Dandelion Summer

by Mary Ellen Bramwell

  Mom nodded. “I don’t trust the other one, and I’m hoping he can get me in to see Pop without waiting until next Monday’s visiting day.”

  “Hello? … This is Rachel Osborne again. I’m sorry to trouble you, but it’s urgent that I speak with my father. I remember him mentioning that you had visited him in prison. Is there any way you can get me in to see him right away? I don’t think this can wait. … Yes, I know Monday is just a few days away, but I think that will be too late. This is a matter of great importance, and it’s dangerous to wait. … Yes, you heard me right.” Mom looked at the others around her. She lifted her hand and crossed her fingers for them to see.

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  Mom put her hand over the receiver. “He’s going to call the prison and see if he can make arrangements, but he’s not making any promises.”

  Removing her hand, she spoke to Ross Musil once more. “I did have another question. When someone is being sentenced, can you choose where he does his time? I mean, could you ask to have him stay close by?” She nodded. “Thank you very much. … Yes, I’ll wait for your call.”

  “What did he say?”

  Her brow was knit. “It’s like we thought. The judge could choose to be lenient at sentencing. If, for instance, it would be a hardship on the family to get to a prison farther away, he could have him locked up in a prison closer to home. But no one mentioned that to me, so it doesn’t make sense.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Hopefully we can get in to see him soon. I’ll ask him if he knows what that was about.”

  “Sounds good. But, Mom, why did you want to see him now? It’s only a few days until Monday. Why not just wait?” Madelyn said.

  Mom brushed a hand across her daughter’s hair. “Because something’s wrong. I have a bad feeling about all of this, and I don’t think we should wait.”

  . . .

  Just before they left to meet the appraiser, Mr. Musil called back. Mom was nodding and smiling throughout the conversation. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” she said before hanging up the phone.

  “We can get in to see him?”

  “Yes,” Mom said with a sigh of relief, “tomorrow morning. Everything is arranged. He said he had to pull some strings and we’re not likely to be able to do it a second time, but yes, we can see him.”

  “Is that soon enough, Mom?” Madelyn had been ill at ease ever since her mother’s statement that morning.

  Mom pondered for a moment. “Yes, I think that will be fine. However, we need to be careful. Someone is very serious about this. We don’t know who they are, but we’re beginning to understand the lengths they’ll go to to get what they want.”

  A shiver ran up Madelyn’s spine. She knew her mom was right.

  . . .

  The appraiser’s office was downtown off the main street and down a dimly-lit alley. The door had the name of Howard Cramer on it but no window for seeing in. Mom opened the door slowly, but as soon as she did, a man jumped up from a desk.

  “Hi. Welcome. You must be Mrs. Osborne, and is this your daughter?” He was full of energy and had a big smile for them. He was young with an athletic physique—not at all what Madelyn thought an appraiser would look like. She had imagined him to be an older man wearing glasses, huddled in an office with books and magnifying glasses. The reality was vastly different. “So, how can I help you today?”

  “My father, I believe, came to you to have something appraised. His name is William Knight. I wonder if you could tell us more about it.”

  His face clouded and he physically pulled back. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Well, he is my father,” Mom said. “And he needs my help with it.”

  He stared at her for a moment, deciding how to respond. “It seems to me, if he was so interested in your help, he would have told you all about it himself.”

  Mom put her hands on her hips. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But something has him spooked. He asked for my help, and then he suddenly won’t talk about it anymore. Now, what would you do in my situation?”

  Her words rattled him a bit. “Okay, I understand, but I’ve had others come around asking about it too. How do I know you’re who you say you are? I wouldn’t tell them anything because it was your father’s wish that I tell no one. And I’m going to have to continue keeping my mouth shut. This is my business, how I earn my livelihood. If someone can’t trust me, then I have no business.”

  It became a standoff—each staring down the other, but Mr. Cramer’s physical size made it an unbalanced standoff—not to mention he was holding all the cards. Mom finally let out a sigh and slumped her shoulders.

  “Mr. Cramer, can I ask you something?” Madelyn ventured. He didn’t answer but turned to look at her, which gave her enough encouragement to continue. “Could you at least tell us who else came to ask about it?”

  “You can ask, but I can’t tell you much. It was a couple—a husband and wife, or so I thought. They were a bit subtler than you two. They started by bringing me a diamond ring to evaluate—it was a phony. Then they mentioned that their ‘father’ had been in to see me. So, are there more siblings in your family, or is at least one of you lying?” he said, directing his comments back to Mom.

  “She’s not lying,” Madelyn said before Mom had a chance to comment. “But could you tell us what the couple looked like?”

  He glanced between the two of them, apparently deciding whether to trust them with further information. “I imagine you’re who you say you are,” he finally conceded. “However, I could describe them for you, but it wouldn’t help. Later that day I found wigs in the garbage along with a plastic nose. For all I know, the woman wasn’t even a woman.” He threw up his hands. “I wasn’t exactly studying them like I’d need to remember what they looked like.”

