What
people are saying about
The Station Master: A Scheduled Death
"It has come time for Janet Evanovich to take a lesser seat–to
move over for Luisa Buehler, whose characterization, setting, plot and twists in The Station Master are simply
enthralling. If you like your suspense
cozy to medium boiled, Buehler has cooked up an excellent dish for her
fans. I highly recommend The Station
Master and this series for its unique sleuth, strong voice, and crisp
storytelling."
–Robert W. Walker, author of City for Ransom
"Cutting-edge
cozy. The Station Master is filled with long-buried secrets, elaborate twists, and
nail-biting suspense. Buehler and
Marsden just keep getting better and better."
J.A. Konrath, author
of
Bloody Mary: A Lt. Jack Daniels Thriller
"Grace Marsden returns in Luisa Buehler's
charming The Station Master and proves once again that neither errant
husbands, erstwhile lovers, nor a case of OCD can
prevent her from ferreting out the truth.
A skeleton in an antique trunk is the starting point, but the end result is a fine blend of intrigue, vivid description,
and quirky but compassionate characters.
Don't miss it."
Libby Fischer Hellmann
Author, the Ellie Foreman series
The Lion Tamer: A Caged Death
"…a veritable shot of adrenaline. …you are drawn into her roller-coaster ride…Good
job, Mrs. Buehler, The Lion Tamer is great
mystery."
–Roundtable Reviews
"The Lion Tamer: A
Caged Death reminds the reader that sooner or later a mystery
reveals itself no matter how hard the guilty partner tries to bury it. …guilt and regret keep the story moving at an
interesting pace. Buehler has a talent
for creating dimensional characters right down to their daily-living routines
and ever-surfacing emotions. This book
is a keeper."
–Denise Fleischer, gottawritenetwork.com
"…a fast paced mystery that romps
through
DuPage Woman Newspaper Central
Edition
"With her
second book, The Lion Tamer, Luisa Buehler offers us a curious heroine,
a handsome husband, a dashing ex-lover and a skeleton or two. Welcome to the engaging Grace Marsden's
world, where romance and mayhem vie for her attention–much to a reader's
satisfaction and delight!"
–Sharon
Fiffer, author of The Jane Wheel Mysteries
The Rosary Bride: A Cloistered Death
"…a stylishly written novel evocative of Barbara Michaels and Teri
Holbrook. Luisa Buehler presents a fascinating cast of
characters, an engrossing tale of old wrongs, long-kept secrets, and
murder."
–Denise Swanson, author of the bestselling
"…a twisty, taut, compelling story of love gone wrong, a
fascinating, haunting tale."
–Carolyn Hart, author of Pulitzer Nominee,
Letter from Home
"My favorite kind of
book–old sins cast long shadows. When a
long-dead woman is found behind the fireplace at
–Barbara D'Amato, author of the Cat Marsala series
Books by
The Station Master: A Scheduled Death
The Lion Tamer:
A Caged Death
The Rosary Bride: A Cloistered Death
The Scout Master: A Prepared Death
Luisa Buehler
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
products of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Echelon Press
9735 Country
Copyright © 2005 by
Luisa Buehler
ISBN: 1-59080-458-9
Paper
ISBN: 1-59080-459-7
E-Book
www.echelonpress.com
All rights
reserved. No part of this book may be
used or reproduced in any m
First Echelon Press
paperback printing: November 2005
Cover Art ©
Nathalie Moore
2004 Ariana Best in
Category Award winner
Printed in
Dedication
To Gerry and Christopher
who are always there, offering love
and practicing patience.
This is a work of fiction, but like
the pearl that grew around a single grain of sand, this story developed around
a modicum of fact. I am grateful to Kris Guill,
owner of Jefferson Hill Tea Room, John Reeder, owner of Book Nook News, and
Carl Grumbles, past president of the Lisle Heritage Society for sharing their
stories. A special thank you to
Officer Cindy McNaney of the Lisle Police for
clarification on procedures. The 'armchair sleuths,' reference librarians at
the Lisle Library, rate high marks and thanks for the
details they gathered. It is in the
details that a story comes to life.
All Aboard!
Magic music of the iron rails humming, engaging the imagination, changing to desire for adventure.
Holidays, honeymoons, and homecomings, each beginning with a ticket to ride. The end of the line is a beginning in reverse…
Unless
the ticket to ride is one way.
The nightmare hardly came anymore. Mornings dawned sweet and rested, most
mornings. Not this one. The gut-wrenching fear, the prickly sweat
tore me from a sound sleep. I slipped
from under the covers to the floor panting through the residual panic of the
nightmare, hoping I wouldn't wake Harry.
My
breathing calmed. I gently lifted my
side of the covers and slid between still warm sheets. I lay awake waiting for the time to pass and
my nightgown to dry.
"We fly home in three days, Grace. It's time.
We can't hide here any longer."
The pain at the thought of home still gripped my heart. It was crazy to think rushing off to another continent would heal me. I feared leaving; afraid that the healing joy I'd felt these past months would vanish if I crossed borders. My mind had created a 'Brigadoon' and now I panicked at the prospect of crossing that bridge back to my life.
"Grace? I said we're leaving in three days. Is there anywhere else you want to visit
before we go? Any church jumble you
haven't plundered? Any brass rubbings
you've missed?"
My
husband's attempt at gleaning a smile from me failed miserably. I hated myself for the topsy-turvy emotions
that plagued me even during idyllic outings with Harry and his family. They had been patient and loving through
these past months.
Harry
and I arrived on their doorstep with one day notice
and one suitcase. The maniac who once
had been Harry's friend, but who had stalked me with deadly intent, had
destroyed our home. Harry's parents,
William and Dorothy Marsden, swept us into theirhearts
and life in the blink of an eye. They
had readied the entire upstairs for us.
We slept in Harry's old room and used his sister's adjacent bedroom as a
sitting room. Both rooms had been left as they had been all those years before. H
Tears
welled up in my eyes and my hands sought the comfort of a length of yarn tied
to my belt loop. I kept my eyes on my
hands while I looped and braided ten series of knots hoping the routine would
calm my nerves and give me time to master my emotions.
Harry
tipped my chin up and looked into my eyes.
"Pansy
purple," he pronounced. He leaned
forward and brushed his lips against my cheek.
Even
without the tears my mood would have been apparent. My personal physiology reacts to high emotion
by changing the color of my eyes from a lavender shade with gold flecks to a
deep pansy purple hue. My personal
barometer makes it difficult to lie or hide much. Everyone who knows me can read me like a
book.
"Gracie,
please. We have to put this behind
us. We did it once before. We can do it now."
Harry
turned his cornflower blue eyes away from my face and glanced out the window
past the flower boxes attached to the sills bursting with color and tumbledown
charm in the form of Verbena, Petunia, and Celosia. His gaze continued across the neatly
manicured lawn to the stone pillars at the macadam road that marked the Marsden
entrance.
"It's
lovely here, no doubt old girl, but it's not our
home. We need to make peace with where
we belong. Only way for that to happen
is to go home, Gracie. And what about those job offers? People are waiting on you, love." He teased me now. "You would make a wonderful event pl
Harry's
emphasis on planning brought a smile
to my face as I remembered the countless birthday parties, prom parties, school
events that I had pl
"Even
Barb sent you a letter about joining her on some project."
Our
neighbor in Pine Marsh had mailed me a notice about a position for an event pl
"Yeah,
everyone thinks I ought to get a job.
Even Karen suggested I look into teaching a writing class at
Trinity. Does my unemployed status annoy
people?" I was being facetious
since my full time job was writing children's books. I had finished the fourth in my "Mick
the Monster" series shortly before our lives had been
slammed into the Twilight Zone by a maniac bent on revenge.
"People
care about you. They love you. I love you.
That's why we need to go home.
"Why? We can stay here, not this house, but in
Arundel or maybe
Harry
placed two fingers against my lips to halt the torrent of wishful thinking
spewing from my mouth. I took his hand
in mine and kissed the top. His hands had been burned in the explosion that damaged our house.
They had
healed remarkably well especially after we arrived in Arundel. A great aunt, Mildred, knew a lady friend who bottled the most marvelous honey from
healing bees. I scoffed at the
story. Harry's response had been
different. My cosmopolitan husband
listened and followed her instructions.
It was imperative that he travel with her to the hives and thank the
bees for their help. I stood in
amazement as my world traveled, high tech gadget guy,
agreed to drive an hour then walk the three miles to the recluse's cottage to
thank the bees. Harry told me the bee lady knew the honey would work because the bees 'voices'
grew hearty in the hive when Harry thanked them.
Those
bees deserved Harry's heartfelt thanks and mine too. Within weeks of using the honey salve, the
tops of his hands had grown smooth and supple.
The tightness and pain he had lived with had lessened.
"I
want to go back to the bee lady and thank her bees." I looked up at Harry and tried a true smile.
"I've
already thanked them, darling."
"I
want to thank them for helping you and I want to ask her if I can thank her in
advance for someone else." I stood
up and walked to the window. With my
back to Harry I lobbed my request over my shoulder. "Karen sent me a note on things back
home. She mentioned that Ric is still in
rehab. The department is forcing him to
retire on full disability. She says the
therapy isn't going well; so much scar tissue. I thought I'd bring home the honey for him to
try."
Ric
Kramer, my best friend's brother, had been injured in
the same blast that hurt Harry. Ric owed
his life to Harry. An awkward balance
since Ric and I had once been close.
Each time Ric reentered my life my marriage seemed to suffer from the
encounter. I now mentioned Ric for the
first time in three months. I felt I
needed to act now. I turned to catch
Harry's reaction.
"Of
course we'll bring him the honey. I'll
ring Aunt Mildred this morning and arrange the outing. Wait until you see the bee lady,
Gracie. It's like she's from another
time; like when those Druids you're so fond of telling me I'm related to ran
amok."
He left
the room to call his aunt from the kitchen, the only room in his parents' home
with a telephone. Harry's good humor at
my suggestion surprised me. The line
from the Snoopy comic strip ran through my head, 'You're a good man, Charlie Brown.' A good man indeed. Six foot tall, a trim, athletic build, blond
hair streaked platinum from summer sun, and a dazzling smile. A young Roger Moore, of the Simon Templar
era, my friends had decided when I first met Harry. His crystal cut English accent nailed their
choice.
Harry
walked toward me from the kitchen.
"Aunt Mildred says we can motor out there tomorrow with her. She'd like a visit with Morgana."
"The
bee lady's name is Morgana? Wasn't she
Merlin's nemesis?"
"I'm
joking, darling. Her name is Maeve
Flood. Thought 'Morgana' would amuse
you."
My
husband's sense of humor still escaped me at times.
