I don’t remember if I ever told you but your grandmother, Kathryn, was a seamstress. She had majored in Clothing and Textiles and was very skilled in creating beautiful dresses. When we were first married, she began to specialize in sewing wedding gowns and very quickly had more work than she could handle. I convinced her to raise her prices, which she did, but even so the demand often exceeded her time. She quickly gained a tremendous reputation in the area as a skilled couturier. One day she had an appointment to meet a girl at St. James Cathedral over in East Milford. In front of the church there is a beautiful fountain, which Kathryn had always admired. She finished her appointment early and with time to spare, she decidedto sit by the fountain and sketch out several designs for her client. While she enjoyed the splendor of the morning, she struck up a conversation with a girl who had also come to admire the fountain’s beauty. Her name was Andrea. Kathryn was always an easy person to talk with and so in their conversation, she learned that Andrea had come from a small town in Oklahoma. As with Kathryn’s earlier appointment, she was also to be married in the church— just not under as favorable circumstances. She had become pregnant and as such had been disowned by her parents. She and the boy had moved into his aunt’s basement nearby and were planning to get married on their own in the coming weeks. When Kathryn asked what she planned to wear, Andrea admitted she had nothing, as she worried about any dress fitting in her condition.
Right then and there, Kathryn offered to make her a dress at no charge. Told her some story about being a new seamstress who needed to learn how to fit a dress to someone expecting. She told Andrea she’d even be doing her a favor to let her “practice.” That’s the type of person Kathryn was. I had watched Kathryn sew many a wedding gown, but this particular gown she seemed to enjoy just a bit more.
The day of the wedding came and the dress Kathryn created was stunning. Later in the day, after the ceremony, Andrea pulled Kathryn aside and through her tears she called Kathryn her “angel.” She explained how weeks before, at the fountain, she had been an emotional wreck, frustrated and confused about her situation and condition. She said she had just thrown a few coins into the fountain, closed her eyes, and wished for an angel; seconds later, Kathryn had sat down beside her. My point, Emily, is thatto Andrea, Kathryn was indeed an angel. She came and helped out in a time of need.
To some it may seem meaningless. It was, after all, only a dress. To Andrea, it was the world. It is the same with all of us. If we will but look around, we can be actual angels to those around us in need.
Be sensitive, my dear granddaughter. Be caring, and you too can be an angel as well.
Love,
Grandpa Harry
Laura watched Emily. She didn’t say a word, and it looked like she might be crying. Gets it from me, no doubt, Laura thought, giving Emily a squeeze. “Do you understand what Grandpa is telling you?”
She nodded. Laura knew the letters would become even more meaningful as Emily grew older—when she could understand them better.
“Mom, do you think Grandma was pretty?”
“I’m sure she was very pretty.”
“Do you remember her?”
“Well, no, sweetie. She died when your daddy was just little—younger than you, I guess. But if she looked like you, she must have been beautiful.” Emily looked pensive. “But that’s the most wonderful part of these letters,” Laura continued. “Grandpa’s telling us all about her—so we’ll know her. She was a very special person, just like you.”
“I miss her, Mom, though I never knew her.”
“I didn’t know her either, but I miss her as well.”
“Let’s read the other one, and then we’ll fax these to Dad.”
When they had finished, she dialed Bob’s number and waited for him to pick up.
“Hi, this is Bob Whitney. I’m not in, so please leave a message at the tone or press two to send a fax.”
She dropped the sheets into the fax machine and pressed the button. She felt bad about having cut him off so quickly earlier in the day. She’d try him later after Emily was in bed. That way they could talk freely about Greg and what to do with the will.
MICHELLE WAS THRILLED TO FIND THE PACKAGE SITTING by the door. She had been on pins and needles since Bob had first told her about the book.
It was larger than she had expected. Fascinating. She opened the volume carefully. Stunning fabric, she thought, as she examined its construction. The cover was stitched around the edges by hand with a thick cord and then tied on each inside face with a bow. The book was thick and sturdy. She had an hour before the kids would arrive home, so she sat down and began to read.
Many of the words felt familiar and reminded her of her childhood home. Bob seemed to hold such bitter memories of home. She remembered it more fondly. It wasn’t paradise, but lots of kids had worse, she decided. It would have been nice, though, to have had a mother around the house;it would have helped Bob. It was funny how she still worried about him. It was so difficult living far away. In their phone conversations, Bob never seemed happy, always discontent. In many ways he reminded her of Harry, though in a million years, she’d never tell him so.
Her hands touched the cover lightly. She flipped cautiously from page to page, glancing at the words. So, Dad had written poems—poems with messages. It was intriguing. She turned back to those Bob and Laura had already solved. Sure enough, she could see the passwords. Of course it was easy, if you already knew the answers.
She moved on to some of the riddles that hadn’t yet been solved and began to read—read and think about home.
Bob seemed almost frantic when Laura answered the phone. “Are you sitting down?”
“No, do I need to be?”
“You’re not going to believe this.”
“What? Which one did you solve?”
“No more yet.”
“What then?”