  “Why are you trusting us then?”

  He shrugged. “Since they were frauds, I’m guessing that makes you real. Call me a fool, but I like to trust people. Maybe I shouldn’t.”

  The one question Madelyn had, that she kept to herself, was could they trust him?

  . . .

  Gathering their family along with Aunt Dory, Zane, and Delia was getting to be a regular occurrence. To Madelyn, it had the feel of the familiar, bringing comfort to her unsettled mind.

  “Our dad asked around about Mr. Bruce. The impression he got was that Mr. Bruce works by himself and not with a larger firm because no one really wants to work with him. He likes doing things his own way,” Delia said.

  “Yeah, and Dad said people told him, that as a lawyer Mr. Bruce is sloppy, but he’s basically harmless other than that,” Zane added.

  “Well, it’s not that I want to find a rotten apple here, but someone’s got to be the bad guy,” Madelyn said in exasperation.

  “I know what you mean,” said Mom. “So, whatever Pop has or had seems to be the biggest problem. Who knew about it besides himself?”

  “George.”

  “And the appraiser, of course,” Aunt Dory said.

  Madelyn quickly added, “An appraiser who now knows we’re snooping around.”

  Friday

  The drive to the prison was a quiet one. They had so many questions but didn’t know which ones Grandpa could answer, or for that matter, which ones he would.

  The paperwork was all in order, and before they knew it, they were sitting in front of Grandpa again. He was all smiles this time. “I’m so glad to see you again. This is wonderful.”

  “I’m happy to see you too,” Mom said, “but this isn’t a normal visit.” His face fell, uncertain what was next. “We’re here because we need some answers.” He physically pulled back then stiffened whe
n Mom added, “We visited the appraiser. We will find out what’s going on, but we’d rather have your help.”

  He wrinkled his brow, seeming to consider her words, but he said nothing. Mom was not to be deterred. “I walked away last time and let you hold your peace, but I’m going to make you a deal this time. I’m going to tell you something I haven’t wanted to tell you, and then you tell me whatever it is you haven’t wanted to tell me.” She didn’t even wait for his agreement, she just plowed forward.

  “Pop, I never learned to read. I tried when I was little, but everything got mixed up in my head. So, I quit trying. Instead, I worked hard at hiding it.” His hand went to his mouth, covering it like the say-no-evil monkey. He was in complete disbelief.

  “It turns out I’m dyslexic, that’s why I couldn’t sort out the words the same way normal people can. But I’ve found someone to teach me, and this summer, for the first time, I’m actually learning to read. It’s never too late.” She reached over to squeeze Madelyn’s hand. “My daughter taught me that.” Grandpa looked from Madelyn to Mom and back again.

  “I never knew. I can’t believe I never knew. With Tommy, I … Oh, Rachel, I’m so sorry. I never knew.”

  “It’s okay, Pop. I was the ‘perfect’ one. I couldn’t let you down.”

  “But … Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “All right. Now it’s your turn. What were the letters about?”

  He seemed at a loss for words, fighting an inner battle with himself then seemingly changing the topic. “Have I ever told you about the war?”

  Mom and Madelyn exchanged glances. What had prison done to him? “Well, not that I remember,” Mom finally responded.

  “I was a paratrooper on D-Day. And …” He peered around nervously then lowered his voice. “I mailed home something priceless to your mother. Something I got that day.”

  “How did you come to own this priceless item?” Mom was sounding skeptical of his story.

  “Shhh. It’s not mine.”

  “That’s not making me feel any better about it.”

  “No. I didn’t steal it. It was given to me for safe-keeping. A priest on D-Day gave it to me because he didn’t want it to fall into German hands. It was all wrapped up. I didn’t even know what it was. He just thrust it into my hands. I shipped it home, figuring I’d deal with it after the war.”

  “Okay,” Mom said, the skepticism leaving her voice. Madelyn was leaning in, intrigued.

  “When I got home, there was so much to do. It was great to be home, but Tommy …”

  “I know. I love him dearly, but there was always something with Tommy,” Mom said as they both nodded. Madelyn could see the connection they were making with each other as if it were a visible, silken thread. It was a connection they hadn’t had before, one with no regrets, just newfound understanding.

  “I forgot all about it. I found the trussed-up package after your mom died. It was in a box shoved into a corner of the attic. When I pulled it out, I recognized it and opened it for the first time.”

  “Wow,” Madelyn said, loud enough that Grandpa heard it through Mom’s receiver. “What was it?”

  “Shh,” he said, flitting his eyes around. Then abruptly he sat up and said, “Do you remember the big coffee table books we had when you were growing up?”

  Mom stared at him. “You’re asking that?”

  “Yes. Do you remember them?”

  “Sure I do. They were books with lots of pictures. I didn’t need to read to appreciate them.”

