by Tena Frank
Cally listened but said nothing, so Tate continued. “A man named Richard Price seems to be the one pulling the strings. How that happened isn’t clear. But he’s the one who got Leland to Forest Glen, and he and his family continue to be involved.”
“There was a Mr. Price who lived not far from us. A rich man with a big house in Montford.”
“I think that’s the guy. I met him recently. He’s quite old now and has trouble getting around. He showed me a desk your grandfather made—one with a secret compartment!”
Cally closed her eyes and struggled to pull up a memory, the mental effort written all over her face. Tate waited.
“Secret compartments . . . that sounds familiar for some reason. I can’t seem to . . . it’s right there, at the edge of my memory . . . oh, I don’t know! Tell me more. Why did you start looking for him?”
Tate sighed deeply. “This is feeling like an old story to me. I’ve told it so many times in the past week.”
“Once more, please,” Cally pleaded.
“Well, there’s a huge old house not far from where Sally lives. I meant to ask her about it last night but never got around to it. It’s abandoned and they’re going to tear it down and build little cottages instead. Little cottages would be nice, I think. I’d probably even like to live in one of them myself. But ever since first laying eyes on the place, I’ve felt compelled to save it. So I started hunting for information, and I found out . . .” Tate stopped abruptly and her fidgeting put Cally on alert.
“What? What did you find out?”
Tate stalled. I don’t want to cause her any more pain. I want to take care of her, not hurt her.
“Tate, please. Is it bad? Why won’t you tell me?”
“Cally, I don’t know what it means. I just have this feeling . . . I found out the house belongs to your grandfather.”
“Gampa owns a falling down house in Montford! Why?” Cally struggled to make sense of it all.
“I wish I knew, Cally. Truly I do.”
They sat quietly for a moment, Cally apparently lost in thought, Tate watching her for signs of what to do next.
“More coffee?” The waitress brought their attention back to the meal.
Tate waited for Cally to answer.
“No, thanks. I think we’ll go now.”
“Okay. Separate checks?”
“One check. I’ll take it,” Cally said before Tate had a chance to answer.
“Cally, please don’t do that.” Cally’s gesture made Tate uncomfortable.
“Don’t be silly, Tate. You can treat the next time.”
“So, there’s a next time, then?”
“I certainly hope so,” Cally answered brightly. She dropped twenty dollars on the table and got up before the waitress returned with the check. As they walked out the door, Cally looped her arm around Tate’s elbow and they headed for the library.
An hour and a half later, they had learned a few tantalizing details. A search of Ancestry.com produced two references to Leland Howard in the United States Census data. In 1920, he was ten years old and lived with his parents at 8 Cumberland Avenue. A decade later, the household had grown to include Ellie and Clayton. Because of a seventy-two-year rule, no more specific census data could be located. They found records showing birth and death dates for Ellie and Clayton. Most interesting was the marriage certificate for Ellie and Leland.
“Look, Tate.” Cally pointed to the marriage date. “May 15, 1927.”
“Yes?”
“May 1927. Remember Clayton’s birth date? December 1927!”
“Yeah . . .”
“Gamma must have been pregnant when they got married!”
“Oh! You’re right, Cally. He was born barely seven months later.”
Cally sank back into her chair, mouth agape, staring at Tate. “Gamma always seemed so prim and proper. I’m having a hard time imagining her doing something like that in 1927.”
“And let’s do more math, Cally. They were both teenagers—only 16 and 17—when Clayton was born.”
“Okay. So, in 1927 they are both in high school. They hook up and Ellie gets pregnant. They rush to the altar in May. Maybe Leland graduated, but Ellie couldn’t have, could she? Not at 16.”
“Probably not. But it wasn’t important for girls back then. They were all destined to get married and raise a family.”
“And the census shows them all living with Gampa’s parents—my great-grandparents. They stayed in that house from the time they got married until Gamma and Clayton died. Then Gampa goes somewhere else for a while and finally ends up at Forest Glen. And the house somehow ends up on Maplewood.”