“Well, it was Greg—er, rather his kids—actually I’m not sure how it happened. They were playing with the book and . . .”
“Playing with it? Why were they playing with it?”
“I don’t know, just get the book, sit down, and listen.” Laura grabbed the book from the table, switched to the cordless phone, and sat on the couch without saying a word. Emily was playing in her room.
After a few seconds, Bob spoke.
“You there?”
“I’m here. You told me to sit down and listen.”
“Sorry. Now open the back cover.”
She did as instructed. “Okay, the back cover is open.”
“Untie the string.”
“Huh?”
“The string that’s stitched around the cover and then tied with a bow on the inside. Untie the bow on the back cover and lift up the flap. When you do, the middle section of the cover will slide out. Do it and tell me what you find.”
Laura pulled on the string and indeed it held down a flap folded underneath. Three thin boards sandwiched together were used to make the cover. When she pulled the center sheet out, a gold coin hidden in a round cutout dropped to the floor. She picked it up off the carpet and examined it.
“Bob?”
“Wait, don’t tell me. I bet it’s a 1908 Saint-Gaudens gold piece—in almost mint condition. How am I doing?”
“But, how?”
“From what I gather, they found it by accident. My guess is that one of Harry’s poems or letters tells us it’s there, we just don’t know which one yet. Greg thinks it’s the gold poem, but I’m not so sure. Can you believe he hid gold in the book?”
“Your dad is certainly full of surprises.”
“It gets more bizarre. Greg freaked out. He thinks there might be more gold in the house so ‘Mr. only has time to visit at Christmas’ has arranged a few days off so he and Michelle can come out and check.”
“There’re coming out here?”
“Sure enough. They’ll be there Wednesday. Here’s the funny part—Greg wondered if any gold coins we find at the house wo
uld be classified as savings, as described in Harry’s will. One minute he wants to contest it, saying Harry wasnot of right mind, now he’s ready to make Harry a saint. Can you believe him?”
“Do you think there’s any more gold? We went through the house pretty thoroughly, didn’t we?”
“Who knows what’s hidden there. With all these secret poems, passwords, and now gold coins, you must admit, it makes you wonder. After all, the color always intrigued him. If you stood next to Harry for ten minutes, he’d paint you gold. With the hidden gold coins showing up, I’m not sure what to think anymore. Either way, though, I’ll be coming out to meet Greg and Michelle. I’ve already made the arrangements. I don’t want Greg tearing up the place without someone there to watch him. I thought I’d let you know.”
“Thanks, Bob.”
“Sure. See you in a couple of days.”
Laura placed the coin back into the binding and tied the cover back together. As she did, she spoke softly to herself. “What are you up to now, Harry?”
She arrived at the clinic wearing a white ball gown, the one that had been stored in the basement. She looked stunning, and as the elevator doors opened, the gown’s layers oozed from the opening. She waltzed proudly to the reception desk. “I’m here to see Dr. Steve Iverly,” she announced loudly, so everyone waiting in the room was sure to hear.
“Do you have your patient number?” the gray-haired lady inquired coldly. Laura reached for her purse. It was completely empty. She had left the number he had given her sitting on the floor at home.
“I don’t have it, but he’s waiting to see me. He called andasked me to come.” The phone on the receptionist’s desk began to ring.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but without your patient number you’re not getting past me.”
“You have to let me in, he’s waiting. He wants me to go with him. He just called.” The phone continued its incessant ring.
“That’s him trying to call. Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not the operator, just the receptionist. The operator won’t be back until Tuesday.”Ring, ring, ring. Laura was getting hysterical.
“It’s him and he needs me to go with him. I have his tuxedo right here—see it’s his size—he’s waiting for me. You must answer the phone.”Ring, ring, ring.
“No, ma’am. Not until Tuesday.”Ring, ring, ring.
The phone jarred her awake from the dream as it continued to ring. It took two more rings before she could find it on the nightstand and pick it up.
“Hello?” she muttered.
“I found another one.”
“What?”
“Man, it feels good to be the one waking you up. You heard me, I found another one. Turn to page thirteen and read the poem.”
She knew Bob had been fascinated with the hidden passwords and Harry’s letters, but this was ridiculous. He was, however, being civil so she hated to complain. “Okay, just a second. Let me get it.” She climbed out of bed, searched for her robe in the darkness, and then tiptoed down the stairs. The book was still on the table from the night before. She flipped it open to poem eight, headed to the computer, and began to read.
Grandma’s Family Portrait
Forty-one had gathered for their portrait shot with pride;
They were all extended family, who had come from far and wide.
Jim and Jill from Tallahassee, Fred and June from River-cress;
Uncle Mike and his young wife, who wore a very low-cut dress.
Linda Ann and Uncle Henry, he’s the one who likes to hunt;
And Grandma, ninety-three now, who was sitting right in front.
They had gathered here for Grandma, looking proper, prim, and priss;
It should be a nice occasion, yet something seemed amiss.
Oh, Grandma isn’t smiling, noticed crazy Uncle Clyde;
It’s cause Grandpa’s gone, said Wilma, she’s been sad now since he died.