"Maeve? Doesn't sound like an English bee lady. I thought her
name would be something like Hyacinth or Minerva."
"I
think it's a perfect name for her; a touch exotic for the English recluse. She's one of those 'inner sight' people,
according to Aunt Mildred," he added.
"Some people think she's a bit odd, talking to the bees and all,
but I found her charming. She was
thrilled to find out I lived in
Harry's
infectious smile didn't touch my heart.
I kept thinking about the fairy tale Hansel and Gretel and the
witch in the woods.
"I
told Aunt Mildred what you wanted to do.
She thought that refreshingly generous of you. She doesn't think your thanks will be enough,
but the honey will still help somewhat."
Harry's face grew somber.
"Maeve told her before that only the person who needs the healing
or someone who loves that person can thank the bees."
I'm
certain my eyes flared purple as I realized what Harry implied. The mere mention of Ric a few minutes earlier
had wedged him between us again. I felt
guilty for feeling that I qualified.
"I'll be sincere and hope for the best with the bees."
"Don't
worry. I'm certain the bees will hum
beautifully for you."
His
quiet voice reminded me again that he has never felt truly certain of my heart
of hearts since that time so many years ago when I found comfort in another
man's arms and heart. After being told that Harry was dead; I had turned to Ric.
"Harry,
please. Then you thank the bees. You saved his life. That should count for something with the damn
bees." My voice faltered.
"Don't
insult them or they won't help no matter how much you uh, care for the good
Inspector Kramer. They may have scouts
sucking nectar from the petunias, checking you out." Harry waved his hand toward the window box
where a bee busily visited each bloom.
My
husband's mood shifted as quickly as a stray cloud across a beaming sun. His mood swings had swelled and crested about
eighteen months after his 'return from the grave.' The doctors had warned me and his family that
his mind was trying to balance itself from the horror he'd been through after a
South American gang he was trying to break kidnapped him. Harry had lived a different life before our
marriage; a life I didn't suspect until he disappeared on a 'business' trip to
I
recognized this adjustment and decided not to belabor the point. "All right then. Let's sneak past their sentry into the
kitchen and put some lunch together for a picnic. I'd like to walk to the ruins you showed me
last month."
"Excellent
idea."
"What's
an excellent idea?" Dorothy Marsden
walked into the room from the kitchen.
"Good
morning, mum." Harry planted a
dutiful kiss on his mother's cheek.
Dorothy beamed at her son. She
appeared to have grown more animated and younger with each passing day since
our arrival. Her soft gray eyes gleamed
and her gentle mouth seemed less pursed.
Dorothy wore her silver hair in a soft chin-length bob. Even her hair shimmered as though lit from
within with its own light source.
I knew
my presence wasn't the cause of her metamorphosis. Harry's effect wasn't limited to his
mother. William Marsden seemed to also
have strengthened in his son's presence.
William had suffered a heart attack several years earlier, when the
erroneous news of his son's death had reached him. Each time we visited since Harry's rescue,
William had seemed buoyed by the time we spent with them. This visit had lasted much longer. I'm sure they felt as though their son had
moved back home.
"Gracie
and I are planning a walk to the ruins."
He smiled at his mother.
"First, we are planning to cop the
I
laughed at his bill of fare. Harry could
snack all day and never gain an ounce. I
came from a corned beef and pasta genetic coupling. My mother's lean, Irish genes were most
apparent in three of my brothers. My
father's Morelli genes settled in me and my older brother Mike Jr. He looked exactly like our father. We always pushed away from the Morelli tavola well
before our siblings Joseph, Glen, and Marty.
"I
thought you'd want to enjoy the day outdoors so I had Mary pack a hamper for
you. You'd best check if the pickles are
in there." Dorothy's soft voice
filled with warmth as her maternal instincts were satisfied.
Mary, a
local lady who worked in the neighborhood for several
older couples, would come in and do housework and some cooking. She had been a godsend when William had first
become ill.
"Pickles
are gone. Ate the last one last
night," William Marsden said from the front porch. Posed in front of the window box, he looked
every inch the English Cottage Gardener.
For the umpteenth time I wished for my camera.
Dorothy
chided him. "Then you've eaten half
a jar of pickles, William, cause that's what I put up
after supper. Your blood pressure will
be sky high and I won't be rushing you off to hospital when you faint
away."
"Nonsense,
I'm fit. I have this minute returned
from a brisk walk into town and back.
I've been to the chemist. They've
one of those blood pressure machines.
Took my turn. 132 over 80. Shows what you know."
He
certainly did look fit. William Marsden,
at seventy something, looked like an older version of
Harry or rather Harry a younger version of William. He was not quite as tall as his son, but every
bit as ramrod straight. At his age, his
build was trim and his bright blue eyes as clear as a mountain stream. I smiled as I recognized Harry thirty odd
years from now.
"Sorry,
son. I left those olives H
"I'd
best check to see what else you've devoured.
Your appetite hasn't been this hearty in years. I'll have to remind Mary to buy an extra hen
for tonight's supper." Dorothy
finished her sentence more to herself as she bustled into the kitchen.
"Your
mother loves fussing over the two of you.
She's planning some sort of dinner tomorrow night for the only people
left in Arundel who haven't met you, Grace." William stepped into the room and removed his
lightweight fedora. His close-cropped
gray hair bore the slight indentation of his hatband. He ran his hand over his hair. "Come to think, that dinner is a
surprise. Your mother will have my hide
if she finds out I let it slip. Be
surprised when she tells you. There's a
good pair. I'd best be back to my
chores." He smiled as he turned to
leave.
William's
chores, I had discovered, consisted of walking their Yorkie,
Duncan and puttering in his vegetable garden.
I vowed to follow him around and take pictures of his garden. My dad planted a garden every year. I'd have to show him people plant things
other than tomatoes, bell peppers,
A
thought occurred to me. "You
haven't told them we're leaving, have you?"
"Not
yet. I didn't want to spoil the fun
they're having fussing over us. I was
going to try to tell them tonight."
"Try
to tell them? We're leaving in three
days, Harry. I thought I was the last to
know."
"I've
had a hell of a time telling anyone. I
knew you'd be nervous about going home and I knew they'd be disappointed that
we're leaving. We have to go home."
It
almost sounded like a question. I shook
my head in resignation. "Yes, we
have to go home. We'll tell them tonight
after supper, but before your mom starts playing the piano and we all start
singing. I couldn't do it then."
"Agreed." Harry put his arms around me and rested his
chin on top of my head. I snuggled into
his arms.
A good man indeed.
A loud
crash from the kitchen broke the mood and our embrace.
Chapter Two
"Naughty,
nasty boy!" Dorothy Marsden
admonished the rotund Arlo, swiping with a flyswatter at the spot he'd recently
occupied. Arlo's timed retreat from the table top to under the potato bin where Dorothy couldn't
reach him was not rushed. The
imperturbable orange short hair never scampered. His dignified escape lacked decorum as a
length of sausage hanging from his furry mouth muffled his loud chirp of
accomplishment. "Nasty, old
thing. I don't know why William
tolerates his tomfoolery. Never see
Annabelle or Star causing mischief."
Harry
and I stood in the doorway of the kitchen.
The room, generous by Arundel cottage standards but tiny by comparison
to the kitchen I barely used in Pine Marsh gleamed spotless in the morning
light. I marveled at all the delicious
dinners and scrumptious baking Mary and Dorothy produced in this tiny
space. The oversized wooden farmer's
table dominating the room served as prep area and staging area for all the meals
served from this kitchen. The wooden
expanse, usually scrubbed to a pine shine, looked like an
unscheduled dinner prep was underway.
Dorothy
turned to face us after realizing she couldn't reach the triumphant tomcat even
with the aid of the swatter. "That
animal is exasperating. Your father
knows he's a troublemaker, but he insists on letting him have the run of the
house. Why do I put up with him?'
"Arlo
or Dad, Mum?" Harry's question
caught Dorothy off guard and she narrowed her gray eyes before she answered.
"Don't
make me choose, not right this moment."
Harry
and I burst into laughter. Dorothy
couldn't stay angry long; it wasn't in her nature. She laughed with us and moved to clean up the
mess William's cat had made.
"Let
me get those." I stooped down and
retrieved the scattered fruit from under the table careful to avoid the shards
of crockery smashed on the floor. I
collected apples, pears, and a kiwi and placed them in the sink to be washed. Harry
brought out the broom and dustpan and swept up the broken crockery.
"Harry
dear, dump that under the downspout at the corner please." Dorothy indicated out the back door. "We're trying to keep the puddles away
from the foundation. Since your father
lured that awful animal home last year, we've been adding to the pile on a
regular basis."
Her
comment caused another round of laughter.
"You won't be laughing when you see what's left of your
lunch."
Dorothy
pointed to the overturned straw hamper on the table. The basket, similar to the ones I'd purchased
for my sisters-in-law for Christmas presents, lay on its side with the contents
mindlessly pulled from the interior.
Arlo had shredded the wrapper on the cheese. The olives, ripped from their plastic wrap,
lay strewn on the table unappetizingly coated with orange fur. A few pieces of fruit were
deemed eatable; the rest traveled to the compost bucket under the sink.
"There's
still plenty, Mum. Don't worry we won't
starve," Harry assured his mother.
She seemed appeased. I thought
the fare looked a little skimpy for two appetites, but then I always ate more
than my husband.
After we
had been married a short time Harry had announced to my dad, ' I'd rather
clothe her than feed her, Mike.'
In
retaliation I had asked Karen my best friend to take me shopping; a dream come
true for my 5'10" pal with great fashion sense who had been itching to
outfit me for all the years we'd been friends.
There had been no comment when I handed Harry the receipts from
Nordstrom and Saks. He still refers to
that spree as the day
"Plenty,"
I echoed. I'd eat my sandal strap before
I admitted there wasn't enough for me.
When Dorothy turned away from the table to ask Harry when we pl
"We'll
be back around three; will we be in time for tea?" Since Harry's return he'd fallen comfortably
into his old habit of afternoon tea. It
was a lovely custom, giving everyone an opportunity to relax and catch up with
each other. The Marsdens had been dears
to stock their pantry with coffee for me.
They unboxed a relic of a percolator from the fifties, when post war
"Of
course, dear. We'll wait tea for you and
Grace." Dorothy beamed at her
son. I hated the thought that we would
shatter her happiness later this evening.
She knew we couldn't stay here
forever. We have a life across the
pond. We have problems to work out back
home. I shook my head slightly to
stop the thoughts.
Harry
noticed my movement. "All set,
love?"
"Yes." I smiled at him. "All set."
