Each Shining Hour

by Jeff High

  “Um, yes, yes. It was an incredible find, actually.”

  “John said you mentioned that there was a family Bible among the papers. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “Could I possibly look at it?”

  Surprised, I didn’t answer immediately. My hesitation distressed her.

  “Please.”

  “Oh, sure, sure.”

  She followed me into the kitchen, where I had left the box on the table. I carefully opened it and retrieved the modest-sized Bible and handed it to her. She laid it on the table and turned to the genealogy page, where Oscar Fox’s lineage had been inscribed in elegant cursive handwriting. Slowly she ran her fingers over the names, stopping on Oscar’s mother. Her maiden name was Gretchen Esther Goldstein. Ann exhaled a heavy sigh and then looked at me with a sweet face of complete, contented joy.

  “It was Oscar, after all.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Oscar’s mother was my grandmother’s oldest sister. There were eight children in their family. My grandmother, Miriam, was the youngest. She and Gretchen were separated by sixteen years. They were Jews. Oscar’s father, Dieter Fuchs, was not. When the war broke out, my mother was only seven years old and she and my grandmother went into hiding. Some of my cousins had made it to Switzerland and from there they worked to get the extended family out of Germany, mostly through bribes. That’s how my mother and grandmother got out. I had always been told that we had a wealthy cousin in America who would mail cookies to Switzerland.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. Cookies?”

  “Yes. The cookies had diamonds baked into them. They were used to pay off German officials. Altogether, Oscar helped fourteen of my relatives escape Germany and Austria. After the war my mother came to Pennsylvania, married a farmer, and they had me. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Oscar Fox.”

  I was stunned beyond words. Questions poured through my head. I blurted out one of the least important ones.

  “So, you’re Jewish?”

  “Not really. I’m proud of my heritage, but I grew up Lutheran.”

  “Well, I just . . . I guess I’m just trying to fit everything together here. So you’re saying that Oscar Fox, or Fuchs, sent diamonds hidden in cookies to Switzerland to help get your mom and your Jewish relatives out of Germany?”

  “And Austria.”

  “And Austria.”

  “Yes.” She pointed to the Bible. “This is who he really was and that is what he really did.” Ann’s consuming smile continued and she nodded. She gazed at the Bible before her and was beaming with an almost tearful happiness.

  “Holy crap.” It was an astounding revelation. But I still had questions. “But why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  Ann shrugged. “First of all, the details of the story have always been sketchy. The name Watervalley had been passed down only by word of mouth. I had never seen it written on anything. My cousins never knew what happened to Oscar, just that the letters and packages stopped coming. He had a post office box in Nashville where they were supposed to send any correspondence. Never to Watervalley. At any rate, you can’t blame a girl for hesitating to claim kinship to Watervalley’s infamous murderer.”

  It was all starting to come together. Oscar’s new identity, the packages to Switzerland, his opening of the bakery, and the rumors about diamonds now all fit into a larger narrative. Yet, as I stood there, another incident from recent memory came to mind.

  “When did you first suspect Oscar Fox was Oscar Fuchs?”

  “Actually, it was when I first came to town. You might remember I came a day early. The first thing I did when I got here was look through the archives at the county library. Oscar had never put his name on the packages and signed the letters with his first name only. I found the name Oscar Fox in the records and figured he used the English spelling of the word. That’s how I found out where Oscar was buried.”

  “So you’re the one who put the Star of David on his grave marker.”

  Ann answered sheepishly. “Oh, you found that? I figured no one would ever visit his grave. I didn’t know for sure, of course. I guess I just wanted it to be him. But, yes. The star belonged to my mother. I put it there in honor of him and what he did for her.”

  “Ann, this is a big deal. Don’t you see? For decades Oscar Fox has been cast as a murderer. In reality, he was the exact opposite. He was a profoundly selfless man.”

  “True. But you do have to concede that he might have been a thief.”

  “How so?”

  “Whatever diamonds he possessed couldn’t have belonged to him.”

  “Well, there you may have a point. But still, look at his choices. He was on the run and couldn’t get out of the country. I’m only speculating, but it sounds like he didn’t want to be deported back to Germany, especially since he saw a way of helping his Jewish relatives with the diamonds by staying in this country. He probably came to Watervalley to lie low before moving on. But something happened and he stayed.”

  “What do you think changed his mind?”

  “I’m guessing he fell in love.”

  Ann smiled. There was a subtle twinkle in her eye and she offered an amused nod. “Yeah, they say that happens.”

  I smiled in return. “Anyway, looks like he tried to do all he could to help those around him and his larger family, to make the most of where he found himself. It’s a shame his life ended so tragically. I don’t guess we’ll ever know the identity of the man Oscar killed, or exactly how he and his associates got their hands on the information that led them to Watervalley.”

  “I might know something about that. At least, I have a theory. The diamond company Oscar worked for, Lamerslint-Jorg, was owned by some Jewish cousins of mine. That’s how Oscar came to work for them as their North American sales representative. The Nazis took over the company early in the war, like they did most Jewish-owned companies. That might explain why Oscar felt justified in keeping the diamonds. And it doesn’t take much to understand why he didn’t want to be deported back to Germany.”

