Christine gave a giggle and nodded. “You’re going to be a great granddaddy.”
Not catching on right away, Emory replied, “I thought I already was a great granddaddy.”
“No.” Christine rubbed her tummy playfully. “I mean you are really going to be a great granddaddy.”
Emory’s eyes grew wide, and he started to grin. “You’re having a baby?”
Jack and Christine both nodded proudly. Then everyone began to talk at once, and questions and answers flew back and forth. When was the baby due? How was she feeling? Had they picked out names? Did Jack’s parents know yet?
“The doctor just confirmed it three days ago, so we’re taking it one step at a time for now,” Jack said. “Next month we’re going to start looking for a larger apartment.”
A wide grin settled on Emory’s face. “Why would you do that?”
Christine eyed him with a curious look. “It seems obvious. The apartment is barely big enough for the two of us. We’d never have room for—”
“I realize you need more space,” Emory cut in, “but why not a house?”
“In a few years we should be able to afford a house, but not right now,” Jack answered.
“I’m using the money Mama left me to buy furniture,” Christine added.
The big silly-looking grin remained on Emory’s face as he reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a check for $5000 and handed it to them.
“This rightfully belongs to you, Christine. It’s from the sale of your mama’s house—”
“But, Granddaddy, aren’t you living in it?”
“No more,” Emory said proudly. “I’ve got a nice little apartment of my own.”
“Oh, Granddaddy…” Christine gave a solemn sigh. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I absolutely should have!” Emory interrupted with that grin still stuck to his face. “I’m doing what I want to do, and I’m happier for it.”
He went on to explain how he’d moved to an apartment building where there was a lot to do and friends to keep him company.
“An old man like me doesn’t need a big house or a lot of things,” he said. “I think when your mama left me that house, she knew I’d come to this conclusion sooner or later.” He laughed. “I only wish it had been sooner.”
Christine passed the check back to him. “You don’t need to give me this, Granddaddy. Keep it so you’ll have money to live on.”
“I’ve got all that I need.”
He folded the check into her hand and pushed it away.
“This is what your mama would have wanted. She used to say ‘Life is like a carousel; what goes around, comes around.’ Well, this is life coming around. Franklin paid for that house, so it’s his money. Just as my daddy left me money to buy a house, I’m passing along your daddy’s money so you can buy a house.”
Christine’s eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip quivered. Jack spoke because she couldn’t.
“This is such a huge gift, neither of us know what to say.”
Emory chuckled. “You don’t have to say a thing, but once you do get that house I’m hoping it has a guest bedroom because I’ll be coming to visit.”
“Rest assured it will,” Jack said emphatically.
A Family Life
In early December, Jack and Christine found a lovely three-bedroom Cape Cod that was less than a mile from Missus Feeney’s Boarding House. It needed a coat of paint and a new porch railing but the price was right, and with the money Emory had given them the mortgage payment was small enough that they’d be able to save a bit even with Christine no longer working.
Alexander Street was a place where young families came to settle and raise children. In many ways it was like the street where Christine had grown up. Children played outside. Wash was hung on the clothesline in the backyard. Husbands mowed the grass on Saturday. And neighbors seldom passed by one another without stopping to chat.
The day they moved in, Jan McGee came over with a chicken and dumpling casserole for their dinner. She handed Christine the dish and said, “Moving day is so hectic. Hopefully not having to fix dinner will make it a bit easier.”
Once the dishes were stacked in the cupboard and the clothes hung in the closet, Christine dished up the casserole and sat across the table from Jack. After only a few mouthfuls she gave a sigh of contentment and said, “I just know I’m going to love living here.”
And she did.
During the months of fixing up the house, stitching curtains and hanging pictures, she came to know every one of her neighbors. Jan and Ed McGee on the right had one child, five-year-old Stacy. Donna and John Rollins on the left had three boys who were like stair steps; the eldest was only four years old. Directly opposite was Jenny and George LaGrange, a young couple, both of them still working.
The week after Jack Junior was born, Donna came over with a basket of freshly-washed baby clothes.
“Billy has outgrown these,” she said, “but they’ll be perfect for Jack next summer.”
On the Saturday that Jack started painting the house, Ed McGee and George LaGrange both came by. Jack had not asked for help, but they’d seen him out there with a paint brush and hurried over.
“Looks like you could use a hand,” Ed said and picked up a brush.
The three of them finished the entire house that weekend, and on Sunday evening they sat out back in lawn chairs enjoying a cold beer and the warmth of each other’s friendship.
That night when Christine and Jack climbed into bed, she snuggled up to him and said, “I can’t think of anything more perfect than living right here.”
That’s how it was on Alexander Street. Jack and Christine hadn’t simply bought a house. They’d become part of a community.
Emory settled into his life at the Wyattsville Arms in much the same way. Before long he was a regular for both the Tuesday night poker game and the Thursday canasta club. He remained a member of the Elks Club and joined Otto and Seth for the dinner special three or four times a week until the following year when the Elks raised the price from sixty cents to ninety-five. Thinking that outrageous, he stayed at home a little more often. But even then he almost always had some tasty treat one of the neighbors had shared.