"Excellent. Then we're off." He lifted two lightweight slickers from the
peg near the back door. "Might
sprinkle." He held one out to me
and draped the other over his arm. I
dutifully took my 'second skin' and slipped a water bottle holder over my
shoulder. Our basket held a tasty
Riesling, but I wanted to chug not sip when I became thirsty.
"Oh,
wait. I want to get my camera. I'll be right back." I hurried through the living room to the back
hall and up the stairs. I swooped into
our room and stopped in my tracks. There
on our bed lay a resplendent, snoozing Arlo flanked by Annabelle and Star. Apparently William's tomcat didn't repulse
Dorothy's two calico ladies. My camera lay under Arlo's sizable head, being used as a pillow of sorts. This would make a great picture. Not to be.
I quietly approached the bed. Star
lifted her head and meowed hello. Arlo's
eyelids opened cautiously. Two tawny
eyes apprised me. I moved closer and explained
my situation.
"Arlo,
I need to take my camera. Nice kitty
boy, let me get this hard lumpy camera out from under your head." I'm not sure why I talked to the orange mound
except that the two girls had been extremely friendly toward me even spending
some nights on the bed while we slept.
Arlo had shown no signs of liking me.
"Gracie. What's the hold up?"
Arlo's
head snapped up at Harry's voice.
"Okay, Arlo. You heard
him. He'll be up here any minute." Arlo stood and stretched insufferably long,
never moving from his spot. A second
before Harry appeared in the doorway the cat lumbered to edge of the bed and
plopped to the carpet. He brushed
against Harry's leg as he left the room.
"Hullo,
big boy. So here's where you've gone off
to." Harry looked at the two
remaining felines. "Can't blame you
old boy," he called after the retreating tomcat. "C'mon Gracie, no time to play with the
cats now." Harry walked to the bed,
patted each Calico, and picked up the camera.
I followed him down the stairs hoping the rest of the morning would be
normal.
Idyllic,
more like it. The well-worn footpath we
traveled led us through meadows teeming with wildflowers blooming with
abandon. I recognized the small, white
flowers of Feverfew and Marguerites, and the bright purple and pink Dames
Rockets, although those weren't their English names. Harry identified all of the flowers and
pronounced their botanical names.
"Did
your firm publish a book on wildflowers once?
Where did you learn all this? And why do the English have different names for
everything? Seems snobby of them to
change our names."
Harry
smiled at what he referred to as my American view of the world. "Could it be possible that those pesky
colonists changed the names? Did you
ever think of that possibility?"
I
hadn't. "If they did, it makes
perfect sense. Why would anyone call
something as pretty as a Christmas Rose,
Hellebores?" I smirked and crossed
my arms in a position of case closed.
Harry
laughed and threw his head back, shouting up to the skies, "I love this
nutcase, Grace Elena Morelli Marsden."
Idyllic
indeed.
The time
flew by and we found ourselves back at the cottage shortly after
"My
sister is here," Harry said pointing to a travel
bag on the floor next to the table. It
was indeed H
Dorothy
and William Marsden sat side by side on the burgundy and tan striped sofa while
their daughter sat opposite them in one of the taupe hued wingback chairs. The silence and serious faces frightened
me. Harry spoke first.
"Hans,
what are you doing here? It's great to
see you, isn't it Mum, Dad?" Harry
looked from face to face waiting for someone to say something.
"What's
wrong, H
H
"I
didn't know they didn't know you were leaving tomorrow after next. I wanted to get to you before you went
home. Didn't mean to jinx your
timing."
"Not
your fault, Hans." Harry moved
toward his parents. He sat down in the
other wingback chair. "I didn't
know how to tell you, Mum. Grace and I
owe you so much for taking us in. I felt
like we were betraying you by leaving."
"Tish. Owe your parents for taking you in? Is that the nonsense they teach in
Her
voice trembled a little. "We knew
you'd have to go back. We didn't want to
face that time. It's been grand having
you here. It's wonderful that H
Everyone
had their assignment. Except me.
I saw
the look exchanged between brother and sister.
I knew H
"Dorothy,
let me help you, and H
"Thank
you, dear. How thoughtful. Actually tea is no bother but my mum always
said, 'tea made by two is twice blessed for the rest.' Come along then."
Now I
knew why Harry came up with what I called 'britcoms,'
anecdotal phrases with a British flavor.
H
My
curiosity was bursting when ten minutes later the family gathered in the living
room. Dorothy carefully poured each of
us a cup of tea. It was a pleasant
ritual, anticipating the taste of the delicious aroma wafting from the ceramic
spout as it released its brew du jour. The filling of Dorothy's cup signaled us to begin. Harry and H
I had
already heard the update. My mind
wandered to what news H
My
twirling, twisting and braiding had started in childhood. A diagnosis of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
at least identified my dysfunction and allowed my family to find a way to live
with my quirks. I usually kept a length
of yarn with me at all times, but hair would do in a pinch.
Harry's
first words since he sat down prompted a small yelp from me. I jerked my hand down forgetting it still
held my hair. My surprise was genuine.
"What
did you say?"
His face
showed no emotion.
"We're
leaving in the morning. Our flight
leaves from Gatwick at ten o'clock."
Dorothy
and William looked crestfallen. First,
they thought they had two days left with their son;
now he would be snatched away after only a few more hours. I felt sorry for them. A lump formed in my throat. I hated to see them upset;
such sweet, wonderful people. My
father-in-law's brave voice interrupted my thoughts.
"I
guess our girl brought you some news.
You do what's best, son."
William reached out a hand and placed it on Harry's shoulder giving his
approval. Dorothy's reaction was another
thing. She looked miffed. I remembered what William had let slip earlier,
the party she had pl
"Harry,
couldn't we put it off one more day? I
mean we're visiting the bees and all tomorrow and we'd still be home one day
earlier than pl
Harry's
face clouded over at my suggestion but then lifted as
he too must have remembered his dad's comment.
He looked at H
Change much? What changed?
If someone wasn't dead or dying, how much could have changed?
"William,
where's Harry?"
I had
helped Dorothy and H
"He's
making a quick run to town to pick up a few items for me. Good lad."
Good lad, my foot! He
ducked out on me. I still have H
De ja vu.
"Dorothy,
where's H
"She's
gone into town to look up a friend.
Likes to keep in touch when she can."
I was a
victim of the Katzenjammer Twins. I wondered how many times they had pulled
this stunt or a variation on their parents and friends. I underestimated the 'twin factor' as their
friends called it; a natural plotting mechanism perfected by twins. Harry had the Marsdens' car and H
Wait a minute.
"Dorothy,
may I borrow your bicycle? I'd love a
ride. It's such a lovely day."
"Of
course, dear. It's right out back."
Three
could play at this game. I shot out the
back door of the kitchen and stopped short.
Dorothy had gone on and on about her trusty Schwinn
that Harry had sent one year for her birthday.
I assumed a top of the line ten-speed.
A light green, no speed bike leaned up against the chestnut tree in the
backyard. Geez. Which birthday was it?
I
gritted my teeth and silently apologized for my thoughts. I hopped on and wobbled out of the yard. Down to the lane I rolled frantically
squeezing the handlebars as I approached the stone pillar at their entrance
until I realized I needed to back pedal to stop.
It's a bike for pity sake, not an eighteen-wheeler. Relax.
You had one of these when you were ten.
I pulled
out into the lane. Oh, darn. They drive on the
wrong side. Bikes go the same way. I moved to the left side of the road certain
that each revolution of the tires brought me closer to a head on collision with
the one tourist that didn't get it.
After a
white-knuckle kilometer, I relaxed and began to enjoy the fields of recently
mowed and rolled hay, the rill running parallel to the road with its sluice
gate raised, and the mounds of wild Marguerite as I pedaled by on my green
traveling machine. I actually felt giddy
with excitement at my plan to catch those two in a conspiratorial huddle. I spotted their cars in front of the local
pub, The Sword and Goatherd. I knew
they'd be in there sipping warm beers and smiling about giving me the
slip. The pub, a two-story limestone
building with a whitewash veneer around the concrete sills and door lintels, had been listed in the county registry since the year 1798.
I hadn't
thought of what to do with Dorothy's bike once I arrived at my
destination. I didn't have a chain or
lock. Grace, this is Arundel not
It took
a moment for my eyes to adjust to the low lighting and haze of pub smoke. The Sword and Goatherd boasted of an outside
wall and partial cellar that predated the Crusades. This part of the establishment sported the
usual pub amenities. A long bar ran the
width of the room on the inside wall.
Regulars occupied almost every stool, the friendly bantering of lifelong
friends and habits filling the room.
Tables lined the opposite wall under the three mullioned windows which
were minimally effective since heavy vines covered the outside like a blind
allowing only a hint of light to penetrate.
Along the back wall near the hearth and fireplace I spotted two familiar
heads. They were both
half turned away from the front.
Perfect.
"The
house is rebuilt–it's fabulous. It would
be ridiculous for you and Grace to move," is what I heard as I approached.
"Why
would we move?" They both craned
their necks around so fast I thought I heard a pop. I smiled sweetly.
"Gracie,
I, we, uh, here darling." Harry
recovered and stood quickly to give me his seat. "Sit down. What would you like to drink?"
"One
of those lovely rum drinks would be wonderful." I smiled up at my confused looking husband.
H
"You
forgot the bike." I grinned at her
expression.
Harry
placed my drink in front of me and sat down.
"She took mum's bike."
The twins burst out laughing.
"I
should have known."
"I
wouldn't have had to bounce along that country road if you two had leveled with
me."
"Sorry,
darling. Old habit."
"Fine. I'll give you that 'twin thing' but why would
we move?"
H
"Now,
once again, why would we move?"
Harry
looked toward H
Oh, Lord. How bad could
this be?
"You're
scaring me. What's going on? Why did H
He
released my hand and gulped his scotch.
"Gracie, there is no easy way to tell you." He paused for another swig and realized he
had drained his drink. He looked frantic
for another scotch. H
"I'm
going up. Can I get anyone a
refill?" Harry shot her a grateful
look. She seemed more relieved to get
away than pleased to serve.
"Ric
Kramer moved in with Lily."
I stared
at his mouth trying to see the words that had escaped in that burst of a
sentence, because I couldn't believe the ones I'd heard. The man whom I became involved with when I
thought Harry had been killed, had taken up residence, a scant one half mile
from our home, with the woman whom Harry had been in a relationship with before
he met me. My silence signaled more
explanation.
"I
guess Lily felt some guilt about Ben and her father. She talked to Karen a few times and found out
that Ric was in rehab at Marionjoy. Karen told her about his difficulty in
getting to and from his appointments.