“That sounds right. So, we know the whens and wheres—at least most of them. I still want to know the whys. And how does the house in Montford fit into all this? There’s no indication of any connection between it and your family. Except, of course, that Leland owns it. Why didn’t they live there? Why has it been vacant for decades?”
“Let’s take one thing at a time, Tate. Right now, I’d like to see Gampa . . .” Cally stopped, a shocked look on her face.
“What? Cally, what is it?”
“What if he wanted us to leave? What if that’s why Mom took me away? Maybe he hated us. Maybe he won’t want to see me! I never considered that before.” Huge tears formed in Cally’s eyes, and Tate wrapped an arm around her shoulder for comfort.
“One thing at a time, like you said. Let’s head out there and see what happens. Can we do that?”
“Yes . . . yes, okay. I just panicked for a minute. I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
THIRTY-ONE
2004
You must think I’m a real wimp!” Cally turned to Tate as they sat in the parking lot outside Forest Glen.
“Why would I think that?” Tate noticed the effort Cally put into not crying, but small tears had formed in the corners of her eyes.
“I’m not usually like this—so emotional! What if Gampa doesn’t want to see me?”
So we’re back there, then—fear and insecurity. Tate reached over and put her hand on Cally’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Cally, I’ve only met your grandfather twice, but I can tell you for sure he’s a loving and gentle man. I can’t imagine he would not want to see you.”
“But it’s been so long! I was a little kid when Mom took me away. Maybe he’s forgotten about me . . .”
“His mind is sharp, Cally. He may have buried his memories of you to protect himself, but I doubt he’s forgotten you.”
Cally sat staring at her hands in her lap, her shallow breath clearly an attempt to control her emotions. Tate waited a few moments before speaking again.
“So, my dear, I can pretty much guarantee you’re never going to feel better by sitting here in the parking lot. We can leave and come back another time, or we can go inside. What’s your preference?”
“I want to see him. I have to know.”
Tate summoned her cheeriest voice, determined to do whatever she could to ease Cally’s concerns. “Okay then. Let’s go!”
They walked the short distance to the entrance and arrived in the lobby where Ruby stood ready to welcome them.
“Well, Ms. Marlowe. I never did think I’d be seein’ you again this soon! And who’s this with you?”
“And good afternoon to you, too, Ms. Ruby!” Ruby acknowledged the formal greeting with a huge grin and a wink.
Cally noticed the playful tone of the conversation and wondered what it meant. She’d have to ask Tate about it later.
“Ms. Ruby, I’m happier than I can say to introduce you to Cally Thornton . . .” Ruby waited through Tate’s dramatic pause. “. . . Leland Howard’s granddaughter!”
“Mr. Howard’s granddaughter?”
Ruby’s gasp caught the attention of Dorothy as she entered through the door behind the desk. She echoed Ruby’s astonishment: “You said his granddaughter? We thought he had no family left. He thinks all his family is gone!”
&nbs
p; “She was gone for a long time,” Tate said as she put a steadying hand on Cally’s back. “But she’s here now, and she would love to see Mr. Howard if you think he’s up to it.”
“He’s busy carving some Christmas ornaments, but he always likes to have visitors,” Dorothy offered as she escorted them into the common area.
Leland Howard sat in his usual spot by the windows, head bent over his work. Cally stopped short of approaching him. “I need a minute,” she said. Tate and Dorothy stood quietly to the side as Cally took her time. She had yearned for this meeting for more than four decades. She would not rush now.
“Where did she come from, Ms. Marlowe?” The nurse whispered the question.
“California is the easy answer, but there’s so much more to it than that Dor . . . Ms. Dorothy.”
Dorothy gave the slightest giggle. “That ‘Ms.’ doesn’t come naturally to you, does it, Ms. Marlowe?”
“Absolutely not! But, I’m learning to adjust to Southern customs, with Ms. Ruby’s help.”
“I had some trouble with that when I came to the South, too. When I’m at work, I always use the title when I greet someone. Informal situations, I tend not to use it. You know, at the store, with friends . . . but I always use it around older folks. It really is kind of confusing. I go by the better-safe-than-sorry rule!”
“Good advice, Ms. Dorothy. Thanks.”
