, it’s me. It’s Peter, your son,” Peter whispered to his mother as she moved to close the door against his body. “Please let me in for just a moment and then I promise to leave you alone”. Keeping his eyes fixed on her blue eyes clouded with grief and fatigue, he discretely moved his foot to block the door.
“There-there now. It’s okay. It’s just your son Peter.”
“Go away. I don’t have a son. Thomas will be here in a few minutes. He’s going to take me home. Mother is waiting for me. She needs my help!”
Peter had been through this conversation many times with his mother in the last three years. Each time he hoped his comforting voice and familiar presence would help remove his mother’s confusion and anxiety. But, every time he tried to reason with her, she became more agitated and sometimes angry and combative.
“Why won’t you just leave me alone? Where is Thomas? What’s taking him so long?” she demanded once again as she grabbed a long winter coat and headed for the open door.
“Mom! It’s the middle of summer! This is your home! Thomas isn’t coming back. I’m your son. I can take care of you.”
“Don’t be a fool! I’m not your mother! Now let me out of here. THOMAS COME HERE! We need to leave right now!”
Struggling with the door, Mary ran toward the front door Peter had left open when he arrived. Unsteady and tripping on the doorstep, she rushed through the gates and fell against the limousine parked there.
Weak and faint, she sat on the pavement as her shoulders shook with deep noisy sobs of anger and dispair.
“Why does everybody have to be so mean to me? Where is Thomas? He was suppose to take me home,” she wailed over and over again.
Almost inperceptably, the back door to the limo opened and a hand reached out toward Mary. A sweet, calm voice spoke from inside.
“Are you going someplace? You can ride with me.”
“Oh! can I go with you? I don’t know what’s taking Thomas so long. Mother needs my help. Can you take me home.”
“Get right in. I’m going that way. I’ll drop you off.”
As Peter stood petrified with shock, the limo started driving slowly forward. This wasn’t the way it was suppose to be. He needed to make his mother understand that she was wrong. Thomas was gone. He was her son and she should let him take care of her.
The limo made a full circle of the compound, then returned to where Peter was still standing with his mouth open. This time the front passenger door opened. “Get in. We’re going home. You want to come?”
In the back of the limo, his mother leaned against the woman next to her. Already she looked more relaxed than he had seen her in many months! Samantha gave Peter a, “Shhhh” look and spoke gently to Mary.
“What is your mother’s name?”
“Her name is Abigail. She needs me to help with the new baby. I don’t know what’s taking Thomas so long to come get me.”
“Well, Thomas can meet us at your mother’s house. Now let’s see. Which way should we go to get to your home?”
“It’s next to the creek. There’s a big tree with a swing in the yard. Dad is working in the barn, but he’ll be expecting supper pretty soon.”
“Okay. We’ll be there in a little while. Why don’t you lean against me and close your eyes for a minute. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
And, in a few seconds, Mary was more quiet and peaceful than Peter could have ever imagined.
“See Peter this is the tip of the iceberg of what what we want to do at, “The Laughing Place”.
“There-there now. It’s okay. It’s just your son Peter.”
“Go away. I don’t have a son. Thomas will be here in a few minutes. He’s going to take me home. Mother is waiting for me. She needs my help!”
Peter had been through this conversation many times with his mother in the last three years. Each time he hoped his comforting voice and familiar presence would help remove his mother’s confusion and anxiety. But, every time he tried to reason with her, she became more agitated and sometimes angry and combative.
“Why won’t you just leave me alone? Where is Thomas? What’s taking him so long?” she demanded once again as she grabbed a long winter coat and headed for the open door.
“Mom! It’s the middle of summer! This is your home! Thomas isn’t coming back. I’m your son. I can take care of you.”
“Don’t be a fool! I’m not your mother! Now let me out of here. THOMAS COME HERE! We need to leave right now!”
Struggling with the door, Mary ran toward the front door Peter had left open when he arrived. Unsteady and tripping on the doorstep, she rushed through the gates and fell against the limousine parked there.
Weak and faint, she sat on the pavement as her shoulders shook with deep noisy sobs of anger and dispair.
“Why does everybody have to be so mean to me? Where is Thomas? He was suppose to take me home,” she wailed over and over again.