So…" Harry stopped and
gratefully accepted the drink H
Yes, I
was surprised to hear about Ric. Yes, I
hoped that Harry's gorgeous ex-lover would have moved out of Pine Marsh. Yes, somewhere in my woman's heart of hearts
I felt a twinge of jealousy that he had found someone. I mean, Ric never went for long without a
beautiful woman on his arm but he had never moved in with one or allowed one to
move into his Oak Park brownstone.
"Okay,
So Lily is a Good Samaritan and housing Ric for his convenience while he's
rehabbing. The house has several
bedrooms." After I spoke, I
realized how petty that sounded.
"Apparently
it's working out better than that."
Harry paused to choose his words.
I knew he did that when he didn't relish what he had to say.
Good grief, could he be upset about Lily taking in Ric? Harry never forgave him for falling in love
with me. Was he upset with him now for
taking up with Lily? Upset with
Lily? For turning to Ric–like I had?
I
remained silent.
"Ric
finished his rehab weeks ago. He and
Lily have a deeper interest in each other.
He's moved in with her on a permanent basis."
H
"Hans,
you didn't tell me that."
"Sorry,
chap. Was about to before Gracie came
in. That's another reason I wanted to do
this in person. Mum and Dad say they
don't see me enough the months I'm in London.
I haven't told them I'm giving up my flat and moving to Oak Park."
H
"Anything
else you wanted to tell me." Harry
arched one eyebrow at his sister. A
mirror image shot back at him.
"Good
God, isn't that enough?"
"Quite."
I didn't
know what to say. I couldn't think
beyond the old Western cliché, this town
ain't big enough for the two of us, make that the four of us. The paper coaster under my drink had
disappeared into my hands during Harry's explanation. It reappeared as bits of white confetti on
the table.
Harry put his left hand over mine and tipped up my chin with
his other hand. "That's why we
should consider moving. I can't live
that close to Kramer." Harry kept
my chin up so he could look into my eyes.
"And it's not because he's with Lily. That was over and it will stay that way. I believe Kramer is using Lily to get closer
to you. I don't know what I'd do, Grace,
if he tried to come between us."
The word
again went unspoken, but as clear as
if he had shouted.
Harry grew agitated.
The worst was over. Why wasn't he
calming down? He knocked over his drink
when he pulled back his hand. I sopped
up liquid with my shredded coaster. H
"What
else?"
H
"Stay. You brought this news; maybe you can tell it
easier."
H
"Lily's having a baby?" I interrupted looking from face to face. A baby, that explains
all this. "Ric got her
pregnant?"
"Grace,
listen to me." H
"Look,
I may not have majored in Science but even I know it takes nine months and
Ric's only known her for six." My
jovial comment crumbled like a three legged stool with
the wobbles as I understood.
Words of
a madman during his attempt to kill me came back to me
with startling clarity, 'they belong together; a bond you might say'.
I turned
my eyes to my husband. His face told me
what I already knew; I asked anyway.
"How
old?"
"He's
ten."
Chapter Three
My chin
slumped to my chest. Wings of thick
brown hair swept down each side of my face like curtains closing across a
darkened stage.
"Gracie?" Harry's voice came low, and close. I could sense his movement across the table
to lean near me. The scotch on his breath
reached my nostrils. His hand rested on
my shoulder.
I heard
the scrape of his chair and realized he was getting up. "Let's get out of here, Grace. C'mon.
I'll help you out." Without
lifting his hand from my shoulder he moved out of his chair and squatted down
next to me.
I knew I
had to lift my head and look at him. I
didn't want to. My whole world with
Harry had shifted precariously near to shattering. We couldn't have children because of injuries
Harry suffered years before at the hands of his kidnappers. We had accepted that circumstance; had talked
recently of overseas adoption.
Now he
had a child. A son with Lily.
"Why
didn't you know?" I spoke into my
chest.
"I
stopped seeing Lily the month after I met you at Regina. We were moving in opposite directions in our
lives. She left for New York. I never knew.
I'm not accepting this claim at face value. I've a call in to David. He'll sort this out. I've not seen documents, blood tests,
anything."
I slowly
raised my head. Tears slipped from the
corners of my eyes creating paths down my cheeks. "Is there a chance he isn't your
son? Why would she lie about it? Why didn't she tell you when she first saw
you?"
"Grace,
slow down. I don't know any more than
you do. I'm not committing to anything
until I see proof."
H
I
recognized the design on the back flap, Lily's wildly popular stationery, 'Wee Uns'. A panda cub
snoozed, his head resting on oversized paws.
Harry's
hand trembled slightly as he slipped his thumb inside the flap to slide out the
contents. He held the photo still and
stared at it until his vision must have blurred from the tears that filled his
eyes. He brushed at his eyes with his
left hand and carefully turned the photograph toward me.
I've seen this before.
What's H
Something's different.
Color. This one's in color.
"Oh,
God," my voice barely above a whisper.
I looked at Harry. He had turned
the photo so he could still see the little blonde haired boy laughing into the
camera. An expression I'd seen before
moved across Harry's face like sunrise rolling over the landscape touching
every corner, first his mouth lifting slightly at the corners to reveal a grin,
then his cheekbones rising with the impetus from his lips and finally his eyes
widening and reflecting the joy in his soul.
Unconditional
love; offered to a select few. Our circle had expanded to include the sunny
child in the photo. Now the need was
Harry's. A child, a son. I turned over the photo and read the
inscription out loud, 'Will at Brighton'.
"His
name is Nicholas William, but he goes by Will."
We both
turned our eyes from the photo to stare at H
The
movement of the 747 on its descent pattern to Boston's Logan Airport nudged me
from borderline snoozing to fully awake.
In the few seconds that transition took, my brain leaped from happy to
be coming home to remembering why I didn't want the metal behemoth to land.
Harry
and H
Our
behavior had not gone unnoticed by Harry's
parents. Before the last guest reached
the lane, Dorothy had caught each of her children with a foot tapping 'don't
you fib to me', arms crossed on her chest look.
In that
moment my throat tightened as I realized it mirrored the exact stance I'd seen
my mother take a hundred times with my brothers. Well, maybe me too, now and then; usually
because of one brother or the other. I
swallowed hard to break the lump forming in my throat; even five years after
her death, the lump in my heart never lessened.
The
double-barrel news of H
Harry
touched my arm as the plane landed.
"No sense rushing off," he said. We sat quietly amid a stream of hurrying
humanity. People jostling each other,
bumping elbows, banging overhead bins shut, dragging oversized luggage up the
aisle to the exit. We had a two-hour
layover in Boston before United Airlines would deliver us to O'Hare. That would give us enough time to go through
customs here and find our new gate. My
brother Mike had volunteered to meet us.
I knew my family; I'm sure a welcome home party lurked somewhere in
their plans.
Normally,
it would be wonderful to see everyone I'd missed all summer. But nothing would be
normal anymore. I looked up to find the
plane almost empty, the last few scurrying travelers moving toward the flight
attendant for their final 'bye-bye'. We
pulled carry on luggage from the overhead and deplaned.
We left
the plane in search of bathrooms. When I
came out of the crowded ladies room Harry stood at one
of the food kiosks. I accepted the cup
of coffee and pulled some napkins out of the container. We moved to a table several feet away; one of
those high tables, bar height, no stools. Standing felt good after seven hours of
sitting.
We
tapped our paper cups in a mock toast.
"Almost home," Harry said.
"Almost
home," I echoed. "Let's not
tell my family about the, I mean your, about him. The last thing they knew, we were looking
into adopting a little girl from Eastern Europe. Karen and H
"Darling,
I'm not saying we won't. I need time to
sort this out. We shouldn't be rushing
off to adopt a child when we haven't even met the one we already have."
"You
have," I interrupted.
"Gracie,
if he's my son, he's our son. It won't
be any other way."
I
drained my coffee to avoid answering and then stuffed my napkin into the empty
cup. "We'd better get to
customs." I moved slowly, short and
stiff, like I had to conserve my strength to keep the scream building inside me
from bursting out.
Harry
tried to take the cup from my clenched fist to throw it away. He gently closed his hand over mine and
finally won the cup's release. He must
have sensed how close I was to snapping.
He didn't try to soothe me; instead he turned in the direction we needed
to go. I followed.
Dammit, Grace. Be there
for him. This is tearing him apart
too. Remember the shock when the family
learned that Joe had a daughter. We
didn't stop to ask questions, point fingers.
We scooped up Jolene and loved her with all our collective hearts. Wasn't this the same? We didn't know, but we'll love him. I'll love him. He's Harry's; how could I
not love him. But
Lily. She'll always be his mother,
always be there.
I went
through customs on automatic. The short
line allowed us to be checked, stamped, and approved
more quickly than we had pl
"If
I needed to get through that line quickly it wouldn't have happened." Harry picked up my carry on and swung it on
to his left shoulder. "Let's head
for our gate and wait there. I'll track
down some snacks for us."
Our gate
was, of course, the furthest away.
"I'll take my bag. It's not
like we're skipping cross the hall."
Harry relinquished the leather tote and took the lead toward Gate
26. Somewhere around Gate 22 I became
aware of a figure waving from across the carpeted gate area. She moved toward us at a fast familiar pace.
"Karen? What are you doing here?" My best friend, Karen Kramer, rushed over to
us. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's
wrong. You have got to get some help
with that Italian dark side of yours. Can't
a friend meet friends?"
Harry
and I both fixed her with a yeah right look.
Harry spoke first. "Hans
isn't on this flight, but you knew that.
So…? He left his question
hanging.
"All
right. I wanted to come ahead to let you
know that everyone knows."
"Everyone
knows?"
"She
means, the 'Barnum and Morelli' circus is forming, the vultures are circling,
there's no turning back, the world will never be the same, they know."
I
couldn't have sounded more unhinged if I'd ranted about little green men. I must have looked as bad. Harry and Karen stared at me as if my
outburst made me certifiable. Karen's
slack jaw, openmouthed expression caused me to gingerly check my lips for foam.
I tried
a small smile to let them know the crazy person they'd heard had left the
building or at least, my body.
"Sorry. I guess I
over-reacted."
"See. That's why I flew out to meet you. I know her, how she thinks, or doesn't
sometimes, and I thought you deserved advanced warning.
"Karen
you are a gem." Harry squeezed her
shoulders in a grateful hug. "We'd
best board. You can fill us in during
the flight."
With the
flight to Chicago full, Karen's seat was nowhere near ours. Harry offered to change seats so Karen and I
could talk.
"Okay,
when you say everyone knows, how everyone are we talking?" I had become remarkably calm. The vodka tonic Harry had pressed into my
hand as we boarded had some small part in my altered attitude. The tiny vodka bottles Karen had pulled from
her carry on finished the job.
Karen waited
until I had poured another bottle of clear liquid over the melting ice in my
airport cup. "I may have
exaggerated about everyone knowing; I
don't think they telegrammed your father's family in
I burst
into laughter and knew she was trying to help.
