Final Rights

by Tena Frank

  “How can I help you?” The librarian spoke softly. A web of tiny wrinkles encased her light brown eyes, accenting their long lashes. Her makeup consisted of only a bit of lip gloss. Light danced off the embellishments on her t-shirt, framing her face with dozens of glittery reflections.

  “I hope you can. I have this, and I wonder if I can check these books out with it.”

  The woman took the yellowed card from Cally and studied it carefully for a moment.

  “Calliope Ann Thornton?” The librarian enunciated each word beautifully, the space between them accented by the wavering tone of her voice. She looked up and studied Cally’s face intently.

  “Cally?”

  “Yes . . . ?” Cally returned the intent gaze. On guard, she wondered why the woman acted so strangely. “. . . yes, my name is Cally.”

  “It is you! I can’t believe it. Cally, it’s me, Sally! Sally Barton. I mean Sally Simpson. You must remember me . . .”

  “Sally? I don’t think I . . . but that sounds vaguely familiar . . .” Cally felt herself tumble back through ancient memories again. And there she sat on the playground with her best friend at her side. She looked deep into the eyes of the woman in front of her and saw they still sparkled. “Oh! Yes! We used to pretend the rainbow ended over your head, because of the gold flecks in your eyes. Yes, Sally! I remember you!”

  Her old friend came around the counter and she and Cally hugged each other tightly for the first time in decades, tears streaming down both their faces.

  “I’ve always wondered what happened to you. You just disappeared.”

  “I know. My mother packed us up in the middle of the night and we went to California. I cried for weeks because I missed you and Gampa and Gamma so much.”

  “I want to hear everything, Cally. Why don’t you come to supper tonight? Meet my family and we can talk about everything! We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “We most certainly do. I’d love to join you. Oh, I’m so glad I found you!” Tears collected in the corners of Cally’s eyes again.

  “It’s a miracle, really. I can’t wait to sit and talk with you again.” Sally looked around and realized another customer waited in line.

  “Now what about these books?” Cally asked. “Can I still use this old library card?”

  “No, but I’ll get you a new one right now. Where are you staying?”

  “At the Princess Hotel.”

  “Okay, we’ll use that address.”

  They laughed and chattered on while Sally issued the new card and checked out the books her friend had chosen. As Cally stepped to the end of the counter to pick them up, they made their plans for the evening. Cally stood quietly for a moment, breathing in the unique aroma of the library and letting the joy settle into her body. Sally returned to her station to attend to the next customer.

  “Sorry I kept you waiting so long,” Sally told the woman who had a curious look on her face. “She’s a long lost friend who just turned up again. May I help you?”

  “It’s always nice to find an old friend again,” the woman responded. “I’m looking for Carla in the North Carolina section. She helped me last week, but I don’t see her there today. Interestingly enough, I’m trying to track down a particular book she found that references the Princess Hotel, where your friend is staying, and a local artisan named Leland Howard. Can you help me with that?”

  “Why are you looking for my grandfather?” Cally screeched. Then she turned a blazing red from embarrassment.

  Those were the first words Cally ever spoke to Tate. Sally and Tate stared at Cally, mouths open in disbelief.

  “Leland Howard is your grandfather?” Tate asked.

  “Yes, he is! Well he was . . . I assume he’s gone now. I haven’t heard from any of them in ages.” Cally left her books on the counter and walked back toward Tate.

  “Oh, honey. I’ve got some good news for you, then. He’s still alive, and I know where he is.”

  Cally burst into tears. The words sank into her soul and searched out the deep pocket of grief she kept hidden from everyone, even herself. Her sobbing deepened and she nearly dropped to her knees, weakened by the internal battle between disbelief and joy. Tate caught her and they stood there locked together by the common bond of Leland Howard, a man Cally had lost long ago and Tate had only recently found. Tate knew instantly she and Cally would be friends for a lifetime.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  1940

  Ellie left the park and walked home quickly. She looked out the kitchen window and saw Leland and Clayton just finishing up in the workshop. With a few precious minutes to herself, she went directly to the fireplace mantel, opened the secret compartment and slipped Harland’s note into a corner.