Let’s all help, she must be happy, something funny we must do;
She’ll be smiling in the picture, if it’s up to me and you!
Sandy pulled a silly face, as big Johnny waltzed a dance;
Cousin Kenny told a joke, and old Henry dropped his pants.
They all giggled ’cept for Grandma, who reached up to wipe her eye;
So little Amy tugged her sleeve, “Dear Grandma, don’t you cry.”
She raised her hand to wipe a tear? No, something else instead;
She held her hand across her mouth and this is what she said,
“I’m not sad, the old coot’s dead and gone, it is not quite what you think;
The reason I’m not smiling is—I left my dentures in the sink.”
Laura had read the poem several times and it still made her chuckle. “Okay, where is it?” she questioned.
“Take the first letter of every stanza and tell me what it spells.”
“Let’s see—it spellsfloss ?”
“Exactly.” He sounded triumphant.
“Floss?” she repeated.
“Why not? It’s good advice.”
Laura turned on her computer, opened the folder, clicked on the eleventh file, and entered the password.
“Well, I’ll be, you’re right. Way to go, Bob.”
“Thanks.” He sounded proud of his feat.
“Want me to read it to you? It’s only half a page long.”
“I read it. I got your disk. I just thought you’d like to see it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Thanks. Hang on just a second, while I read it.” She quickly scanned the letter.
Dearest Emily,
Have you ever seen an eighty-year-old man with his teeth sitting in the bathroom sink? Trust me, it ain’t a pretty sight. Flossing takes just a few seconds each evening but the rewards are tremendous. Oh, you’ll have nights when you get home late and you think, “I’ll just do it in the morning.” Don’t succumb! Open the drawer, break off a piece of the white, waxy string and floss.
Two wonderful things will happen. First, throughout your life you’ll never be afraid to smile. Second, when you’re a ninety-year-old grandmother looking at yourself in the mirror, you will see your smile and you will remember me. Take care of yourself, Emily. I love you.
Love,
Grandpa Harry
“When did he write this stuff, Laura? It’s weird. He never told me to floss.”
“Don’t you see? It’s not hygiene advice; he wants to be remembered.”
“It just doesn’t sound like him.”
“I think it does. Think back a few years, before he was sick. Remember how witty he used to be? He wasn’t always so stubborn.”
“Not from what I can recall.”
“All you ever saw in him, since I’ve known you, is an angry old man.”
His natural reaction was to argue, to justify his position, but Bob knew she was right. “You and Emily have been visiting him for what, a couple of years now?”
She stopped to calculate. “It’ll be just over two next month.”
“Did you ever see him writing?”
“Not often, but Cara mentioned it a few times. I think he liked to write in the morning. Remember, he could have been working on these books for years. In fact, he must have been.”
“It’s just so bizarre. This is supposed to be from my father, but it feels like advice from a stranger.”
“Perhaps that’s the reason he wrote it. Did you ever consider that?” she replied.
“Guess I better let you go, it’s late. Oh, I think I just about have number seventeen worked out. If I get it tonight, I’ll call you. If not, I’ll have it by the time I get there on Friday for sure.”
“I’ll look forward to it, but Bob?”
“Yes?”
“In the morning. If you figure it out tonight, call me in the morning.”Click.
“Laura? Laura?”
AS BOB EXITED THE PLANE, HE FLASHED LAURA WHAT looked
like a peace sign. He knew she would understand it meant he’d found the passwords to two more poems. As he approached, he seemed unsure how to greet her. A handshake seemed ridiculous, but a hug felt inappropriate as well. He settled on neither, choosing instead to launch into the news of his discovery.
“Two more, Laura. I’m on a roll. I found one of them on the plane on the way over. When I let out a holler, the flight attendant rushed over to see if everything was okay.” He looked around the terminal as if someone might be listening and then bent over to whisper in her ear. “And I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I called in sick yesterday. I sat at the kitchen table all day trying to figure out these silly poems.”
“Tell me what you found.”
“I have the files on my laptop. I’ll read you the letters in the car on the way to the hotel.”
“Hotel?”
“Yeah, I made hotel arrangements. Should I cancel them?”
“The midnight phone calls will kill me. If you’re okay with it, you can sleep in the guest room again.”
“Thanks, that’d be great.”
While Laura pulled out of the airport parking lot, Bob booted his computer and loaded the files.
“The first one is the chocolate pudding poem.”
“You found that one?” Laura was elated. The poem included two chocolate dessert recipes. She’d been working on it herself and found it perplexing.
“Yes, I did, thank you. It took me a while to figure out. I actually made both recipes again last night before I got clued in to where he was going.” Laura smiled. She had two pans of the dessert in her refrigerator from the previous night as well. “The key is in the ingredients, Laura. They are listed differently so it throws you off, but if you look carefully you’ll see they are the same—both recipes use the exact same ingredients. Here, let me read the letter and you’ll understand.”
She continued to drive while Bob typed in the password and then began to read.
Letters For Emily Page 11