"Your
father's great aunt, the one in Villa Scalabrini?"
"Zia
Assunta? She knows? God, she's ninety-seven." I shook my head in amazement at the Morelli
grapevine.
"She
knows but she doesn't understand. She
told your Aunt Edna to start cranking out the pizelles
for the baby shower."
The hoot
that escaped my lips caused heads to turn and the cabin attendant to look at me
with concern. I smiled assuredly with
what I hoped wasn't a lopsided grin.
"It's
like when your niece Katie thought I was her aunt too, because she always saw
us together at your house."
I smiled
as I remembered all the time Karen had spent at my house while we attended
college. Her mother had died the summer
before we met at Regina. The Morelli
family had embraced her like one of their own.
"It's
like we were sisters; the ones we never had."
I leaned
toward Karen like only the tipsy can when they think they're telling a
secret. "If Ric marries Lily then
he'd be a step-dad and Harry would be related by marriage and H
My face
must have reflected my failure to plot a familial connection. Karen's outburst of laughter sent me into a
fit of giggles that escalated into hiccups.
The
plane touched down and the realization that I would be facing my family,
reality, and a new life in a few minutes snapped the fuzzy edge right off my
vodka high.
Once
again, we waited until most of the passengers had deplaned leaving the aisles
easier to travel.
I spotted
Mike immediately. My sister-in-law,
Carolyn, and Marty's daughter, Katie stood next to him. How much I'd missed my family became apparent
as tears sprang to my eyes. Thoughts of
ever living anywhere else evaporated like July rain on Chicago asphalt.
Mike
hugged me, especially robustly it seemed, probably
trying to fortify me for what lay ahead.
I kissed Carolyn and Katie and kept my arm around my niece's
shoulder. I looked past them into the
crowd.
"Just
us, kiddo. You were expecting a band?" Mike laughed at his own joke.
"Just
cousin Lou with his concertina. I
thought Dad would be here."
"He
wanted to come but he had too much to do for your party."
"Party?"
Harry
and I echoed the question.
"Oh,
yeah, Aunt Grace. Grandpa has been cooking
for days. Everybody's coming." Katie's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Dad and Uncle Glen are putting up a
tent, the boys are in charge of the karaoke, and Chris is bringing his garage
band, None of the Above, to play."
The boys
were Mike and Carolyn's sons, Jeff and Joe.
Chris was Lou's son. He played
keyboard in a garage band with three friends from high school. I think Katie's interest extended beyond
their style of music and directly to the blond, lead guitarist.
"Sounds
great," I said with some enthusiasm not wanting to disappoint the look on
her face. My stomach churned; the vodka trying to retrace its recent path. I grabbed Karen by the hand. "Where's the closest bathroom? You're in the airport all the time."
"This
way. C'mon." Karen tugged me toward the bathroom. "We'll meet you at the luggage
carousel," she called over her shoulder.
Throwing
up always made me feel better. This time
was no exception. I splashed cold water
on my face while Karen rolled down paper towels for me. She wet several, squeezed out the excess
water, and clamped them on the back of my neck.
I shivered and shrugged out from under them.
"I
threw up; I didn't faint."
The lady at the next sink smirked at my comment, quickly dried
her hands, and left.
Karen
balled up the wet towels and tossed them into the receptacle. "Two points!" She rolled down a few more towels. "Gracie, you have to get over this. Your entire family is waiting under a tent in
your dad's backyard. The guest list is
boundless."
"You're
enjoying this, aren't you?" I
questioned her mirror image. She moved
next to me and put her arms around my shoulders. Her eyes reflected in the glass filled with
warmth.
"You
can do this. They want to be there for
you, to let you know they love you no matter what. So what if everyone knows about the boy? It's in the open and over with."
"Will."
"Will
what?" Karen's eyebrows lifted.
"His
name. The boy's name is Will."
"Oh. Okay.
Let's get out there. You and
Harry can stay for an hour or so and then plead exhaustion. I arranged for your cousin Nick to drive you
home when you give him the signal."
I turned
and hugged Karen. "Okay, let's do
it." I let go of her and
straightened up to my full 5'4" stature and moved toward the door. Almost at the door I spotted the double
switch plate on the wall. Oh, no.
Not now. Fifty? No.
Ten. I'll do ten. Okay, twenty.
Only twenty.
Karen
recognized the silent struggle I held with myself. She had seen enough of my OCD
behaviors to know one at its onslaught.
"I'll get the door."
Karen
stood outside ready to direct people elsewhere.
She waited as I clicked the lights on and off twenty times counting, one, one thousand, two, one
thousand, in my head between clicks.
I sheepishly opened the door when I finished. "Sorry."
Karen
took my arm and we walked down to the luggage area. "Don't be silly. Remember sophomore year
when I stood outside the john on the fourth floor of Power Hall so you could
tap dance across the tiled floor because the acoustics were 'perfect'? That was dicey. This is a piece of cake."
"Did
I ever thank you for that?"
"Probably,
or not. Who's keeping count
anyway?"
"Not
me." I grinned and squeezed her
arm.
We
rounded the corner and spotted the pack mules.
Mike and Harry worked at stacking suitcases, boxes, and garment bags on
two airport handcarts. A summer abroad
could add up to a lot of stuff, especially since we had arrived in England with
practically nothing in tow. No longer
true.
I walked
over to the convoy and picked up a small box tied with twine and looped to a
plastic handle.
"Gee
thanks, Sis. That makes all the
difference."
I smiled
at my brother and heard giggles from Katie.
Harry laughed and told Mike, "I don't think
we'll get all this in one vehicle. Did
you and Carolyn drive separate cars by any chance?"
"No
we didn't, but I know my sister and I borrowed my neighbor's Suburban. We'll fit fine. If not, Gracie can ride on the roof
rack."
I
responded like the bratty little sister of long ago. "I'll tell Dad."
"Who
do think suggested that seating arrangement?"
We
laughed at Mike's quick wit and left the airport in fine humor. The thirty minute
drive from O'Hare to
Chapter Four
The
billowing striped tent visible from a block away announced the event. The pulsating bass audible from half that
distance engulfed the van like a beam pulling us closer. Celebration
time, come on, boom, boom, boom.
The
words were clear as we parked in a spot obviously left open for us since cars
were already three deep on the dead end street between my dad's house and the
Byrd's house. My brother hadn't called
from the car so either an advanced scout, in the form of some cousin loitering
in a bush at the corner of Taft and Bohlander or the Chopper Five News, was in
on it. I prayed it was the cousin.
"She's
here, she's here," the cry went up.
People rushed from the house, from the backyard, even from next door
where some of the overflow guests chatted with the Shedd family. In one surreal moment I envisioned the
stampede of familial enthusiasm causing a shift in the earth by their sudden
and pointed movement.
Real
time kicked in and I leaped forward to hug my dad.
"Welcome
home, Honey. I missed you."
"Thanks,
Dad. I missed you too. I know I stayed too long."
"You
did what you had to do and now you're home." I stayed in my dads embrace feeling the
unconditional love that had always sustained me. I watched family and friends edging closer,
waiting for their cue.
"I'd
better let you say hello. I don't know
how much longer I can hog my little girl."
"'Til the cows come home." I smiled and took a deep breath. I grinned, raised my hand, and said,
"Hi."
I tried
to relax while moving among my friends and family, hugging and kissing my way
to the house. Somewhere between the
sidewalk and the front porch a glass of wine materialized in my hand. I briefly wished that Scotty from the
Enterprise would beam me up. Instead, I allowed myself to be led around the far side of the house.
The
backyard stood transformed; I stood transfixed.
Yards of purple and yellow striped canvas rose above groupings of white
tables and chairs. A dozen aluminum
poles held up the canopy at the corners and sides around a large center post
that looked like a mast. A striped
pouch, filled with purple shades of Lobelia, Wave Petunias, and Alyssum hung
from each corner. Each table center held
a cachepot filled with Pansies.
My
father moved next to me as I took in the view.
I linked my arm in his.
"Dad, it's fabulous. Thank
you so much." I was in danger of
bursting into tears.
"Okay,
everybody. Time to eat." His strong voice turned the tide of people
from me to the long table set up at the far end of the tent.
I looked
around for Harry, realizing that I hadn't seen him since we left the
peacefulness of the van. He stood near
my dad's grape arbor talking to my brother, Joe. Rather more like Joe was talking to him. Harry's hands were stuffed
into his pockets; his posture looked tense.
Joe, who doesn't wear his Roman Catholic collar when he isn't on duty, placed his hand on Harry's
shoulder while he spoke. I considered
walking over; I hadn't yet greeted my oldest brother, but I suspected that Joe
might be recounting his surprise at finding out years earlier that he had a
ten-year-old child he'd never known about.
I turned away from the scene and the thought. This was my party and I didn't want to think
about Harry and Lily's son.
It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to, cry
if I want to…ran
through my head until I laughed out loud.
I never even liked Leslie Gore.
"Happy
to see your sense of humor is alive and well," Tracy said. She handed me a bottle of water and took my
glass. "You need to hydrate. Karen told me what happened at the airport."
Tracy
was the third side of the triangle from Regina College and an excellent nurse
at Elmhurst Memorial Hospital. Every bit
as tall as Karen's 5'10" and similar in body style, Tracy wore her light
brown, blonde streaked hair long and curly.
Her gray eyes sc
"Drink. You look beat. Let's sit down under the big top. Better yet, let's go inside and you can be
comfortable."
"I
can't leave."
"Now
that the eating lamp is lit no one will miss you." Tracy smiled at her evaluation. She'd been to enough Morelli parties to know
the procedure. "We have at least
until cake and coffee before anyone will come looking for you."
The
inside of my father's house was cool and quiet.
We moved into the living room and sat side by side on the loveseat.
"Take
another drink," she ordered.
"I know all about the boy."
I looked
at her about to ask and then shook my head.
"Who doesn't know?"
Tracy
smiled and patted my knee. "Gracie,
you know your family. To them he's
another child to cherish and raise in the tradition of
the Morelli Familia. Your cousins are already setting up outings
to Cub games for him with the Fragasso, Scala, and Anderson kids. By the time your family is finished with him,
he'll be more yours than hers. Not that
it's a contest or anything," she added quickly.
I felt a
sense of release at her words.
Discovering Will wouldn't be a disaster but rather a catalyst to
continuing our plan to adopt. I realized
that having Harry's son in our home on whatever terms would leave an ache when
he wasn't there. An ache we would fill
with a child of our own.
Tracy
stood up and looked at her watch.
"I can't believe how long we've been in here. I'd better find my husband and kids. We're supposed to be at my cousin's anniversary
party right about now."