  She lifted her grandmother’s antique tortoise-shell hair comb out of the drawer and caressed it gently. One of her prize possessions, it rested in its hiding place along with the bank book for the still-active savings account holding money Mary Alice had given her years before. The drawer also held the diamond ring her father had given her mother as a 45th birthday present and then passed on to Ellie after her mother’s premature death the previous year.

  These items comprised the totality of Ellie’s dowry, accumulated only after her marriage, piece by piece. She clung to these valuable personal possessions, vestiges of possibilities she once imagined for herself. In different circumstances, Ellie would have thought of her collection as the financial means to launch her independent life. But over the years she slowly resigned herself to what she had, rather than what she wanted, and she came to think of her belongings as the nest egg she would eventually pass on to her son. She wished she had a daughter to hand them down to—a girl who would recognize the power and value the freedom inherent in having one’s own money—not a boy who took the inheritance for granted. But her son would become the custodian for Ellie’s accumulated goods and he would decide whether to use them or pass them on to his own children.

  She pushed the drawer back into place just as her husband and son entered through the kitchen door.

  “What’s for dessert, Maw?” Clayton called.

  “Clayton, I’ve told you a million times, don’t call me ‘Maw.’ It sounds awful, and you just do it to aggravate me!”

  “Okay, Mom, what’s for dessert?” Ellie bristled slightly at Clayton’s lack of apology and Leland’s silence, but she kept her irritation to herself for the moment.

  “Your favorite—rhubarb pie with vanilla ice cream.”

  “Thanks, Mom . . .” Clayton put even more emphasis on the word this time as he bounded into the bathroom to wash his hands.

  “He’s getting worse, Leland, and you don’t do anything about it.”

  “He’s a good boy, Ellie. He’s just testing the waters, trying to become a man.”

  “Testing the waters! Is that what you call getting into trouble all the time? We’ve had to haul him out of the police station two times already, and he’s only thirteen years old!”

  “Now, Ellie, that incident with Jimmy Boykins—Clayton had a right to protect himself.”

  “He had a right to stand up for himself, but not to give the boy a concussion and a broken nose, Leland. And what about the stones through the store window? What’s the justification for that?”

  “Boyhood prank, Ellie . . . just a prank.”

  “You didn’t do things like that at his age . . .”

  “No, but I didn’t have Clayton’s spirit, either.”

  “Spirit, is it? Or something else?”

  “Ellie, he’ll be fine. He’ll grow out of it. Let’s just give him some time.”

  If Ellie pushed any more, Leland would dig in his heels. She knew that. “I’ll put the pie on the table okay?” she asked to end the argument.

  “Yes, please.”

  After dessert, Ellie spent the rest of the evening tidying up the kitchen and thinking about how she would get Leland to do the work for Harland. She had extracted a choice prize from Harland. It had bee
n sweet in the moment. Now she had to uphold her end of the awful pact she had forged with him.

  “Leland, we need to talk.” After a long night of fitful sleep, Ellie felt prepared to plead her case. Ellie rarely went into the workshop, but she believed Leland would be his most receptive to her request in the place he felt the happiest.

  “Ellie, what are you doing here?”

  “I’ve got to tell you something, and I’m going to ask you to do something you will not want to do. But it’s important, Leland, more important than I can say. Will you hear me out?”

  “I’ll always hear you out, Ellie. What’s got you so worked up?”

  “I went to the fabric shop yesterday. I didn’t find what I wanted, but while I was there Harland Freeman approached me . . .”

  “He did what?” Alarms started sounding in Leland’s head.

  “He asked me to talk to you about the work he wants you to do . . .”

  “Why on earth would he approach you when I already . . .”

  “You already told him no.”

