CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mary sat quietly at her kitchen table. It had only been an hour or so since it had emptied out. As always everyone had gathered here after leaving the house on Summer Street. Everyone who hadn't been there initially eventually found their way to her small kitchen. By silent consent they had spoken of just about everything under the sun except for what had been discovered at the home of their great-grandparents. Beth didn't just look exhausted, it practically vibrated off of her in waves. With her father and Wes flanking her she had contributed to the many conversational topics that flowed left and right over the last couple of hours but quietly so. Her voice soft and gentle...even more so than normally.
With a decided sigh Mary pushed away from the table that had been the place of so many similar family gatherings over the last year. And would be again she knew without a doubt. But in this moment she had another use for it. And knew because of it the night would be a long one for her. She filled up the water reservoir in her coffee maker and measured in enough coffee to assure a strong pot of the brew. Once done she walked over to the day bed on the back wall of what had been her grandmother's dining room and knelt down in front of it. After their earlier discovery of the many family treasures in her attic Brian and Court had built a fire proof safe into the underside of the day bed. She felt then as she did now, it was a fitting place for the oldest of the journals and diaries that had been found in the attic that chronicled the lives of their many ancestors long before they’d arrived in the United States of America. Long before it was a thought let alone a consideration. Once she had it opened she began the task of carefully lifting them up and out of their storage space. They had perused though them months ago but many were in languages foreign to them. Someone had begun to translate them but with what Beth had told them about the volumes found in the Summer Street house Mary wondered how much they could count on those translations.
As she took them out one by one she carefully set them in order by year or at least as close as they had been able to determine. Casey had painstakingly gone through each enough to identify the timeframe it was from. Many were labeled by decade and century though some only by century if that was the best she'd been able to come up with. Looking at them now she saw they ended in the decades just prior to her great-great-grandmother's death in the early part of the last century. They were scattered through the decades and centuries prior to that all the way back to the early years of the 1500’s if Casey's translation of the dates was accurate.
On a deep breath Mary gently picked up the earliest volume knowing if they were to understand what it was they were meant to they needed to start at the beginning. At least the beginning of what they had.
Once she had the centuries old volume on the table she set up her laptop that was now connected to the internet as it hadn't been months ago. She was grateful for it at the moment. With it she could determine the language she was dealing with especially with the translator program she'd so recently downloaded to her laptop. She also planned to purchase some old fashioned dictionaries to help her verify any questionable translations or any that seemed to be important enough to make sure they were getting it right. It was tempting to just get started right away but despite that temptation she was hesitant to do the actual translation online.
Three cups of coffee and forty-five minutes later she had pinned down the language of the volume she'd chosen. At least she thought so. It matched most Hungarian translations but not completely. After downloading a translator program that included just about every ancient language that ever was she realized that not every word in the sentences she was tackling bit by bit was being translated. Not every word made the pass. Her first thought was perhaps it was an even older dialect or perhaps even a regional one that accounted for the differences. But on a hunch she began to separately put in the words that weren't making it through the Hungarian translation to see if they translated differently. After several words and fitting those results into the rest of the Hungarian translation she’d already done separately it became apparent that the author was intentionally combining at least two different languages in an effort of secrecy. Or something. She couldn't think of any other reason the diary was written in a mix of Hungarian and Romanian. She sighed even as she wondered at the motive anyone might have had to do so. Nothing that came to mind was good. But then some of what Beth had spoken of hadn't been a history of happiness. On another deep sigh that bordered on weariness she stood to refill her coffee cup. As she stood at the counter trying to decide if she really wanted to make another pot the soft knock at her back door almost sent her jumping out of her skin. Moments later she was letting her cousin in the door and knew without a doubt there would indeed be another pot brewing soon.
"I saw your lights on," Carrie said without preamble as she set her laptop on the table and flipped it open.
"I hope you've got a good translator program on there," Mary commented wryly not at all surprised she had company. "If you don't I just bought another nice one tonight you could try out."
"I've still got the one that Nick put on here a couple of years ago when we were travelling."
"You're going to need it," Mary said as she gestured to the large volume she'd begun with. "I started with the oldest." She took a long sip of the strong coffee as she studied her cousin. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking since you're working forward I'll start with the most recent one and work backwards." She studied the carefully stacked books from where she stood at the kitchen doorway leading into the small dining room. "It looks like even then I'm going to be learning about what when on almost a century ago."
"Carrie." Mary waited for her to turn around. "Really. What are you thinking?"
Carrie simply stared at her cousin, the one who was like a sister to her. In some ways more than any sister could be. With a nod she acknowledged there was more. She moved over to the piles of books and chose the one she would start with before situating herself back at the table. Only then did she admit what had been gnawing at her in the last hours. "Court and I went back over to the house. The one on Summer Street."
"And..." Mary pressed gently. Quietly.
"Court wanted to see the room and I...well I guess I wanted to see his reaction to it." She pressed the couple of buttons on her now humming laptop to bring up the program she would need for the work ahead. "And I guess I needed to be there myself without everyone else there and their reactions going on all at once."