  “And if that’s correct, then he really didn’t steal them. He simply used them to help their rightful owners. I looked it up and Lamerslint-Jorg went defunct at the end of the war.”

  “Along with the Nazis,” Ann added.

  “So, the German guy. What’s your theory?”

  “Lamerslint-Jorg was owned by the Nazis. No doubt, they had agents hidden across America during the war. So, it seems logical that he was a German agent of some kind, sent to recover the diamonds.”

  “Which would explain why no one ever claimed knowledge of him.”

  “It makes sense.”

  “Yes, it does.” I thought about it for a moment. “You know what else? It also explains why the telegram found on him was over a private Teletype machine. Seems logical that a German agent or spy wouldn’t be using Western Union to transmit messages.”

  She shook her head. “Still, I don’t know how the Nazis traced Oscar to Watervalley. That part’s probably lost to history.”

  I nodded in agreement. For the longest time, we stared at each other in amazement. “This is truly incredible. You know that this story needs to be told.”

  Her smile faltered. “I think I’ll let you tell it.”

  I didn’t understand her hesitation. “You know, Louise Fox feels the same way. Why is that? It’s your family’s story.”

  “You’re right. But I guess Louise is like me and doesn’t care for the spotlight.”

  I laughed. “Well, neither do I, but someone needs to tell this story.”

  “You’re the one who’s brought all of this to light. It’s yours, Luke. It’s your story to tell.”

  “I’ll speak to Louise again and see if she changes her mind. It just seems to be the right thing to do to set the record strai
ght about who Oscar really was.”

  Ann lingered for another half hour, paging through the documents and taking several pictures with her cell phone. She was awash in a bemused euphoria, delighted to have finally found an answer to a lifelong question.

  As she was leaving, I couldn’t help but ask, “So, you and John have been getting along okay?”

  She gave me a sly smile, her face radiant at the mention of his name. With her delicate features, petite figure, and sparkling eyes, I could see why John was taken with her.

  “It’s been a little difficult to keep the bit in his mouth, but he’s coming along.”

  “Well, keep it up, Ann. I suspect you’re good medicine for him.”

  “Hmm, John’s got potential. He’s intelligent, nice looking, and with that house and everything, you have to admit, he’s done okay for himself financially.” She paused and gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t forget, I’m still half-Jewish. Momma would approve.”

  I laughed and bid her good-bye, shutting the door behind her, and turned to find Rhett beside me with the tennis ball in his mouth. It had been a remarkable afternoon. But clearly he believed I should rethink my priorities.

  In the days to come, he wouldn’t be the only one.

  CHAPTER 40

  The Stars Align

  With Louise’s approval Luther Whitmore ran a special edition devoted to Oscar Fox, telling the details of his story and his secret mission to save his Jewish relatives from Nazi Germany. As well, considerable space was allocated to my theory that he had acted in self-defense. The result was a massive vindication of Oscar Fox’s legacy in the minds of Watervalley’s citizens. In a few short days he went from the notorious shadows of folklore to the status of local hero. There was even talk of placing a historic marker in front of the old bakery to commemorate him. He was the subject of gossip across the valley for weeks, and everywhere I went, people would stop me on the sidewalk, or in the grocery store, or while I was pumping gas and expound at length on the matter.

  Diamonds were still a lively topic of speculation, but the common consensus was that if any still existed, they were lost forever, appropriately putting that old rumor to bed. Additionally, I made no further mention of a possible conspiracy surrounding the three men from decades ago. I had my suspicions, but ultimately, despite what Sunflower had told me about her dad, what Sheriff Thurman had said still rang true: it was just conjecture.

  In a small way the vindication of Oscar’s name lifted the morale of his descendants. Louise seemed to be emboldened by the improvement of Oscar’s reputation and was taking on her new challenges with commendable courage and dignity. She had put the temptations of alcohol behind her, had accepted Estelle’s offer to work at the bakery once it opened, and had begun the arduous process of boxing up their belongings in light of the inevitable bank foreclosure. I admired her. Even still, she was a single mom facing years of tight finances and little hope of ever getting ahead. One of the families from church had an above-garage apartment they were willing to lease to her at a modest rate. Several of the guys from church along with myself had agreed to help her move when the time came. There seemed little else I could do.

  May arrived, and along with the continued excitement of the Oscar Fox story and the daily demands of the clinic, the pace of my life shifted into high gear. Connie’s birthday was coming soon and despite her protestations I had arranged a small party at my house. Meanwhile, the bandstand was nearing completion and the grand opening for the bakery was only a few weeks away. Christine and I were still enjoying some delightful hours together, but with the imminent close of the school year, her nights and weekends were busy as well, limiting our opportunities to see each other. The lack of shared time only intensified my thoughts of her and I found myself missing her with an all-consuming passion.