  “I told him NOPE! I won’t work for that despicable man!”

  Ellie waited while Leland fumed, pacing back and forth in front of his workbench, fists clenched.

  “I’m asking you to do that work for him, Leland. As a personal favor to me.”

  “Why would you want me to do it, Ellie? I don’t understand why you want me to work for that horrible man.”

  “Well, Leland, he is family.”

  “Ellie, it’s not right to bring up family in regards to Harland. He may be blood-related, but he ain’t family—not in the true sense of the word!”

  “Whether we like him or not, Leland, family is family. Besides, it would be easy work for you. He would pay you a good wage and we can always use the money.”

  “We have enough money, Ellie. We don’t need more. We’re just simple folk.”

  Leland’s words cut deep and went to the core of the biggest divide between the two of them. Leland relished being simple folk while Ellie found the designation intolerable. Rage engulfed her, and unable to control herself, she lashed out.

  “You may be simple folk, Leland, but I am not! All my life I wanted things I didn’t get. I wanted a life, a real life with adventure and excitement. I got you instead. I wanted to travel and see the world. I stayed here with you instead. I wanted freedom and independence. But what did I get? A husband and a troublesome son!”

  Leland fell back, astonished at the force of Ellie’s tantrum. He had never seen her this way, never heard these things from her before, and it terrified him.

  Ellie felt all her long imprisoned dreams rising up, fueling the tirade. Once unleashed, her emotions poured out.

  “Don’t ever call me simple folk again, Leland! And don’t ever think for a minute I don’t notice all the things you do for others that you never do for me. You build beautiful furniture and help create fancy houses for all the rich people who want you. But when I asked you for a house, a real house instead of livin’ in this old shack you love so much, what did you do? You built me a house all right. You built me the simplest, plainest house on the street. The most boring, basic house you could conjure up when you’re the finest craftsman around. Why? Because you think of yourself as simple folk, not worthy of something special, and you think of me that way, too. I AM NOT SIMPLE FOLK, LELAND! I had wishes and dreams and ideas and plans just like everyone else. Big plans, big ideas. And I squandered them all in a moment of shameful passion!”

  Wracked with emotion, Ellie could not believe the words she heard coming out of her own mouth. She stopped, tears streaming down her face, arms clutching her sides in an effort to regain some control. She sank, bent over, into an old chair and continued to sob. Leland, shocked by the scene in front of him, sat motionless and speechless on a stool, hands on knees, head hanging low, engulfed in panic.

  Finally Ellie spoke again, this time more calmly. “Leland, I’m sorry for all that. Not for saying I’m disappointed about some things, but for saying it that way. And for trying to make it your fault. I chose this life with you. It is a good life in so many ways. But I’m not simple folk, Leland, and I wish you could see that and try to stretch more to my way of thinking.”

  “Ellie, I . . . I don’t . . . you’re . . .” Head still whirling, Leland searched for words. “You’re right, Ellie. I always stick to the way I was raised. Not taking more than I need. Simple things are enough for me, and I didn’t realize how vexing that is to you. I’m deeply sorry.”

  “You made me that beautiful fireplace, Leland. You made that special place just for me, and I love it so much. I guess I want more things like that. I guess I just want too much.”

  Leland paused before responding. “As far back as I know, the men in my family made wonderful things for other people. They never kept those things for themselves. We had our home, some basic furniture, all beautiful, of course, but not fancy, nothing more than we needed. The fancy things were always for others. You knew that when you moved here after we got married.”

  “I was just a child then, Leland, only 16. Your parents were good to me and I didn’t want to stir things up. Then we had the baby, and we all lived in this tiny cabin. When you started building us a new house of our own, it seemed grand by comparison. But when I asked for nicer things, and I did ask several times, what did you say?”

  “We just need a solid house, Ellie, nothin’ fancy.” Leland answered. “That’s what I always told you.”