Almost inperceptably, the back door to the limo opened and a hand reached out toward Mary. A sweet, calm voice spoke from inside.
“Are you going someplace? You can ride with me.”
“Oh! can I go with you? I don’t know what’s taking Thomas so long. Mother needs my help. Can you take me home.”
“Get right in. I’m going that way. I’ll drop you off.”
As Peter stood petrified with shock, the limo started driving slowly forward. This wasn’t the way it was suppose to be. He needed to make his mother understand that she was wrong. Thomas was gone. He was her son and she should let him take care of her.
The limo made a full circle of the compound, then returned to where Peter was still standing with his mouth open. This time the front passenger door opened. “Get in. We’re going home. You want to come?”
In the back of the limo, his mother leaned against the woman next to her. Already she looked more relaxed than he had seen her in many months! Samantha gave Peter a, “Shhhh” look and spoke gently to Mary.
“What is your mother’s name?”
“Her name is Abigail. She needs me to help with the new baby. I don’t know what’s taking Thomas so long to come get me.”
“Well, Thomas can meet us at your mother’s house. Now let’s see. Which way should we go to get to your home?”
“It’s next to the creek. There’s a big tree with a swing in the yard. Dad is working in the barn, but he’ll be expecting supper pretty soon.”
“Okay. We’ll be there in a little while. Why don’t you lean against me and close your eyes for a minute. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
And, in a few seconds, Mary was more quiet and peaceful than Peter could have ever imagined.
“See Peter this is the tip of the iceberg of what what we want to do at, “The Laughing Place”.
Sunday
The Doctor Who Forgot
Charles hurried to scrub for an emergency appendectomy. His brows furrowed with worry that the parents of his 12-year old patient had waited too long to bring Andrea to the emergency room.
Already her white blood count was 18,000 and her abdomen was hot and tender. As he finished the 5-minute antibacterial scrub and held his arms upright, he suddenly felt slightly lost in the operating room that had been his sanctuary for the past 25 years. What was wrong with his head? He couldn’t remember his young patient’s name. He had just reassured her a few moments before! But he recognised the abdominal surgical set-up, so he stood still as the circulating nurse slipped on his gloves and tied the surgical mask strings behind his ears.
Seemingly on autopilot, Charles took the scalpel handed to him by the surgical nurse, and within minutes had removed the ready-to-burst gland. In an unusual fashion, he asked the intern to close and walked out of the operating room.
Dr. Charles Mayo knew this would be his last surgery. Something was not right, but he couldn’t place what was wrong. As he passed the OR scheduling secretary, he told her to cancel all his scheduled surgeries and appointments.
Rushing past the anxious parents in the waiting room, he reached for his cell phone but then dropped it back into his pocket when he realized he couldn’t recall a single phone number. He rushed out into the cold November wind and started walking. He didn’t remember how he got to the hospital or how to contact his wife for help! Maybe the cold wind would wake up his mind.
Back at St. Mary's Hospital, Edith knew that her husband should be out of surgery by now. She had seen the young girl being transported to the med floor and figured Charles might be ready for a quick snack in the hospital cafeteria. Slipping to the operating room information desk, she asked if Charles had come out.
“Sure Edith. He went toward the ER about 20 minutes ago. Didn’t he call you? He told me to cancel all his appointments. Is he alright?”
Her eyes wide with surprise, Edith answered calmly, "Maybe there’s another emergency coming in. I’ll go down to the ER and see what’s going on.”
By now, Edith heard the alarms in her head. It wasn’t like Charles not to call and check in with her after surgery. Especially when he knew she was waiting for him.
St. Mary's Hospital was like their second home. They had met and fallen in love right there in that hospital more than 30 years ago when she was a new RN and he was a young handsome dashing intern who had followed in the footsteps of his own father as a innovative pioneering physician. Later, two of their four children had followed their parents into the medical field. Their youngest daughter, Dorothy, was a medical doctor in family practice and their son, Charles, Jr. was a Psychiatrist.
“Hi John, have you seen Charles?”
“Oh hey Edith. Now that I think of it, I saw him leave about 15 minutes ago. I thought you were waiting for him out front. What are you doing in here?”
By now warning bells pounded in her head and her heart raced with fear. She knew that this was just about the last straw. Something had to be done about Charles before the entire hospital knew he was suffering from Alzheimer’s, and before Charles did something terribly wrong to one of his patients.