Mary waited quietly. Her cousin had done what she herself had contemplated and put off for the next day.
"Court didn't feel anything especially." Carrie smiled at her cousin, a genuine smile with joy that went straight to her eyes. "He wasn't real pleased. I think he was hoping to feel a jolt or something."
"And what about you?" Mary wanted to hear what she already knew.
"I wouldn't call it a jolt. More like a steady hum."
"But more so than this afternoon." It wasn't a question. She knew what had been felt earlier because she'd felt it as well.
"Oh yeah," was the heartfelt reply. "Earlier I wondered if it was just reaction to Beth's response to it."
"And it wasn't."
"No."
Mary waited patiently for more. Knew Carrie's intrinsic pragmatism was no doubt battling against the abstract impossibilities of what they'd been dealt. The intangible might not have substance but like haze of fog felt every bit as real.
"You think it was because you were on your own without everyone else's emotions in the way?"
"No." Carrie took a long breath and looked up from the computer she'd been staring at with no real focus. "I think it’s because I accepted the possibility of all Beth spoke of." She shook her head with a sense of wonder. "Maybe it would be more accurate to say all who Beth spoke for," she said as she stood. She might believe but she still struggled with it. "I need coffee."
Mary watched her choose one of the largest mugs she had and fil
l it almost to the brim. "I won't say that I didn't have a myriad of personal reasons for coming here when I did....but this place has pulled me for a long time. The memories it holds are certainly part of it but as time went by it all got stronger."
"I know. We’ve talked about it. I never understood. Not really." She sat back down, warmed her hands around the mug. "I do now."
"I knew how that door opened. The one in the closet in the hall," Mary clarified gently. "I've always felt something. I just wasn't certain what...or why."
"You've always had a more open mind to what couldn't be seen."
"Anything interesting while you were over there tonight?" Mary had wanted to go over there for that reason as well.
"A sense of peace I didn't feel earlier." Carrie ran her hand gently over the ornate binding of the book she'd set next to her laptop. "I didn't have that feeling of foreboding that I did before."
"Because you came back. You accepted."
"Because we all have," Carrie corrected softly. Accepting out loud what she had already admitted to herself in the quiet of her soul.
"Yes." Mary turned the page of the journal she had only just begun to translate. Barely begun to learn of the life of the woman who had kept it. "I have a feeling there’s much more to all this than we can begin to comprehend. Some will be found here," she nodded to the books on the table. "Some at our great-grandmother's house."
Carrie nodded, understanding all Mary left unsaid as well. Following her lead she opened the book she'd chosen and began translating the words that would tell the story of another of their ancestors. With a quiet sigh she prayed in doing so they could bring them the peace she believed they had been long denied.
See an excerpt below from the next book that continues the stories of the Hills of Burlington.
An Excerpt from Refuge on Leebrick
"Jake."
Jake Kyle looked up from his computer to the man standing in his office doorway. It took him only moments to stand and walk around his desk with his hand outstretched upon recognizing his visitor even as a myriad of memories assailed him. "Tommy!" He clasped the man's hand tightly, held on even as he took in his somewhat worn appearance. "What brings you here?"
"You mean how in the world did I find you in this little river town?"
"Yeah. That too." Jake led him further into his office away from the curious eyes of the newsroom, crossed over to the small fridge he kept stocked and pulled out a couple of sodas and handed one to his old friend even as he gestured him to sit. "I thought you were out in San Francisco."
"I was." Tom Holland flipped the can top open and guzzled down half its contents in short order. "You follow the story on the explosion out there?"
"I don't know many who don't." Instead of sitting back down behind his desk he leaned up against its side. Studied the man he hadn't seen in over a year. "You made even more of a name for yourself out there than I would have thought possible. Pitching that microphone at your on site producer and diving into the thick of things made for some interesting video."
"It wasn't meant to." Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "I didn't expect him to keep filming."
"Him and half a dozen other cameras from half a dozen other networks caught it. It's not often those covering the news give up their headliner role to become part of it." He crossed his legs at the ankles, shifting slightly to set his can down on the desk beside him yet still within reach. "It was my understanding that had you not done so several of those people buried under the rubble may not have stood a chance of surviving." And he began to wonder if some of the other less seemingly accurate rumors that had made their way to him might actually have some figment of truth to them.
"Not everyone saw it that way."
"Then they need to get a life."
"Yeah, well...that's pretty much what I told them." Tom looked up at his old friend even as he shrugged it off as he had so much else of late. "Need a reporter?" he asked only half joking.
Jake took it seriously. "I can always use a good reporter and you're one of the best." He tilted his head to one side studying the man he'd known since college. "I can't pay you diddly compared to the neighborhood of what I know you were making but I'll put you on my payroll in a heartbeat." He paused then decided they'd known each other too long not to ask the questions no one had any business asking. "Are you sure you don't want to go back. I can't believe they wouldn't take you back no questions asked. And Lord knows if they're that stupid and don't, one of the other big networks will and drool all over themselves in the process.