  Happily, I did manage to facilitate the answer to one small problem. I had come up with a way to resolve the nagging competition between Lida and Estelle. Bringing the two of them together in my office, I proposed a partnership in which Estelle could provide Lida with pastries and cakes for display to sell down at the diner and Lida could make gourmet sandwiches and wraps that could be prepackaged and sold over at the bakery. With a little coaxing, they both agreed to this exchange. I also proposed that since I had brokered this deal, I should get free samples for the balance of the year. This, they refused to do, sharing a conspiratorial giggle between them.

  On the way out the door, however, Lida pulled me aside to tell me some good news.

  “Doc, keep it under your hat, but I’ve got a contract on the B and B.”

  “Well, good deal. Somebody local buy it?”

  “Not even close. Get this. A man out of Charleston, South Carolina, is buying it. I got a call last week from his Realtor, a Melanie Middleton. We talked for thirty minutes. She was adorable. She said she knew it was a little nuts but her client was willing to make an offer and put down a deposit based on nothing more than the Web site description and pictures.”

  “That’s pretty unusual. She tell you anything about this guy?”

  “Only a little. He’s late thirties, recently widowed, and I think she said he has twin daughters. Not sure about their age. Eight or nine, I think.”

  “Interesting. I guess you never know.”

  “Of course, the deal is subject to an on-site inspection, so I’m not counting my chickens yet. But maybe when he comes, I can get the spooks to behave for one night and not scare him off.”

  “Spooks? What are you talking about, Lida?”

  My puzzled face told her that I was clueless. She remained in a light humor but paused and sharpened her gaze at me. “You never have spent a night there, have you, Doc?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  Lida nodded, weighing my response for a moment. Then she shrugged, making a noticeable effort to downplay her previous comment. “Eh, well, it’s like most old mansions. Things creak and moan and go bump in the night. It only adds to the charm. Anyway, the Realtor sounded pretty confident over the phone that her client was dead set on the place, said he thought it was just what his life needed.”

  “Well, I hope it works out.”

  “Me too. I’ve got a grandbaby coming and a huge responsibility to spoil that child rotten.”

  I laughed, bid Lida good-bye, and walked back toward my desk. I was happy for her and glad that things seemed to be working out. For a moment, I stood and looked out the huge windows of my office at the incredible May day before me. Perhaps Connie was right. Something about spring did stir the heart.

  I had made some progress on the commencement address, managing to jot down a few thoughts that could be pieced together into a respectable message. But before that was to happen, there was the prom dance. And as I stood there absorbing the intoxicating beauty of the day, small sparks of anticipation and excitement were filling my thoughts. Admittedly, as much as I struggled with the idea of the graduation speech, I was almost giddy about going to the dance.

  During my brief tenure in Watervalley I had come to know most of the high school seniors. Some had been patients of mine; others I knew from attending their basketball and soccer games. I enjoyed a certain celebrity status with them, and candidly, I loved it. It seemed I was at that right age, old enough to be seen as cool and too young to be seen as a parent. So, since the town offered so few opportunities to cut loose, I was as caught up as anyone with expectation about the dance.

  Prom was only a few days away, the first Saturday in May. Somehow, with our hectic schedules, Christine and I had not seen each other for more than five minutes in over a week and admittedly my heart was feeling the strain. More than in any other relationship I had been in, she owned my thoughts. My emotions were carrying me beyond the safe boundaries of the familiar. In the quiet hours I harbored a desperate yearning to be with her, to hear her voice, to hold her. I was convinced she felt the same.r />
  It seemed our conversations had become laced with an underlying tension from the delicate hunger between us. And now the prom dance, with its alluring air of release and celebration, held all the potential for chemistry and combustion. I suspected that each of us had secretly nurtured idle daydreams of what was possible between us; had delighted in sumptuous thoughts of what would befall if our unspoken wishes were to find a voice. Measure by measure, as Saturday approached, my imagination began to flirt boldly with this furtive and consuming desire.

  Late Friday afternoon, however, Nancy buzzed me in my office to say I had a phone call from Will Fox.

  “Will, what’s up, big guy? You okay?”

  “Sure. I’m fine. Excellent, actually.”

  I laughed to myself. No child other than Will Fox would talk in such a superlative way. “Good to know. What’s on your mind?”

  “When you’re done with work today, come over to Chick’s. We’ve got something to show you.”

  “Oooh, this sounds promising. Wouldn’t have anything to do with a sports car, would it?”

  “It might. When can you get here?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  When I arrived, the Austin-Healey was parked out front with the top down, shining brilliantly with a brand-new powder blue paint job. It had been completely restored with new cream-colored leather upholstery and a lustrous wood dash. It was a thing of beauty.

  I walked around it in amazement. “Chick, you and Will have outdone yourselves. It looks fabulous.”

  Chick grinned from ear to ear. “The best part, Doc, is that she purrs like a kitten. Completely rebuilt the engine. My man Will here did a lot of the finished work.”

  I smiled at him. “You did a great job, Will. Looks perfect.”

  He seemed quite pleased with himself. “So, you going to go show it to Miss Chambers?”

  I thought about this. “You know, Will, she and I have a date tomorrow night. I think I might make the fact that it’s finally ready a surprise. You think you can keep quiet about it?”