"They're
here? I didn't see them. I have to say hello to those guys." Tracy's sons, Benjamin and Matthew were the
sweetest kids. They were all boy and
charming as all get out while they wriggled in and out of mischief.
"Stay. Relax, you need that more.
You see them all the time.
Anyway, I told them we'd come out to your place next week. They can't wait to use the hot tub."
"We
don't have a…"
Tracy
arched an eyebrow and grinned. "You
do now." She leaned down and kissed
my cheek. "I'll call you next
week." Tracy took a few steps then
stopped. She turned with what appeared
to be the air of an afterthought.
"Oh, by the way, the hospital posted a great job. They need someone who can–"
"Stop,"
I interrupted, my hand flung forward ala Diana Ross in her signature song. "What is it with all these jobs? I can't go two days without someone telling
me about a 'great job', 'made for you job', 'can't pass it up job'." I stopped talking and pinned Tracy with the
best angry look I could muster.
She
laughed and shook her head. "You
are such an exaggerator. A job at
Trinity and a job at Elmhurst shouldn't evoke that response."
Before I
could enlighten her as to the rising toll of job offers, Harry, my dad, and
cousin Nick walked in. Nick pantomimed
sweeping a cap from his head. "Car
for 'ire, Milady." The cockney
accent was a cute touch coming from a young kid with a surname that used more
vowels than consonants. Harry smiled and
rolled his eyes.
I
stepped into a bear hug with my dad.
"Thanks for everything, Dad.
The party was great. I'll call
you tomorrow when I'm back on USA time."
He
patted my back. A small gesture but so
comforting. He turned to Nick. "Take that box on the counter out to the
car with you." He turned back to
me. "You two hardly ate. There's some of everything in there."
"Thanks, Mike."
Harry shook hands with my dad, who was a two handed shaker, when he
liked you. Harry followed suit and the
two of them looked like a huddle ready to break.
A final
wave and we headed to the home we hadn't seen since it had
been damaged by an explosion and fire.
Nick talked all the way down Taft Avenue to Butterfield Rd. to York Road
until he merged onto I-88. He stopped
talking at the tollbooth.
I had
leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
I heard Harry caution Nick.
"I think she's out."
His voice was low. Nick got the
message and stayed silent until we left the toll way. I could tell by the change in speed that we
were on residential streets. I knew we'd
be home soon. I opened my eyes as I felt
the car turn onto the main drive into Pine Marsh. Our corner of the world consisted of six
homes nestled in a pine forest surrounded by a semi-reclaimed marsh. Our home, the Atwater's home, and now the
DeFreest home were on the north side of the compound. Three other families shared the south side of
the beautiful development.
Ours was
the furthest away from the fork in the road.
We passed Lily's house; no way to tell if
anyone was home. Barb's house came
next. I knew she and her husband and son
were still at the party. A slight curve
in the road and I leaned forward anticipating the first look at my house since
the bombing. I had walked away from it
that day thinking that Harry lay dead inside the rubble.
Nick
pulled into the driveway and immediately made himself busy with the
I
hesitated so long Harry must have thought he'd need to come get me and he
started back. I slid across the seat and
stepped out of the car. Both Harry and
Nick looked relieved. My movement
surprised me; it felt disconnected from my reality; as
though I were watching someone else who looked an awful lot like me. A cardinal's shrill cry penetrated my slow
motion brain function and I immediately stepped into the moment.
The
tableau changed and I viewed my husband, the house, the entire day with a new
focus. Two people had lost their lives
in the explosion that day. I was the
lucky one. Harry and I survived. My family worked all summer to restore my home.
My spine
straightened and my step lightened. I
covered the last few yards to the front porch in a fast walk. Harry slipped his arm around my shoulders and
we mounted the steps to the front door.
For the briefest moment I thought Harry was going to swoop
me up in his arms and carry me over the threshold. It felt as if we were starting a new life in
this home. Instead, he pushed the oak
door wide open with a ta-da flourish and gently steered me into the
foyer.
The
lingering scent of fresh paint and room freshener vied for dominance in the
still air of the empty house. The
furniture was all there, but the sense of life and daily routine, the smells of
recent meals and fabric softener was missing.
I knew the entire house had been repainted
after structural and cosmetic repairs were made. The hardwood floors shone with the newness of
their restoration. Gone were the worn
spots of countless treks of shoed, slippered, and stockinged feet from room to room, walking the paths of the
house. The
patina of the house was gone; the years of lived-in air, emotions captured in
oxygen and layered on the walls, gone. I
shook my head and straightened my shoulders to dislodge the mantle of nostalgia
settling around me. We would put new
air, new life into our house.
"It's
wonderful." I slowly turned in a
circle and put out my arms. "I
can't believe it looks the same. It's
wonderful."
Harry's
eyes gleamed with happiness. I realized
in that moment that he'd been worried about my reaction. My smile and words assured him. Nick took that as his cue to leave,
undoubtedly to return to the party and report on our reactions. I caught at his hand as he walked toward me. "Thank you. All of you.
I can't believe how much you did for us." I smiled up into his eyes and pulled him into
a hug.
Nick's
smile broadened and he gave me a quick return squeeze before he stepped
back. "We all pitched in after the
contractor finished the major work. It
was the same guy that developed Pine Marsh. He matched the brick and found the same
roofing. We took pictures of everything;
first for insurance but then we wanted to show you how the clean-up and rehab
went. I even put them in an album."
Nick
warmed to his subject. "You can't
believe what it looked like the next morning.
I've got the album in my trunk.
I'll get it."
"No,
Nick. Not now," Harry said. He tried to keep the anger out of his tone
but I recognized the edge.
Nick
immediately became contrite. "Oh,
man. How stupid of me. I'm sorry, Gracie. Guess I got carried
away. I've been looking at it all
summer. Sorry. Didn't think how you'd feel. Didn't think period." He looked so deflated, like a child whose
toothpick bridge project had collapsed before the teacher could see it. I couldn't help but smile.
"It's
okay. I know you meant well. And I'm sure we'll want to see them some day,
just not today." I reached up on
tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. Nick
grinned then glanced at Harry to see if they were okay. Harry put out his hand.
"I
can't, we can't thank you enough for all you've done. You know that, don't you?" Harry put his left hand on Nick's
shoulder. "I'm a little tightly
wound when it comes to that one," he smiled as he nodded toward me.
"Yeah,
you and her dad. Okay, gotta' go. Anything you need, you call, okay?"
"Okay."
Nick
hurried down the front steps and across the lawn to his car.
"Nice
kid, but a tad intense," Harry muttered as he closed the door.
I smiled
at Harry's assessment and linked my arm through his. "Well, we're home now. Guess we should unpack or inspect or
something." I couldn't help feeling
uneasy about this house, mine yet strange to me. I walked down the hallway to the kitchen. Harry followed me and immediately busied
himself by putting on the kettle. That
felt right. I walked into the living
room and then the dining room.
"This is so strange. I would
have picked this furniture, this fabric, this color; but I didn't." I spoke more to myself than to Harry, not
realizing I'd spoken out aloud until Harry answered.
"Karen,
Eve, and Carolyn did all the shopping.
Your brothers said their wives were living out every woman's fantasy, a carte blanche
shopping spree."
"Apparently,
you've kept in touch with this whole project.
Why didn't you tell me?"
"I
started to the first week we were there.
Mike had called to tell me the estimates were in and the insurance
company had approved the entire list.
When I mentioned that I'd had word about the insurance claim you became
agitated. I didn't want to spoil our
holiday."
"I
guess I wasn't interested in equating our home with impersonal claim forms and
red tape. I am interested in seeing the
rest of the house."
A shrill
whistle from the kitchen announced tea.
We walked back to the kitchen.
That's when I noticed the fresh flowers on the sideboard in the dining
room. The sparkling jewel tones of
Freesia, Gladiola, Zinnia, and Phlox filled my mother's Capodimonte
vase. I cherished that vase as one of
her favorite pieces. It never really
went with the décor but it always belonged.
"Harry,
look." I swooped
it up in my hands and turned to hold out my prize. My eyes filled with tears.
Harry
had stopped walking when he heard me call.
He beamed, grinning from ear to ear at my joy. He inclined his head toward the china
cabinet. I followed his line of sight
and spotted my grandmothers' china gleaming in the artificial light.
"How? My last view of this room was chaos and
rubble."
"Me
too. I only remember smoke so thick you
couldn't breathe, and Kramer trapped in the flames under–" Harry stopped
abruptly and looked back at me. He
continued in a brisk tone. "I was
amazed at what your nieces and nephews pulled out of the rubble. Once the soundness of the structure was confirmed they were in there like a pack of toddlers on
an Easter egg hunt. They scoured the
rooms for anything intact and pieces large enough to be glued. They took all the pieces to 'Mr. Chips' on
Ogden Avenue and they repaired what they could."
I
grinned as I noticed more and more of the mementos that make a house a
home. "I can live with
this." I walked into Harry's open
arms. "Time to move on," I
murmured against his chest.
Harry
took that in the literal sense and turned us toward the staircase to the
upstairs. "Let's see what's up
there." Harry released me and took
my hand as he started up to the second floor.
Our
bedroom, swathed in twilight from the bay window, glowed invitingly in shades
of purple, lilac, and periwinkle. The
window seat teemed with similarly hued flowers set in vases and pots across its
length.
"Oh
my gosh, this is fabulous." I executed a slow twirl away from Harry,
crossing to the window, plucking a lavender rose from a vase, and moving back
into his arms.
Harry
lifted me off my feet and continued the twirl.
"Happy, darling?"
"Extremely." I smiled and lifted my face to his.
Our
kisses tasted all the sweeter for the heady bouquet from both the wine we'd
consumed and the flowers packed into this room
"Mmm." Harry broke off the kiss. "Oh, look. A mint on the pillow."
I left
his side and walked over to the bed.
"Really? You're joking,
right?"
"Yes,
I'm joking. But now I've got you right
where I want you." He pushed
against my shoulder and I landed in a cloud of sea green comforter. His eyes gleamed with his intention.
"All
you had to do was ask," I smiled as I kicked off my shoes and swung my
legs onto the bed.
"May
I?"
I
slipped my hand in his waistband and pulled him down beside me.
"I
guess that's a yes."
Chapter Five
"I
don't understand why you feel you need to jump into a new career. We've only just returned home. You've barely unpacked."
Harry
had been stewing about my decision to accept the job offer from the public
relations firm Barb told me about. Not
the job per se, but the timing. He
stopped haranguing to sip at his tea.
The Earl Grey brew seemed to give him a second wind.
"You've
not done any PR work since you handled reunion for Regina College five years
ago. Times change, things change."
