Dandelion Summer

by Mary Ellen Bramwell

  Part 3

  Madelyn couldn’t remember the first dandelion she’d ever seen. It’s not like witnessing the eruption of a geyser or seeing the ocean for the first time. Those things are rare, and dandelions—well, they’re certainly not. But she did remember wondering how they changed over time. She never could capture that moment when yellow became white, when bloom became seed. It just happened They were one or the other, but never something in between—or so it seemed.

  Maybe if she’d paid more attention, she would have seen the closed-up blossom as a portent of things to come—closed before opening into bright yellow sunshine and closed again before displaying its lifeblood of seeds. If you looked for the signs, they were there, unlike life with its absence of road signs along the way warning of what’s ahead. But then again, sometimes the signs were there all along.

  Thursday

  The next morning dawned far too bright and early. Everyone was happy to hunker down at Aunt Dory’s, too shaken to want to leave its safety. Jillian was acting like a skittish cat, ready to bolt at the slightest sound. Daniel was trying to act tough, but all attempts at practical jokes had ceased, and he was particularly kind to Aunt Dory. It appeared he was trying to crawl under her protective wing as much as the rest of them.

  Mom was the surprising one. Finding her reading voice had done something to her. The more challenging life got, the more she stood up to it—something she never would have done even two months before. And having men threaten the safety of her children didn’t intimidate her, it motivated her. A simmering anger ran through her veins, but it was coupled with a desire and will to act—and no one better tell her she couldn’t.

  As soon as Madelyn saw her at the breakfast table, she knew it was time, time to talk to Mom about Grandpa. Everything tied back to him. She waited until Jillian and Daniel had wandered off to find a game to play then she opened her mouth to speak.

  Mom beat her to it. “Madelyn, I’ve been thinking this morning. You’ve shown yourself to be more of an adult than a lot of adults I know. If you’d like to know everything about your grandfather, I’ll tell you. But I’ll warn you, it’s not pretty.”

  Madelyn was surprised but pleased. “It’s all right. I already know. Or at least I know some of it.”

  “You do? How do you know?”

  “He sent a letter. Well, I mean he sent you a letter.” Madelyn pulled the crumpled letter from the back pocket of her jeans. “I figured out that he’s in prison from the postmark. I’m sorry, I read the letter.”

  “Wow. Okay. What did it say?”

  “Not much. But he does mention he needs your help with something, only he doesn’t say what.”

  Mom was lost in thought. “I got a letter from him at the beginning of the summer. I would have had Roger read it to me, but it came after he’d left. It’s the one I told you about, that I wanted to be able to read.”

  “I remember. How’d you know it was from him? It didn’t have a return address or even a name. Oh, and for that matter, you couldn’t read then anyway.”

  Mom chuckled. “I may not have been able to read, but I did learn a thing or two along the way. You have to be pretty clever to avoid detection as long as I did.” There was a twinkle in her eye. “I’ve practiced my dad’s handwriting so much I could recognize it blindfolded.”

  “Okay, maybe I didn’t give you enough credit.”

  Mom could have rubbed it in more, but she didn’t. “Anyway, initially I put the letter aside, figuring I’d wait ‘til your dad got home. But the thought of reading it on my own was pretty appealing. I’ve just been waiting until I was certain I could read all the words. I’d assumed it was Pop saying he was sorry and that he loved me.”

  “Well, it wasn’t,” Madelyn said.

  “What? You read it?”

  “No, I didn’t. It’s just the letter I did read talked about something he’d already asked you to do, something from a previous letter. That’s how I know.”

  “Well, that’s interesting.” Mom thought for a minute then shook her head as if to clear it. “We’ll have to figure out what it all means. I’ll get the letter from the house so we can read it. But, I’m afraid, what you know is just the half of it, Madelyn. He’s in prison for-”

  “I know. For murdering his friend George. Zane and I … well, we went and looked it up in the newspaper.”

  “Oh,” was all Mom had to say.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Well, no, just surprised. Was the newspaper … well, were they kind? I didn’t read it—obviously, and your dad never told me.”

  “Well, they weren’t mean. They just stated the facts.”

  Mom breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ve been busy.”

  Madelyn winced. “And that’s not all. We—Zane, Delia, and I—went and talked to Mrs. Holliwell, George’s widow, a couple days ago. I was talking to Zane about it on the phone yesterday. I think that’s why those men came and broke into the house. They heard what we were talking about. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” Mom was nodding, understanding dawning. “And at the same time, it doesn’t make any sense at all. What did they want? What were they looking for?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Mom’s eyes had hardened, turning smoky gray. It wasn’t an angry look, rather a determined one, with a brooding warning for anyone who got in her way. “So, Zane and Delia know? About your grandpa?”

  Madelyn nodded, worried she was in trouble. She shouldn’t have been.

  “Good. We’ll need all the help we can get. Do you think they can come over? I think it’s time we had a conference and got to the bottom of what’s going on.”

  Relieved, Madelyn said, “I’ll call them right now.”