After the second year he quit buying canned beef stew altogether. He gathered up all the canned food he’d accumulated in the pantry and donated it to the Holy Trinity food drive. That same year he organized a garden club to plant tomatoes and zucchini in the lot behind the parking area.
Staying true to his promise, Emory visited Jack and Christine. At first it was once every few months, but after Jack Junior came along he was there at least once a month and sometimes twice. He’d park himself in the large overstuffed chair with the baby on his lap looking as contented as can be.
“This little fellow’s got your mama’s eyes,” he’d say then segue into a story of when Laura was that age.
As soon as Jack Junior started to babble Christine tried to teach him to say granddaddy, but all he got from it was the “daddy” part so he took to calling Emory Da-da.
“Granddaddy,” Christine repeated over and over again with no success.
When that didn’t work she tried to teach him to say “Pop-pop” but that came out sounding like “pup,” which was what he called Boomer, the Saint Bernard they now had. Finally she worked on getting him to say “G-G,” meaning “Great Granddaddy,” and that was something Jack Junior could handle.
Once he began calling Emory “G-G” it stuck, and when Chrissie came along two years later it was inevitable that she would latch on to the name. By that time Jack Junior was trailing after Emory like a shadow.
Chrissie was born the year Jack got yet another raise and was assigned to squad car duty. Anxious to keep moving up the ladder toward detective, Jack often worked odd hours and got home long after it turned dark.
Jack Junior had been an easy baby. He napped during the day and slept straight through the night. On the rare occasion when he did wake ea
rly, he’d lie in the crib kicking his chubby legs in the air and cooing playfully.
Chrissie was just the opposite. She woke up wailing and seemed impossible to quiet. With Jack Junior at the age where he was into everything, it was more than Christine could handle. Knowing the boy’s affection for G-G, she called Emory and asked if maybe he could come to lend a hand.
“At least until Chrissie gets over this colic,” she said.
Looking pleased as punch, Emory told Seth Porter he’d have to pass on this year’s poker tournament because he was needed to help out with his grandson. He came to Richmond that August and stayed until mid-September.
All month long Jack climbed up onto his great granddaddy’s lap and listened as he read the newspaper. The day Emory read about gas prices going up to twenty cents a gallon, Junior sat there shaking his head in the same worrisome way his great granddaddy did.
“This boy’s smart as a whip,” Emory said proudly; then he went right back to reading about the situation in Korea.
When Junior wasn’t listening to Emory read the newspaper, they sat side by side watching television. While Emory listened to Dave Garroway’s comments on the world at large, Junior laughed at the antics of the chimpanzee, J. Fred Muggs. In the afternoon, Christine was able to nurse the baby and start dinner while the two of them sat watching Buffalo Bob and his freckle-faced sidekick Howdy Doody.
Visiting with Jack and Christine was the one thing Emory enjoyed as much as he did his friends at Wyattsville Arms. Over the years he’d grown as fond of Jack as he’d once been of Franklin. One evening while Christine was upstairs tucking Chrissie into bed, Emory started thinking how much she and Jack reminded him of Laura and Franklin.
“It’s a shame you never knew Christine’s daddy,” he told Jack. “You would have liked him a lot.”
“I’m sure I would have,” Jack replied.
He waited, knowing there would be yet another story about Franklin. There was. One story led to another, and in time Emory’s voice took on a melancholy sound as he told of Franklin’s murder and the inequity of never having caught George Feldman.
By then Jack had begun studying criminal law and cold case behavior patterns, so he asked question after question about Feldman. Did he have relatives? What kind of work did he do? Was there any follow up? Of course very few of these questions had answers.
“Don’t forget it was twenty-five years ago,” Emory said. “Back then people disappeared without a trace, and there was no way of finding them. After a while, the police quit looking.”
“But it was a murder case,” Jack argued. “Murder is a capital offense; on something like that there’s no statute of limitations.”
Emory gave a weary nod. “Maybe so, but things were different back then. We were in the middle of a depression. The police did what they could and when they couldn’t find even a trace of Feldman, they moved on.”
In time they set the conversation aside and switched over to something less troubling, but the thought of such an injustice remained in Jack’s mind.
Junior was five and Chrissie three when Frankie was born. He was christened Franklin, but right from the start everyone called him Frankie.
By then Jack was third in line for a detective spot on the Richmond force. He had all the qualifications, but there hadn’t been an opening on the squad for over a year. With a number of the detectives being young men his age, it didn’t look any too promising going forward.
After a year of waiting, Jack spoke to Captain Hennessey.
“I’ve got a family to think about,” Jack said, “and it doesn’t look like anything is going to be opening up on the squad. Is it possible I can make detective if I transfer to South Richmond?”
“I’ll look into it and get back to you,” Hennessey replied.
