Her name was Jeannette, and she had brilliantly made lots of money in the stock market in the early 1900s, which she’d obviously taken out just in time, because all her friends, neighbors and relatives who’d kept their funds invested went into the hopper when the Great Depression hit. Jeannette knew of the formerly well-heeled, pin-striped men taking swan dives from their office windows, unable to face life without a staff of at least four at (each) home. Some of their more courageous colleagues made the choice to see it through by selling apples (when they could get apples) from the tops of wooden boxes on the corners of the sidewalks where they’d once gotten their shoes shined while seated on tall stands every morning as they read The New York Times or The Wall Street Journal.

But for Jeannette, life went on as usual. She was not suffering because of the Depression, and she existed in nearly as grand a manner as she had before all the “unpleasantness.” But she was not without compassion, and in her neighborhood lived a couple named Alvah and Bernice Judson who’d lost absolutely everything when the Depression hit, Alvah having been “downsized” to the extreme; his very prosperous business had abruptly ceased to exist. Savings gone, suddenly they were homeless, a word not so much in vogue back in 1930.

The Judsons had one child named Martha who was 19 and a second child, a “surprise” baby named Richard, not quite 1.

Jeannette one day stood on her immense front porch and looked over at the Judson family, now standing on their spacious lawn, their possessions heaped about them, looking like frightened refugees. Their bank had come calling, and for them, the term “well to do” no longer applied.

“Alvah!” called Jeannette. “Bring Bernice and the children over to my house this very instant. My, don’t you all look hungry! Cook has prepared a wonderful stew for dinner tonight, far more than I could possibly eat. I’d very much appreciate it if you’d join me and help me finish it. Come along now. Step lively.”

Jeannette quite quickly moved the Judson family into her enormous home, and there they stayed for the duration and beyond, being financially supported by her.

But Jeannette wasn’t the easiest person with which to live, being very controlling (the term probably was “bossy” back then.) Alvah, grouchy on his best days, chafed under Jeannette’s tyranny, but grudgingly did odd jobs around her huge, old home as payback for keeping him and his family alive.

Alvah also searched for jobs but found nothing, although in time, Jeannette found him one with a big New York firm, and after some more years, the family moved into their own home. Bernice was glad of that, because during the 11 years she and her family lived with Jeannette, she’d anxiously noted that Jeannette had become overwhelmingly attached to and fond of her son, her little Richard. Jeannette had never had any children of her own, so Richard satisfied this need in her. She adored the golden-haired little boy, and when the Judsons finally did move out, she missed them, and mostly him, sorely.

But the Judsons lived nearby Jeannette, and cranky Alvah continued to do repairs and other jobs in and around Jeannette’s home since he felt so indebted to her and did most strongly believe in payback.

Richard grew up and married and the families continued to be connected, Alvah becoming more ornery every year and Jeannette more domineering. Richard never lost touch with the woman he called “Aunt Jeannette,” and she secretly called him “son.”

And then, Bernice and Alvah died, and Jeannette, now quite elderly, found her health beginning to fail. At about this point, Richard and his wife decided to give up a lucrative business and follow their dream to buy and run an old inn in New England, which they did.

And Richard, remembering how Aunt Jeannette had saved his family 50 years before, invited her to come and live at their beautiful inn where she could have care, a room of her own and where she could live for the rest of her life. Jeannette gratefully accepted.

And one winter night toward the end of her 88 year, Jeannette began to die and just before Richard got her into the ambulance, she grasped his hand, looked up at him and said, “Thank you, son. It’s been wonderful.” Richard put his arms around her, and she died and he wept for his beloved Aunt Jeannette, so glad he’d been able to show her his loving appreciation for saving his family when he was a little boy during the Great Depression of 1929.

LC Van Savage is a Brunswick writer.