  Zane answered the phone on the second ring. “Stewart’s”

  “Hi, Zane. I-”

  “Hey, Madelyn. Are you okay? I tried to call you back last night after we got cut off, but the phone wouldn’t even ring. What happened?”

  She tried to quiet the panic that threatened to rise with the memories of last night. “Actually, a lot happened.” Just as she finished telling Zane about the night before, Mom burst into the kitchen where she was on the phone.

  “Hold on, Madelyn. Can they come over this afternoon instead of now? We need to visit Tommy today. I forgot all about it. It’s his Thursday. He’d never understand if we didn’t show up.”

  “You’re right,” Madelyn said, realizing Uncle Tommy had been the furthest thing from her mind.

  . . .

  With plans made for the afternoon, everyone piled into the car to go visit Uncle Tommy. Leaving the comfort of Aunt Dory’s wasn’t exactly what they wanted to do, but Uncle Tommy’s workshop was a warm and inviting place. It would be all right.

  It wasn’t really a surprise to Madelyn that she’d forgotten about visiting him. She didn’t even remember that it was a Thursday. The two weeks since their last visit felt like ages ago, so much had happened in the meantime. And yet, it also felt like no time at all, she’d been so busy with other concerns.

  Mom, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so forgiving of herself. “I can’t believe I almost forgot Tommy.” She was mumbling to herself as she drove. “He would have been devastated if we didn’t show up, especially since Pop’s gone. Pop trusted me to keep watching over him.” She continued berating herself the whole way to Uncle Tommy’s. Occasionally, Jillian and Daniel glanced at Madelyn as if they were expecting her to bring up the issue of where Grandpa was now that Mom was talking about it too. But she wouldn’t meet their gaze, not certain how to respond.

  Over lunch, Mom made a point to tell Tommy, “You know I love you, Tommy, right?”

 
“Yep. I love you too, Sissy.”

  “And Pop Pop loves you. You know that too, don’t you?”

  He looked at her sideways. “Course I do. Besides, he told me himself.”

  “Really?” Mom was surprised. “He doesn’t usually … I mean he’s not one to say that very often with … well, with words.”

  “Sissy, you’re funny. He only said it once, the last time he came and saw me.”

  Mom wrinkled up her forehead, “He did? I don’t remember that.”

  “Well, he did, when he came to see me before he went away, when he came without you.”

  “Tommy, Pop Pop never came without me.”

  “He did then,” Tommy insisted.

  “Oh, of course he did.” Mom shrugged her shoulders, not sure what to make of his comment.

  After lunch, Mom pulled a small children’s book out of her purse and haltingly read it to her brother. It only had a few words on each page. She’d been practicing those words with Jillian just for this moment.

  Madelyn had been impatient to get home and talk over the situation surrounding Grandpa, but this slight pause while Mom read to Uncle Tommy made waiting worth it. She was so proud of her mom.

  They stayed a little longer—watching Tommy at work, “talking” with Annie despite her usual silence, even laughing with Eliza as they tried to play “I Spy” although she couldn’t “spy” anything, even if she wanted to. The events of the previous evening, while making them anxious for answers, also filled them with a profound gratitude for the important things, or people, in their lives.

  . . .

  As soon as they got home, to Aunt Dory’s home, they called Zane and Delia. While Jillian and Daniel played checkers in the back room, the others gathered in the living room. No one seemed to mind the extra clothing and belongings littered about the room since this was now doubling as a bedroom.

  Aunt Dory was the only one unaware of why this little meeting had been convened. “Dory, I suppose I need to explain,” Mom said. “We think last night had some connection to my father, to Pop. There’s no easy way to say this, but he’s in prison … for murder, or technically involuntary manslaughter. He killed his neighbor, his friend George Holliwell.” Aunt Dory’s eyes got big, but Mom tried her best to ignore the reaction and get the story out. “They started going drinking together—after my mother died, anyway. I don’t know what happened that night. Pop was drunk. I doubt he knew what he was doing, but that doesn’t excuse what he did. Pop changed after Mom died. I don’t remember him ever drinking before that, but after …” She trailed off while shaking her head. “She was his rock—with Tommy, with everything. It was rough after she was gone.”

  “I’m so sorry, Rachel. How’s he doing in prison?”

  “I’m not sure. I visited him in jail when he was first arrested. After that, he was released on bond. But once he was sentenced … I haven’t been to see him. I guess I should have.”

  Madelyn moved beside her mom and put an arm around her. One person’s actions can affect so many. “Are you mad at Grandpa? Is that why you haven’t visited him?”

  A tear was trickling down the side of Mom’s face. “No, I don’t suppose so. It just makes me sad—so much heartache, so much loss—for George’s family, for ours. I stayed away because I couldn’t make sense of it. I asked him to explain, but he was so passed out drunk that he doesn’t even remember. You know, I’ve gotten pretty good over the years at burying problems rather than dealing with them.” She gave Madelyn a half smile. “I have to admit, it feels better getting them out in the open. Thanks, Madelyn.” She let out a big sigh, “I suppose it’s time to go see him.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Aunt Dory said. “I mean it’s good in the sense of reconnecting with him. But you said last night had something to do with him. What was that about?”