The man he spoke to leaned forward in the big overstuffed easy chair that should have seemed out of place in an office, grasped his hands in front of him. Then he spoke out loud for the first time of all the thoughts that had plagued him for the weeks since the bombing. "I almost didn't do it. For a split second it was in my mind that my job was to report the news. Doing that was more important. Seemed so at that moment.” He closed his eyes on the memories of the carnage he'd seen, waded through and done all he could to somehow save just one soul from that hellacious fiery landscape. In the process he’d salvaged his own. He just hadn’t realized it at the time. "I have a hard time thinking back, seeing what I saw, knowing what might have been otherwise." He looked hard at his friend. "Walking away when I did may have saved my life. I won't go back to it."
Jake stood, held out his hand. "Then I say welcome to Burlington." And decided any further discussion on the topic could wait until Tom looked and sounded more up to the debate than he did at that moment. "You got a place to stay?"
"I checked into an awesome looking hotel a couple of blocks away. Looks like something built a hundred years ago."
"That's because it was, chump." Jake laughed heartily at the expression on his friend’s face. Clapped him on the shoulder before he continued. "Get used to it. Just about everything in the city is that or older. Fact is..." he thought about his cousin's most recent acquisition. "I might know of a place you can settle into for a while until you get your bearings. Let me check on it and I'll get back with you." He took a card from his desk, wrote some numbers on the back of it along with his address. "Settle in then come over for dinner tonight." He saw the hesitancy and rammed right over it. "I want you to meet my daughter."
"Daughter?"
Jake struggled to hold back the laughter at the shock in his friend’s voice and eyes. "Long story. I'll tell you about it after dinner tonight."
He’d been unable to resist just as his friend had known. By the time Tom walked out of the building he had a new job and plans for the evening. As he walked back to the hotel he wondered how in the world he'd ended up in a city along the Mississippi no one including himself had ever heard of.
"I just hired Tom Holland." Jake cruised into Mark's office and grabbed a pop out of the fridge before sitting down in the chair facing the desk. A quick glance told him he'd surprised his friend and business partner. Told him too that while he was surprised he wasn't shocked.
"So the rumors were true for once."
"I'm not certain about that. The impression I got was he told them to heave it not the other way around."
"Well, well, well." Mark leaned back in his chair and let his imagination fly. "Sounds like Tom reached his point of no return."
"Mark," Jake said as he waited for the other man to look at him. "He looks like he's been through the wringer."
"Maybe," Mark thought it out, played it out in his mind then calculated the possible ramifications versus the benefits for Tom and their newspaper. "Maybe his first assignment should be an opinion piece on the fine line between reporting the news and becoming the news."
"God only knows he can craft a fine opinion piece but maybe along with that theme he should also address the delicate conflict of reporting the news when lives could be saved if done otherwise."
"Choices." Mark tapped his pencil against the smooth desktop. "It's really all about choices." He looked
up at the man across the desk from him. "And I think it would really be a good introduction for him to the folks of Burlington."
"I'll tell him tonight. I talked him into coming over for dinner."
"Where's he staying?"
"I think the downtown hotel. He said he was walking so that's got to be it." Jake took a final long sip emptying the can of soda. "I'm going to call Mary next and see if he can bunk at the Summer Street house until he decides what he wants to do."
"Got it all worked out, don’t you?"
"Just pieces," Jake said on a long sigh. He'd been there. Knew first hand what his friend was dealing with. "And for that matter not even any of the real important ones. Tom will have to figure those out for himself. But if we can ease his way there..." he shrugged knowing there was only so much he could do. With a slight nod he strode out of the office as easily as he'd come in.
"So," he transferred his steaming cup of just brewed hot coffee from the counter to the small round table centered in the kitchen and sat down with it just as his cousin Mary was doing the same. "I was hoping that until he’s able to find something more permanent, maybe even figure out whether being here in Burlington is permanent, that he could stay in one of the rooms over at the Summer Street house."
"He's more than welcome to, Jake." Mary turned in her chair and leaned forward to grab the ever full canister of cookies off the counter. "But are you sure he wouldn't be more comfortable at the Marshall Street house. It's only Aunt Charlie, Mallie, and Addie there right now and they’re out in the Carriage House."
"I have a feeling Tom isn't at his most sociable right now. The Summer Street house would probably be right up his alley at the moment."
Mary took a sip of her coffee as she simply eyed her cousin. And waited.
Jake knew the ploy, his sister used it often enough. Any day he expected his adult daughter, Beth, to catch on and play the same waiting game though up until now she'd done just fine simply asking him what she wanted to know. In between bites into the huge sugar cookie he drawn out of the cookie jar he went ahead and filled his cousin in with what little he knew. "Do you remember," he gestured to the small stack of the day's newspapers sitting on the kitchen counter opposite them, "in one of these many newspapers you subscribe to…"
Summer Street Secrets (The Hills of Burlington Book 3) Page 24