  “I’d never thought about that before. I remember how you loved them, but I never made the connection.” Mom waved his thoughts aside. “Rachel, do you remember what the largest book was about?”

  “Yes. It was about Renaissance art, wasn’t it? And wasn’t it mostly paintings?” He just nodded in response. “I fell in love with those paintings—the Mona Lisa, anything by Raphael. Mom used to tell me the names. But, Pop, what does this have to do with –”

  “I am telling you my story. What I unwrapped was a painting, a piece of priceless Renaissance art.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, such that they weren’t sure they’d heard him correctly.

  “Are you serious? A piece of Renaissance –”

  He cut her off. “Hush. Yes, I’m serious. I was just beginning to figure out how to return it to its rightful owner, the church where it was handed to me … when all this happened.”

  “So, is that what you need us to do? Return it?”

  “Yes, but I still need to figure out a few things first.”

  “Where is it now?” Mom asked, but Grandpa shook his head. “What?”

  “It’s safe. That’s all you need to know now.”

  “Then what do you want us to do?”

  “Just sit tight. Let me think it through, okay. Can you come back next week?”

  “No, we can’t!” Mom’s words startled him. “Don’t you understand? That’s why all this happened. We need some answers. We made special arrangements to see you today. Didn’t you wonder why we were visiting you when it’s not even visiting day?”

  “I guess I didn’t.” He looked sheepishly at the two of them. “I was just glad to see you again.”

  “So, where is it, Pop?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’ve got to think this through carefully. It would put you in too much danger.”

  Mom and Madelyn both let out exasperated sighs. “Okay,” Mom said, throwing up her hands, “I’ll leave that alone for now, but then we have some other questions.” He nodded but didn’t commit to answering them.

  “Why did you pick Peter Bruce as your defense attorney?”

  The question clearly caught him off guard. “What?”

  “Why did you pick that particular attorney?”

  “Ross recommended him.”

  “Ross Musil, your family lawyer?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You picked that name from the list he gave you?”

  “No. I was just given the one name.”

  “That’s –” Madelyn started to say when her mother cut her off with a warning glance.

  “On to the next question,” she said with a false calm in her voice. Madelyn nodded that she understood. Grandpa might just stop talking if he knew all the red flags he was raising.

  “Pop, at the end of your trial, your attorney Mr. Bruce was handed a note. It said, ‘keep him close.’ Do you know what that was about?”

  “It was talking about me?”

  “Yes, I think so. It was right before they worked out your sentencing. Was there a reason someone would want to keep you close by? Did you ask them to keep you close so it would be easier for us to visit?”

  “No. Honestly, I didn’t even know I could ask something like that. My attorney never mentioned it.”

  “Then why do you think the note said, ‘keep him close’?”

  He just shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  . . .

  They had more questions for him, but he waved off any other attempts to ask. He was processing the nature of their questions, clearly wondering why there was a need to ask them. After a few minutes of neither side gaining any information from the other, Mom decided it was time to leave.

  The two of them ended up in a dilapidated diner down the street from the prison. The guard, when asked for a recommendation for lunch, had apologetically told them this was the only place anywhere close by.

  The door to the diner almost wouldn’t allow them to enter, creaking on its hinges as if to say, “Go away.” The interior wasn’t much better. The colors of the
tables, the chairs, the flooring, even the walls were so faded it was hard to tell what the original colors had been. Or maybe they were just coated in a layer of dust and despair.

  Madelyn raised her eyebrows and stepped back, but her mom ignored the motion and marched to the counter. “Can we just sit anywhere?”

  The cashier glanced up from her romance novel. “Yeah. Anywhere,” she said while returning to her book. “I’ll bring you some menus,” she added without moving to do so.

  Madelyn and Mom settled into a booth and found it to be surprisingly comfortable, the half walls warmly embracing them in this unfamiliar place. After they placed their orders, they relaxed. And since the diner was mostly empty, they started talking openly with each other.

  “Can you believe the … that thing … was in your house the whole time you were growing up?”

  “Not really. It’s crazy to think about.”

  They grew silent when the waitress showed up with their food. Mom had insisted on attempting to order on her own. “Hot dog,” it turns out, was easier to decipher than “Reuben sandwich,” even though that was her favorite. Mom was eyeing the hot dog she’d managed on her own, weighing whether to be filled with regret or pride.

  “Good job, Mom,” Madelyn said, giving her a big smile. She beamed at the compliment, allowing the pride to win out.

  In between bites, Madelyn said, “So, what do you think it looks like?”

  “I have no idea,” Mom laughed. “You’d have thought we would have asked. I can’t believe we didn’t.”

  Madelyn grew quiet. “There’s a lot we didn’t ask … or get answered,” she finally said.

  “I know.”

  “We can’t go home until we do, you know.” Home was an interesting word. Right now, Aunt Dory’s house was their home, but it wasn’t their real home. Their own home wasn’t safe until they had all the answers, not just a few.

  “I’m beginning to hate it when you’re right,” Mom said.