She walked out into the night and stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle a scream.
There were too many “lost moments’ with her usual easy-going loving husband. Sometimes he left the car keys in the ignition and didn’t understand why the auto lock wouldn’t work. Once he called her Dorothy during an intimate moment and didn’t seem to notice. Several times he had cried out in alarm when he couldn’t remember how to work the microwave or remote.
Edith remembered the day they had sat on the wrong side of the physician's desk and listened to the reports of the CAT scan and blood work early last year. Charles had known something was wrong when he started forgetting where he put things that he had put in the same place for years or passwords he had used hundreds of times.
“Everything looks fine. You have nothing to worry about. It’s just stress. Why don’t you and Edith take that long overdue vacation?” But Charles knew this was not good news.
He and Edith held hands in silent grief on the way home. They both knew that things were not ‘fine’.
Driving to the hill overlooking the city they loved so well, they stopped the car and walked to the large oddly shaped stone that reminded them of two doves. It was here that Charles had asked Edith to marry him and had promised to love her ‘til death do us part’.
They were open and honest with each other as they discussed what was to be. If the dementia did not resolve, they must plan for a very bleak future. One that neither of them wanted to fathom, but they knew they must plan for a medical ‘retirement’ very soon.
Both medical professionals, Charles and Edith knew what lay ahead. While no two people experience the same signs and symptoms of dementia, Charles had seen and felt the subtle changes in his mind and body. The short-term memory loss was at first blamed on stress, but he knew that he had trouble following conversations he had once enjoyed with a flourish. Surgical instruments, some of which he had developed himself, seemed strange in his hands. He found himself lost in the city that had been his home all his life! He was panic-stricken at the thought of what this mind devastating disease could cost his family!
He had told no one of his fears at first, but he had started taking memory-jogging medications and vitamins. Aricept and Reminyl made no difference in the fog of his mind. Vitamin E and Ginkgo Biloba gave him some renewed energy, but the same cloud sat in his mind day after day. He added some new cholesterol lowering drugs, 50 mg. of Coenzyme Q10 and large doses of Coral Calcium. He even tried the controversial Huperzine A, but nothing helped.
Then he had done the tests to rule out infection, vitamin deficiencies, depression and even a brain tumor. Now he knew the ravages of dementia would slowly and insidiously get worse. He might become suspicious and irritable with Edith and others. He would forget how to properly dress and he would show less and less emotion - or he might go off in terrible tirades of anger and perhaps have delusions and hallucinations where he would hear things, see figures in the room, hear voices and react to the threat of danger. He might even strike out at his long-suffering sweet wife or caregivers who would be needed to care for him.
Already her white blood count was 18,000 and her abdomen was hot and tender. As he finished the 5-minute antibacterial scrub and held his arms upright, he suddenly felt slightly lost in the operating room that had been his sanctuary for the past 25 years. What was wrong with his head? He couldn’t remember his young patient’s name. He had just reassured her a few moments before! But he recognised the abdominal surgical set-up, so he stood still as the circulating nurse slipped on his gloves and tied the surgical mask strings behind his ears.
Seemingly on autopilot, Charles took the scalpel handed to him by the surgical nurse, and within minutes had removed the ready-to-burst gland. In an unusual fashion, he asked the intern to close and walked out of the operating room.
Dr. Charles Mayo knew this would be his last surgery. Something was not right, but he couldn’t place what was wrong. As he passed the OR scheduling secretary, he told her to cancel all his scheduled surgeries and appointments.
Rushing past the anxious parents in the waiting room, he reached for his cell phone but then dropped it back into his pocket when he realized he couldn’t recall a single phone number. He rushed out into the cold November wind and started walking. He didn’t remember how he got to the hospital or how to contact his wife for help! Maybe the cold wind would wake up his mind.
Back at St. Mary's Hospital, Edith knew that her husband should be out of surgery by now. She had seen the young girl being transported to the med floor and figured Charles might be ready for a quick snack in the hospital cafeteria. Slipping to the operating room information desk, she asked if Charles had come out.
“Sure Edith. He went toward the ER about 20 minutes ago. Didn’t he call you? He told me to cancel all his appointments. Is he alright?”