An Overdue Opportunity
When nearly a month passed without another word from Hennessey, it was beginning to seem as if Jack’s request had been forgotten. Then the first Tuesday in June, Jack was called into the office and Hennessey closed the door.
“Have a seat,” he said and motioned to the chair in front of his desk.
The conversation started off with a few pleasantries. Hennessey asked about the family and congratulated Jack on the new baby.
“Frankie is six months old already,” Jack said proudly. He thought about showing the baby picture in his wallet but moved past the idea. Obviously that wasn’t what he was here for.
After an awkward few moments of pushing papers from one side of his desk to the other, Hennessey glanced up and looked Jack square in the face.
“I spoke to South Richmond, and they’re in the same spot we’re in. The detective squad is mostly young guys. The first foreseeable opening would be Sam Berman’s spot, and he’s ten years from retirement.”
Jack let out a whoosh of disappointment.
“You’re a good guy,” Hennessey went on. “You’re dependable and thorough. You’re somebody to be counted on, and that’s worth something. Even though there’s nothing available, I agree that you deserve to move up.”
Uncertain of where this was going, Jack mumbled, “Thanks.”
“So I called around, put out feelers, made a few inquiries. What I came up with is a senior detective spot, two grades higher than you are now, with a nice bump in pay.”
A look of interest settled on his face, and Jack leaned forward. “Sounds good.”
“Good or not depends on you,” Hennessey said. “This opening is on the Wyattsville force. That means relocating.”
Jack winced, and Hennessey held his palm up.
“I know, I know,” he said apologetically. “Jack Junior goes to school with my Eddie, so I realize what this means. It’s a big move. You’ve got to uproot your family, sell your house—”
“Christine is happy where we are. She’s got friends—”
Hennessey gave a sympathetic shrug. “Trust me, I understand. But before you make a decision, think it over carefully. This is a great opportunity, and you’re pretty much a shoo-in for the position. I told Captain Rogers you’re one of my best men. He wants to meet you.”
“I appreciate what you’ve done,” Jack said, “but I’d like to discuss this with Christine before I talk with Captain Rogers.”
“Fine. Take a couple of days and get back to me.”
Hennessy closed the folder on his desk then looked up. Seldom did he play favorites but Jack reminded him of Eddie, the kid brother shot to death by a crazed drunk. The memory of that flashed through Hennessey’s mind.
With a serious expression he said, “Consider this opportunity very carefully. Compared to Richmond, Wyattsville has a really low crime rate and it’s a good place to raise a family.”
“We’re familiar with the town,” Jack said. “Christine’s granddaddy lives there. It’s where she grew up.”
“Well, then, she probably won’t mind moving…”
Hennessey didn’t notice the doubtful look stretched across Jack’s face.
* * *
Jack waited until the kids were in bed; then he sat on the sofa alongside Christine.
“There’s something we need to talk about,” he said.
Given the expression on his face, she knew it was something serious. She could still remember how her mama had seemed perfectly fine until all of a sudden she was dying.
“Oh, Jack,” she said, anxiety in her voice, “please tell me you’re not sick.”
“It’s nothing like that. It’s about my job—”
With his furrowed forehead and the downturn of his mouth, Christine knew it was not good.
“You didn’t get the detective spot?”
“Yes and no,” Jack answered. He went on to tell of his conversation with Hennessey.
“Ten-year statistics indicate Wyattsville has a low incidence of violent crime, and the pay grade is good for thirty percent more than I’m making now.”
Everything about the job sounded wonderful…except the part about it being in Wy
attsville.
We’d have to leave here. Move away.
Christine let out a disheartened sigh.
“So if you don’t take it,” she said, “does that mean it could be another ten years before you make detective?”
“Unless something unexpected happens.”
“Unexpected?”
He nodded. “If one of the detectives currently on the squad is injured, killed or decides to quit the force.” He took her hand in his. “I know how you feel about living here, and I want you to be happy. This isn’t just about me; it affects our whole family. It’s a decision we have to make together.”
Christine gave a saddened nod. The thought of leaving Alexander Street brought tears to her eyes.
“We don’t need to do this tonight,” Jack said. “Let’s sleep on it, think it over and talk about it again in a day or so.”
Sleep was almost impossible to come by that night. Christine tossed and turned, thinking of the ramifications involved with moving. They would have to leave this house they’d so lovingly restored. They’d have to leave their friends, neighbors who were always willing to lend a helping hand, people who were now like family.
Jack Junior was in kindergarten; the move would mean a new school, new friends. And the price of homes was higher now; they might not be lucky enough to find another house quite so perfect on a street that welcomed them with open arms. It seemed there was a thousand reasons for staying, and one big reason for going.
Wyattsville is safer.
She thought back on last year’s robbery of the jewelry store in the center of town. It happened two blocks from the telephone company. The young officer working Jack’s old beat was shot and killed.
Thinking back on the early years of their marriage, Christine remembered how Jack insisted on meeting her every evening she worked split shift. He never allowed her to walk home alone. “It’s not safe,” he’d said.
Beyond the Carousel Page 18