The look
on my face must have registered with Harry as he
quickly added, "Not to say you wouldn't be smashing at the job. You've got that innate sense of what people
like, finger on the pulse type of sense."
"Please." One word and he stopped. "Please support me on this. I haven't been able to write a word all
summer. I've blown whatever credibility
and second chance I had with my publisher.
I've barely managed to complete the edits on other people's dreams. I need to get a job where I can report daily
for work, complete projects that aren't mine, not personalize
or internalize everything. I need a
commercial kind of job that stays outside when I come home. Trust me, this is perfect for me."
"Of
course I trust you. I love you. I'm a little worried that you're moving too
fast, grabbing at the first thing–"
"This
is hardly the first thing. Karen wanted
me to teach children's writing at Trinity.
Sister Jeanette wanted me to be her assistant archivist. Janet Henry wanted me to work in the alumni
department. Tracy had a job lined up at
the hospital in the marketing department."
Harry
put up his hands in a signal of surrender.
"Okay. I will agree that
you've had more offers than Elizabeth Taylor has had husbands, but why choose
Schwarze and Krieg? Do you know what
that name means?"
Since I
spoke only Italian as a second language, I raised my eyebrows at my
quad-lingual husband to enlighten me.
"Schwarze
and Krieg means black
one and war. I find that combination
unusual. Don't you?"
"What
do you mean, like an omen or something? So they have strange names in German. I think it would have been equally strange if
they had been war and peace. Would that have made them literary
giants? All I know is Barb said they're
doing the PR for some local events and the interview I had with Lizabeth Krieg
went well. Her family practically
settled this area in the 1800's. We
clicked. This isn't Regina, isn't
Trinity, isn't anything connected to…before."
I hadn't
meant to say 'before'. I hadn't thought
in those terms but there it was. The
traumas of this last year seemed connected to people and places from the
past. Accepting a job in Naperville
moved me far from those people and places.
Harry seemed to understand or maybe he realized he wasn't winning his
point.
The
entire conversation took place while I paced between our closet and the bed,
repeatedly throwing down outfits as I tried to determine what a public
relations person wore on her first day.
Harry must have realized my dilemma as the pile of rejected clothes
grew.
"Darling. The blue suit with the lavender blouse."
"What?" I was deep in the closet wrangling
more hangers off the pole. Harry held up
the two articles of clothing in question.
"It's perfect for you.
Anything you wear will be fine but I think this makes the statement you
want for your first day."
I threw
my arms around his neck crumpling the blouse between us. "He does fashion consulting too," I
gushed in mock praise. "How did I
get so lucky?" I kept my arms
around his neck and let him pull me closer.
"Ditto"
It is now 7:30 a.m. You
requested to be awakened at this time.
We both
started at the voice of our roommate,
a talking Betty Boop alarm clock, a wedding present
from his side of the family. If one of
us didn't slap her molded plastic derriere and turn off her alarm the next
sound would be a loud buzzing that could shake loose the fillings in your
teeth.
"Sorry,
I forgot she was on. Didn't want to
oversleep." I walked over to the
nightstand and shut her down.
Harry
held out the ensemble to me. I took the
clothes and rewarded his choice with a light kiss. "Gotta' go. I'll fill you in on my first day over dinner
tonight."
"Dinner?"
"You
were going to suggest dinner out for my first day of work, weren't you?"
"Absolutely. I'll meet you at Sweet Basil at five-fifteen. Unless you want Mexican; we can go to
Potter's Place."
"Sweet
Basil is fine. I feel like
Italian."
"Yes
you do," Harry smirked as he reached for me.
"You're
going to make me late for work." I
moved quickly into the bathroom.
"Tell
them you got lost."
I smiled
as I turned on the shower. Schwarze and
Krieg. Prestigious company to land a job
with. Black and War, that was sort of creepy. I wondered if they knew what their names
meant in German. They had to.
I wished Harry hadn't told me.
Shake it off Gracie.
This is yuppyville West. No shadows, no secrets. My brain admonished me to think clearly. I reached for the length of yarn tied to the
medicine cabinet door and tied fifteen bowlines before I stepped into the
shower.
Chapter Six
The
auctioneer banged his gavel.
"Ladies
and gentlemen, we will begin the bidding in section two with offer number 16 in
your program…"
I tried
to count heads from where I stood. I had
judiciously ordered the largest tent available through Outdoor Events a local
party store. It peaked in five spots,
center and corners, which gave the attendees a good deal of room to move around
and enjoy the bar and hors d'oeuvres set up on one side. A stage took up only a quarter of the tent
leaving space for 200 rented white folding chairs. The grass had been mowed that morning and the
pleasant scent of nature mingled with the food, perfume
and tobacco odors filling the tent. The
clear plastic side panels had been tied up since the
evening was mild and the light breeze felt refreshing.
The set
up was directly in front of the depot and across from the Beaubien
Tavern and the Netzley/Yender House, two other
historical properties that had been moved to the park
after the depot. Events ran in both
buildings throughout the day: apple coring, pie making, biscuit baking in Netzley/Yender; booths with
homemade soap and homemade honey, the Abner Doubleday
batting cages, and tours of the Stationmaster's home.
The
volunteers from the society, dressed in period costumes conducted the
demonstrations and tours. One gentleman dressed as the original stationmaster of the depot
who according to legend haunted the depot.
He had been killed by a band of men traveling the
rails, plundering the depots along the way. The story goes that the stationmaster
surprised them and was overcome. He'd been knocked
unconscious and locked in one of the trunks waiting for shipment. His assistant found the body the next day
when he noticed a bit of cloth sticking out of the lid. The stationmaster had suffocated in the
airtight compartment.
His
gravesite, in the Lisle Cemetery, teemed with flowers during Depot Days which
is when most 'sightings' of him occurred.
The
society member playing the part wore great makeup, pasty white skin, and dark
sunken eyes. I shivered and hoped he
wasn't scaring the children.
Our
goal, to raise twenty-five thousand dollars for the Lisle Heritage Society for
maintenance and further restoration of two historical buildings, seemed within
reach with the crowd tonight. The
society did a great job securing donations of wonderful nostalgic memorabilia
and expensive antiques for the auction. But the piece¢ d¢ resistance¢ had been discovered by me,
doing my usual obsessive-compulsive research.
I had explained the plans to Harry that first night at Sweet
Basil. Barb Atwater had joined us to
hear about my first day on the job she'd recommended. Half way through cocktails I had Harry and
Barb excited about the event.
"My
job is to market, promote, advertise, and pull off an extraordinary auction and
English Tea that will net the Heritage Society, our client, twenty-five
thousand dollars. Lizabeth
Krieg is doing the job at cost since her great, great
uncle settled this area. She's to
be honored for her contribution. Her partner's husband's family also settled
in Lisle, so both women have a personal interest in the success of the
campaign. In fact, Ava Deutsch,
granddaughter of the original Johann and Marta Deutsch is hosting the English
Tea at the Jefferson Hill Tea Room. She
lived there as a kid before it was converted to the tearoom and shops. The top floor is supposedly haunted by a
sobbing woman."
Barb's
eyes positively gleamed. "Oh, this
gets better and better."
I'd best
let H
H
Harry
continued, "I blame that book you gave her about Chicago area ghosts. I think her goal is to investigate each one
in the index."
Barb and
I laughed at his pretended chagrin. We
both knew he'd accompanied his sister on many of her jaunts to the haunts, as they called their outings.
"Then
I shouldn't tell her about the supposed haunting of the Depot by the original
stationmaster? They say he died in one
of the trunks in his keeping, murdered by marauders." I couldn't resist the drama.
"Please
don't tell my sister, she'll want to move into the place."
We
laughed at Harry's assessment.
"Maybe
the sobbing woman ghost is the Stationmaster's widow."
"No,
she lived in the depot and moved back East after his death."
"Maybe
the legend is wrong. Maybe he was
playing depot days with 'Jefferson
Hill Dolly' and 'Mrs. Stationmaster' found out and derailed him into the
trunk. And Dolly is sobbing because she
misses her choo-choo."
Barb and
I dissolved into giggles.
"Ladies,
I am appalled that you would so malign a legend of Lisle."
We all burst into laughter and chatted easily about
what would appeal to the upscale crowd Schwarze and Krieg hoped to
attract. I listened to their ideas and
advice about what to do and even committed a few of them to memory.
A voice
at my elbow brought me back to the auction.
"Did
they get to them yet?" She pointed
to an open page in the auction brochure.
My sister-in-law, H
"Not
yet. The auctioneer is only in section
two and the trunks are in section six.
It should go quickly though, maybe another thirty minutes."
"Perfect. Karen drove on her own." I nodded in understanding. Karen Kramer, my best friend and H
"She
should be here before then. I'm going to
wait near the door, which is also near the bar.
Clever girl to camouflage the bar in the old smithy shop. Shall I bring you a tonic?"
My
English sister-in-law possessed the same dry humor as her brother did and even
now I wasn't sure if her comments were genuine or tinged with light
sarcasm. I kept reminding myself that H
"No,
thanks. I need to keep a clear
head."
"Fine. I'll be back with Karen. Soon, I hope."
I smiled as I thought of the excitement and speculation my
find had generated at Schwarze and Krieg.
My compulsive attention to detail uncovered the receipt and record for
off site storage during the moving of the depot to its current location. The original depot had burned, but been
rebuilt in 1874. The edifice that had
controlled transportation from then until 1978 had been
carefully lifted and moved to its permanent home at the
In doing
the research to bring me up to speed on the event I ran across receipts and had
to dig deeper. One storage facility was
a lower level basement in one of the antique stores on Ogden Avenue, a
converted gristmill. That strip of old
Plank Road had three antique stores in less than a mile; Antique Affaire,
Antique Bazaar and Antiques on Plank.
The owner had been part of the preservation committee and volunteered to
store the contents of the depot during the move.
The
other storage area was in the basement of the Book Nook on Main Street. The Waskelis family offered to store some of
the trunks.
The find
of eleven railroad trunks, circa 1890 to 1920, generated all the
excitement. The owner of the store, Ava
Deutsch, was traveling in Europe. Her
son, Karl hadn't been much help at first.
He had been a teenager when the trunks were moved
and wasn't interested in finding them.
He didn't want to be bothered to look up records or search through
storage. He insisted, as everyone
assumed, that they had been returned once the depot
was in place. I thought my search over
until one of the ladies in the store reminded him of
the cement room on the lower level that opened to the back of the
property. He had glared at her seemingly
angry that he had to put himself out any more than necessary. The trunks were found
in a small separate room that Karl grudgingly opened.
In its
day as an active mill, farmers would back their wagons into that room to unload
the wheat harvest. The area had filled
in with debris blown in under the uneven doublewide doors. Time and weather and lack of use had taken
its toll. The floor was dark with bygone
stains and current animal droppings. The
trunks were sound and had not suffered much for their neglect over the last two
decades.