  Madelyn was the one to answer. “The two guys that broke in—we overheard them talking. They’d bugged our house. I think they heard me talking to Zane about Grandpa. And last month I’m guessing the same guys broke into Grandpa’s house and Mrs. Holliwell’s house too. There’s got to be more to this story.”

  “Mrs. Osborne,” Delia said, “do you know anything about what happened the night of the … the night George died? Mrs. Holliwell said the two of them went out drinking to celebrate something. Do you know what they were celebrating?”

  Mom was shaking her head. “I don’t. Something may have been said about that at the trial, but I don’t remember. I just assumed they were going drinking like they always did.”

  “She also told us that William, your dad, showed her husband something over at his house,” Zane said. “She didn’t know what it was, but she seemed to think it was some big secret.”

  “I don’t know about that either. Did she have any idea what it might have been?”

  It was now their turn to shake their heads. “No. She was completely in the dark,” Madelyn said.

  They grew quiet, thinking through the possibilities, but Madelyn was fidgety, knowing she had one more question. “Mom, the paper said Grandpa stabbed his friend. Do you know why he had a knife or where it came from?”

  Mom didn’t shake her head this time but cast her eyes down instead. “I don’t know why he had it with him. Believe me, I’ve tried to understand that one. But it came out in the trial that the knife was his. It was a switchblade. I even recognized it. He’d had it for as long as I can remember.”

  “Oh,” Madelyn said, “I’m sorry. I guess it could be one of those things he just carried around with him.”

  “The thing that doesn’t seem clear here is his motive,” Aunt Dory chimed in. “Why would he kill his friend? When they prosecuted him, did they mention what his motive was? It seems like that would have come out in the trial.”

  “I don’t remember any motive ever being mentioned. Of course, I was in a daze through most of the trial. It was all such a shock. I think they felt they had enough evidence to convict him without a motive, or they decided being drunk was enough of a reason. The trial didn’t finish anyway. Part way through his lawyer convinced him to take a plea deal. The verdict seemed like a foregone conclusion.”

  “What did your dad say about it? Did he ever say why he did it or if he thought it was fair for him to go to jail?” Aunt Dory was speaking softly, trying to gently deal with this horrible subject.

  “He never denied anything, but he also didn’t have much to say about it.”

  “That doesn’t help us much.”

  “Why don’t we read the transcript of the trial?” Zane said. “He’d have to tell his story there. Maybe there’s something we’re missing—something you didn’t even know you needed to pay attention to back then. These break-ins change everything, don’t they?”

  “That’s a great idea,” Mom said. “I honestly don’t remember much of the trial. Seeing the knife really shook me. Everything after that is a blur.”

  “Then it wouldn’t hurt to look it over, would it?” Zane said. “Delia, do you think Dad might be able to help us get a copy of the transcript from the trial?”

  “He’s a patent attorney, not a trial lawyer, but someone at his firm should know who to ask at the clerk’s office. It’s worth a try,” she said.

  “We’ll see what we can do then,” Zane said.

  “Good. I’ll go visit Pop in prison. It’ll be good to see him. And maybe now he’ll be willing to talk to me about it. He may not remember what happened after he got drunk, but there are plenty of questions that he can answer from before then.”

  Madelyn was happy with all the progress they were making, except for one little detail. “What should I do then?”

  Mom turned to her. “You’r
e going with me, of course. Did you think I was going to leave you behind?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess so.”

  “No, not anymore. How about first thing tomorrow morning?”

  “That just leaves me,” Aunt Dory said. “I’ll gladly keep an eye on Jillian and Daniel.”

  “Oh, and we forgot one other thing,” Madelyn said, “the letter. We need to read that first letter.”

  “You’re right. I can go get it right now.” Mom hesitated a moment. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone who would want to go with me?”

  . . .

  When they’d gathered once again in the living room, Madelyn encouraged her mother to read the letter from Pop out loud. Mom opened it then perused it with dismay. “It’s in cursive. I can copy his cursive, but I can’t decipher it. You read it, Madelyn. One step at a time here.”

  “Okay. I’ve got it,” Madelyn said while giving her mother an encouraging squeeze.

  The letter read:

  My Dearest Rachel,

  I’m sorry for all that has happened, but I know I can’t possibly put that into words in any kind of adequate way. So, I’ll save that for a time when we can talk in person.

  I understand why you don’t come to see me. I miss you, but I have no one to blame but myself for where I am. How are the kids? I know it’s best they not see me like this, but it doesn’t mean I don’t miss them too.

  I hate to bring it up, but I need your help. I have a loose end to tie up. It’s weighing on my conscience. That may sound strange given where I’m sitting, but I’m trying to fix the things I can fix.

  I made a mistake a long time ago. It was inadvertent, but a mistake all the same. Something was entrusted into my care during the war. I’d always intended to return it to its rightful owner, but I simply forgot about it. And now I can’t do it on my own. I need your help.