Her eyes wide with surprise, Edith answered calmly, "Maybe there’s another emergency coming in. I’ll go down to the ER and see what’s going on.”
By now, Edith heard the alarms in her head. It wasn’t like Charles not to call and check in with her after surgery. Especially when he knew she was waiting for him.
St. Mary's Hospital was like their second home. They had met and fallen in love right there in that hospital more than 30 years ago when she was a new RN and he was a young handsome dashing intern who had followed in the footsteps of his own father as a innovative pioneering physician. Later, two of their four children had followed their parents into the medical field. Their youngest daughter, Dorothy, was a medical doctor in family practice and their son, Charles, Jr. was a Psychiatrist.
“Hi John, have you seen Charles?”
“Oh hey Edith. Now that I think of it, I saw him leave about 15 minutes ago. I thought you were waiting for him out front. What are you doing in here?”
By now warning bells pounded in her head and her heart raced with fear. She knew that this was just about the last straw. Something had to be done about Charles before the entire hospital knew he was suffering from Alzheimer’s, and before Charles did something terribly wrong to one of his patients.
She walked out into the night and stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle a scream.
There were too many “lost moments’ with her usual easy-going loving husband. Sometimes he left the car keys in the ignition and didn’t understand why the auto lock wouldn’t work. Once he called her Dorothy during an intimate moment and didn’t seem to notice. Several times he had cried out in alarm when he couldn’t remember how to work the microwave or remote.
Edith remembered the day they had sat on the wrong side of the physician's desk and listened to the reports of the CAT scan and blood work early last year. Charles had known something was wrong when he started forgetting where he put things that he had put in the same place for years or passwords he had used hundreds of times.
“Everything looks fine. You have nothing to worry about. It’s just stress. Why don’t you and Edith take that long overdue vacation?” But Charles knew this was not good news.
He and Edith held hands in silent grief on the way home. They both knew that things were not ‘fine’.
Driving to the hill overlooking the city they loved so well, they stopped the car and walked to the large oddly shaped stone that reminded them of two doves. It was here that Charles had asked Edith to marry him and had promised to love her ‘til death do us part’.
They were open and honest with each other as they discussed what was to be. If the dementia did not resolve, they must plan for a very bleak future. One that neither of them wanted to fathom, but they knew they must plan for a medical ‘retirement’ very soon.
Both medical professionals, Charles and Edith knew what lay ahead. While no two people experience the same signs and symptoms of dementia, Charles had seen and felt the subtle changes in his mind and body. The short-term memory loss was at first blamed on stress, but he knew that he had trouble following conversations he had once enjoyed with a flourish. Surgical instruments, some of which he had developed himself, seemed strange in his hands. He found himself lost in the city that had been his home all his life! He was panic-stricken at the thought of what this mind devastating disease could cost his family!
He had told no one of his fears at first, but he had started taking memory-jogging medications and vitamins. Aricept and Reminyl made no difference in the fog of his mind. Vitamin E and Ginkgo Biloba gave him some renewed energy, but the same cloud sat in his mind day after day. He added some new cholesterol lowering drugs, 50 mg. of Coenzyme Q10 and large doses of Coral Calcium. He even tried the controversial Huperzine A, but nothing helped.
Then he had done the tests to rule out infection, vitamin deficiencies, depression and even a brain tumor. Now he knew the ravages of dementia would slowly and insidiously get worse. He might become suspicious and irritable with Edith and others. He would forget how to properly dress and he would show less and less emotion - or he might go off in terrible tirades of anger and perhaps have delusions and hallucinations where he would hear things, see figures in the room, hear voices and react to the threat of danger. He might even strike out at his long-suffering sweet wife or caregivers who would be needed to care for him.
Now as he raced through the cold windy city streets, he felt lost and afraid. Something propelled him around corners and further away from city lights and open doorways. He must escape this awful fear of isolation and threat of danger. Danger! Danger! Danger!
Edith ran out into the hospital parking lot screaming her husband's name. "Charles! Charles. It's me. Wait for me!"
For a brief moment of relief, she saw Charles' car in his assigned parking space. But there were no footprints in the light dusting of snow. She turned away with heavy heart to the street and scanned the empty sidewalks. Pulling her light lab coat tighter, she opened her cell phone and dialed 911.
It was also time to call, The Laughing Place.
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