Three
trunks had been stored in the basement of the Book Nook back in a corner that
reached under the sidewalk. Through the
years, old displays and furniture blocked the trunks from view and memory.
We
researched the tags on the trunks and were able to find descendants of the
owners. The Godshalk family was thrilled
to get the two trunks belonging to their Great Aunt Alice. Three other trunks were
also reunited with family. The
remaining six trunks had no tags or obvious ownership; they were
deemed abandoned.
The idea
to offer them at auction came to me immediately. I thought of the big splash over Geraldo's
attempt to open Al Capone's safe. People
loved that kind of shtick. I sold
Lizabeth on the idea and tonight's high bid would prove me right, or not. I sc
"There
you are. I thought you'd be up front
ready to turn the key as it were."
Harry slipped his arm around my shoulders and kissed my cheek. His foot pushed against my tote bag on the
ground. "Shopping?"
"Huh? Oh. I
didn't set up all day in this," I put my arms out to display my Jones New
York periwinkle blue suit, "or these," pointing down to three inch
heels. "I put my clothes and some
of the set up stuff in here when I changed.
Forgot to put it in my car before Barb drove it back to our house so she
could come back with her husband and we could drive home in one car. See what a great pl
"I'll
take it out to my car."
"Don't
bother, it's not a problem. I pl
"No
bother, I'll be back in a bit." He
lifted the bag with a mock grimace at its weight.
H
"Did
I see Harry leaving?"
"He's
putting something in his car; he'll be right back. How full is the parking lot?"
H
I smiled
as I watched them scurry to the front to claim their seats. People continued to pour in. Where was Harry?
On cue,
he stood next to me. "Darling,
you've got a winner here. At ten dollars
a head to get in you're going to make a lot of money for the heritage
society."
"Did
you pay again? I forgot to give you your
pass." I rummaged in my stylish but
too small purse for a plastic badge. I
held it out to him. "Sorry."
"It's
a worthy cause and it makes your bottom line look better. Although your bottom line looks fine to
me." He smiled and slid his hand
around my waist letting his fingers graze a little lower.
"Stop
that!" I said half-serious in my
protest. "Later."
"How
about we buy the whole lot and go home now." I made a face at him and turned my attention
to the stage. The auction was starting.
"Who
is that woman walking up the far aisle?
I saw her in the car park when I was putting your sack in the boot. She pulled in next to me, seemed in a huff
when I didn't move out of her way quickly enough for her to park. My boot was jammed; forgot I had Walter's
clubs. Had to pull everything out to fit
your ditty bag. My clubs were in the
grass blocking her. Tossed it all in
while she glared at me. Hope I didn't
leave anything lying about. Had to
fidget with the locks again. Darling,
remind to have them repaired."
"I followed
Harry's glance."
"That's
Ava Deutsch, the force behind most things in Lisle and a relative of my
boss. You didn't say anything to her,
did you?"
"Darling,
I'm the soul of discretion. She was the
one behaving rudely. I wondered is all. She looked
familiar to me."
"She's
involved in everything. You've probably
seen her picture in the paper."
"Possibly. Familiar yet different. It'll come to me."
The sharp bark of the gavel cut off further
conversation. Harry rushed to take his
seat. The auctioneer began his
description of the trunks. Each was to be auctioned and then each owner would open the trunk in
view of the audience. None of the trunks
had a key. A specialty locksmith, John
Schoebel, had been hired to be on hand with his ring
of metal shapes. The wizened
seventy-something gentleman was actually related to
Lizabeth by some twist on the family tree.
His thinning gray hair matched the stubble on his face. He stood off to the side waiting his time to
take the stage.
The
bidding was brisk for the three small Bridal chests and the one domed steamer
trunk. The excitement increased with
each auctioned chest; drawing closer to turning the key on hidden secrets. At least that's how I had publicized the
event. The ploy had worked. People squeezed into the tent even after the
bidding began. I suspected that most
were spectators, come to enjoy the drama.
Several of the costumed individuals from the heritage society were
present. Gertrude, a new member, had
convinced Walter to take the part of the smithy. I spotted her now across the room. Her brown hair tucked up under an attractive
wide-brimmed feathered red hat gave her the look of a Victorian lady, further enhanced by the period costume in tones of
red, purple and black. She nodded
graciously to onlookers and f
The last
two items looked identical. "This
is a Humpback wardrobe trunk circa 1890, made locally by the Chas. T. Wilt Co.
of Chicago. The trunks were designed to ship upright with the peaked top to prevent
crushing from other luggage. The pyramid
top held a telescoping rod used for hanging garments. One of the more expensive designs for rail
travel. The bidding will begin at
$1550.00."
I
spotted H
Ava was
a taller than the average woman, maybe five feet eight inches, with short
stylish blonde hair. Her build was
sturdy, but in no way stodgy. She wore a
knee length coatdress, a shade of deep peach.
The patterned peach and tan silk scarf set the tone of high style, but
her camel hued matching gloves and shoes polished her look of sophistication,
outshining the jeans and Dockers in the crowd.
Ava's
hand moved up again. Fabulous. This bidding was almost higher than the other
trunks combined. I knew H
"The
last trunk ladies and gentlemen is an exact duplicate. Probably manufactured in the same lot. This case has slight damage around the base. Nonetheless a charming piece. The bidding will start at $1375.00."
He'd
barely brought the gavel down to open the bidding when Ava Deutsch's hand
lifted her white card in the air. I
could see H
"Wow,
they're really going at it. I can't
believe how much money this is raising.
You were right, Grace. Nice
call."
High
praise from Lizabeth Krieg. I was about
to reply with a modest 'thank you' when I noticed a police officer moving
toward Ava Deutsch. He motioned her out
of her aisle. She acted reluctant to
leave and tried to sidestep toward him while still keeping an eye on H
She
leaned down to her son, handing him the card and imparting what could have been
some bidding instructions. It was
apparent by his reaction that he hadn't pl
The
auctioneer had paused in his patter giving the young man a chance to answer H
Another
white flash from behind H
Three
thousand one hundred and seventy-five dollars.
I surely hoped H
I
noticed the last minute bidder leaving the tent. I could see now that it was a woman as she
hurried out. Her sturdy shoes carried
her across the grass. I thought she
looked overdressed, not in a fashion sense, but with a flowered scarf wrapped
around her neck and chin and a pale green floppy hat enveloping the top half of
her head. The rest of her outfit looked
oversized like generous hand me downs.
She certainly didn't look like anyone who could have afforded that
trunk. I turned my attention to Lizabeth
as she joined the new owners and the locksmith on stage.
"Ladies
and gentlemen, thank you for your generous support of the Legends of Lisle
campaign to promote the preservation of Lisle's historical treasures. The auction concludes our program for tonight
but the excitement continues as we ask each person to open their trunk. The owner of the trunk with the most
interesting contents will receive a $200.00 gift certificate from Village
Vendors redeemable at any store in Lisle."
I had
taken H
Since
the styles were similar, the locks opened quickly with the same key. No
china in this one. This trunk must
have belonged to a student or teacher.
It was filled with textbooks, journals, and
notebooks. The smaller of the two
remaining chests revealed more books, two revolvers, and a dozen bottles of Dr. Goodhealth's
Elixir and a partially used tin of rat poison. The audience chuckled at the
combination. So far, this one seemed to
be the winner. The other chest gave up
maps, charts, and climbing equipment complete with ropes, crampons, and
carabiners. Interesting, but not a winner.
At last,
the matched trunks. H
Mr.
Schoebel seemed to be having trouble with the lock. He stood back and shook his head. The entire audience sighed. It didn't seem to me that he'd tried all the
keys he had on that ring. I heard H
Lizabeth
stepped forward to the microphone.
"Some secrets must be kept," she said with a crafty smile.
I'm sure
she was trying to 'spin' this unexpected curve to the benefit of Schwarze and
Krieg. "Some locksmith," I
whispered to Harry. "He didn't try
very hard."
"If
he knows locks, he'd know if he had the right key. Odd, though.
The trunk isn't that old, should still have keys."
Lizabeth
moved toward the first trunk.
"We'll start our judging with this trunk."
"Wait. I know someone who can open my
trunk." H
"My
brother, Harry Marsden, can pick locks."
People started murmuring and turning their heads to stare at Harry who
had stood, but now looked as though he'd rather sit down.
H
I knew
my husband's skill, but I hardly thought he wanted the entire assembly to know
that the lock picking he practiced had become a valuable skill when he worked
for British Intelligence. Who knew what
H
Her
stumbling brought laughter from the crowd and a sprinkling of applause. She stopped squirming and babbling, and
motioned toward her brother.
"Harry, do come up here."
The clapping increased. My
husband walked onto the stage and approached the trunk. I knew he hadn't brought the slim leather
case containing various steel picks that I had seen him use only once before.
Harry
turned toward the audience. "Perhaps
someone has a metal finger nail file or a hatpin or hair pin?" Barb Atwater immediately began a hurried
search in her purse. My neighbor adored
Harry and would love nothing more than to come to his aid. She loved anything English, a true anglophile,
and would be doubly pleased to be up on stage with two Englishmen.
"I've
got one, I've got one," Barb announced.
She quickly left her seat and made for the stage. Several women were ahead of her converging on
the stage and my husband with various offerings in their hands.
Harry,
always the charmer, made a big deal of each item offered until he had at least
three files, an assortment of hairpins, another key ring
and one lethal looking hatpin. H
The keys
did not work, nor the hatpin or the files.
Harry was down to the hairpins.
The pressure mounted; with each attempt the audience leaned in
closer. You couldn't buy this kind of
publicity. I noticed that almost half of
the audience had made their way back to the cash bar at some point during the
suspense. Good. More profits for the Lisle
Heritage Society. Actually, all
profit. One of Liz's partner's
relatives, a distant relative of the Godshalk family of Arboretum fame had
donated the bar. These German families
were almost as entwined as the Italian families from
Harry
made of show of searching through the hairpins in his sister's hand and
choosing one. I felt certain he could
have opened the lock on his first attempt but he knew the value of showmanship
and he was giving us our money's worth.
He knelt on one knee in front of the lock with his head close to the
trunk and cocked at an angle as though he were listening to internal
directions.
My fingers reached for the length of yarn tied to the handle
of my Dooneybrook purse. I looped three patterns as I waited for
Harry's success.
Karen leaned toward me.
"Do you think he can get it?"
"No
doubt about it. Absolutely." She smiled at my loyalty.
Harry
shifted his weight and stood. He
gestured for H
The
metal seam parted and the front half of the tall wardrobe swung open. H