  “That’s right. You said it so many times and I always gave way. And that house there? That’s ‘a solid house, nothin’ fancy,’ just like you insisted in your stubborn way.”

  “I never realized how much it disappointed you, Ellie. I truly never did.”

  “I came to terms with it, Leland. I’m comfortable there, and I’ve made it my own.”

  “But still, you should have what you want, Ellie . . .”

  She looked at him, taking a moment to gauge his mood.

  “And that brings us back to where we started, Leland,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I want you to do that work for Harland and not to ask me any more questions about why.”

  Leland contemplated his wife and her request, both the things she said and those left unsaid. Her vehemence unnerved him, but his love for her persisted as strong as ever. She had a reason for asking what she did, and he wondered again what it might be. Leland was certain Ellie’s moment of shameful passion had not been with him. And she had invoked family obligation, which seemed odd since he had never had a familial attachment to his cousin and Ellie seemed to dislike Harland as much as he did.

  He could think of only one possible source of the power Harland had over Ellie, one sole explanation for how he would be able to persuade her to do his bidding. Too awful to contemplate, Leland pushed the thought away just as he had done long ago the first time the idea occurred to him. Adrift in indecisiveness, a course of action suddenly popped into his head full-blown—a scheme so out of character for him it took him by surprise. But it would accomplish so many things, this unexpected plan of his. Harland would get his door, Ellie would get her fancier house, and Leland would prove to everyone, especially himself, he had a backbone. He resigned himself to his shocking decision.

  “I’ll do it, Ellie. Like you said, he’s family, and maybe I understand just what that means a little better now than before. And I’m gonna make things right for you, too, Ellie.”

  “Thank you, Leland. And I’m sorry, really, for everything I said. You’re a good man and I’m lucky to have you.”

  Leland thought about how much he loved his wife as he watched her retreat to her kitchen, and he reckoned Ellie saying she felt lucky to have him would be the closest he’d ever get to knowing if she loved him in return.

  Leland screwed up his courage and went to Freeman Mercantile the next day. He listened to Harland boast about his house plans and how it pleased him Leland had come to his senses and agreed to do the job. Leland studied the sketch Harlan
d had drawn for a Baroque-style door of massive proportions, discussed the type of wood he wanted, the time frame, the cost—all the details necessary to get the job underway. Not once during the conversation did Leland express his disgust for the man or the work, and not once did Harland seem to notice how Leland recoiled when he moved too close. When the conversation concluded, Harland unwarily put out his hand. Then, and only then, did Leland look Harland in the eye.

  “I’ll do this work, Harland, but I’ll not shake your hand. That’s what gentlemen do at the conclusion of business, and you’re no gentleman.” Leland took the drawing from Harland.

  “I’ll send along an estimate and you’ll return a check for half the cost of the job. Once your check clears the bank, I’ll get the supplies and begin the work, and you’ll have your door by the deadline. Thereafter, don’t ever speak to me, my wife or my son again.” Leland turned on his heel and left the store without another word.

  Harland stood in stunned silence as Leland disappeared from view. Once the check clears the bank? Does he think I would write a bad check? How dare he . . . Harland tried to shake off his indignation at the way Leland had spoken to him. He’ll do the job. That’s what I wanted, and that’s what I got. The end justifies the means. Even as the note he had written at Ellie’s command continued to haunt him, Harland hoped the old adage would hold true in this case.

  A week later, Leland stood in the lumberyard, selecting wood for his upcoming projects. He meticulously inspected each piece for grain and texture, enjoying the distinct patterns and subtle color changes.

  For Harland’s job he needed cherry. Common and plentifully available in the Eastern United States, Harland had chosen it for its rich, warm hue; tight, wavy grain and satiny, lustrous finish. It would not be painted, like most doors, but left its natural color and sealed with varnish, highlighting Harland’s design. When Leland found a perfect plank, he put it back in the bin. He methodically searched out those with tiny defects, faults almost imperceptible to all but the most highly trained eye, and he laid them out in a pile.