“We thought he was all alone. So, where did she come from?” Dorothy asked again as she nodded in Cally’s direction. They both noticed how still Cally stood and how intently she stared at her grandfather.
“She’ll have to decide how much to share. But she was taken away as a child and just found her way back. She thought he was dead, and I think she’s having a hard time taking it all in herself. I can’t imagine what it will be like for him.”
Cally turned to Tate and whispered “Okay.” Dorothy took a seat nearby as Tate led Cally to her grandfather’s side.
“How are you today, Mr. Howard?”
Leland looked up from his work and smiled broadly upon seeing Tate. He searched to see if she had a package with her. “No cookies today?”
Tate chuckled. “No, sir. No cookies today, but I did bring something very special with me.” She indicated Cally. He turned his attention to the stranger as Cally knelt beside him, took his hand in hers and said: “Gampa, it’s me. It’s Cally.”
THIRTY-TWO
1962
Leland left the workshop and headed for the house. Ellie would have lunch ready soon and his hunger had been building steadily as he worked all morning without a break. The chickens were fed, the garden patch tilled and ready for planting, and he’d made steady progress on the dining room table and chairs commissioned by the University president.
He noticed two broken plant pots on the floor as he entered the kitchen.
“Ellie?” He heard scuffling coming from the bedroom and Clayton screaming: “Give it to me! Where is it?”
Ellie’s voice seemed odd—strong and determined, yet terrified. “It’s for the girl. You’ll never get it. I swear you’ll never get it.”
“What’s going on? Ellie! Clayton!” Leland yelled as he headed through the living room where furniture lay helter-skelter like a small tornado had just roared through.
He heard Clayton bellowing “I want it, Maw . . .” followed by a thud, a whimper and some whispered words from Ellie. Then Clayton stumbled out of the bedroom. His face contorted with rage, eyes ablaze, he paused in the middle of the room as if lost, head jerking from side to side, body twitching, scanning the room as if looking for something or trying to get his bearings. He froze when he saw Leland, and they stared at each other for a split second.
“I kilt her, Paw,” he said before bolting out the front door and disappearing.
Leland stood anchored to his spot. He killed her? What is he talking about?
“Ellie! Where are you?” he called again, anxiety building, making it hard to speak at all. Fear propelled him to the bedroom where he found Ellie lying on the floor clutching her chest and gasping. He cradled her in his arms.
“Ellie. I’ve got to call for help.”
“Too late . . . I’m goin’.”
Leland began weeping, recognizing the truth in Ellie’s words. She had only moments to live.
“I always bothered you about your hobbies, Leland. I’m sorry for that.”
“Don’t you worry about that, old woman,” Leland said as he rocked her gently.
“Thank you for making that special place for me and the girl.” Her words came in gasps as she struggled for breath.
“You’re not gonna die, Ellie,” he lied.
“I’m goin’, Leland. Give Cally her things . . . promise me you will.”
“What things?”
“From the mantel . . .”
“Ellie . . .”
“Clayton wanted them . . . drugs . . . they’re hers . . . promise me.” Ellie’s words were barely audible.
Leland held her close and spoke in a hushed tone. “I’ll see to it, Ellie.”
Ellie took her last breath lying in her husband’s arms, the husband she had chosen so long ago, the one who had stood by her through everything good and bad and whose loving face she now smiled into as her body went limp and she closed her eyes for the final time.
Incapacitated by grief, Leland sat holding and rocking Ellie until his sobbing finally subsided. He lifted her to the bed and gently laid her down, then went back to the living room, picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. It rang three times before someone answered.
“Price residence.” The voiced seemed to be coming from a long distance.
“Mr. Price, please. Leland Howard calling.”
“Mr. Price is occupied. May I take a message?”
“Please tell him I’m very sorry to inconvenience him, but this is an emergency and I need him to come to my house immediately.” Leland took care to manage the tone of his voice, to enunciate each word clearly, but the urgency he felt must have come through.
“Just a moment, please. I’ll get him.” Leland’s thoughts bounced and tangled while he waited. Shortly thereafter Richard Price’s voice brought him back to the moment.
“What is it, Leland?”
“Ellie’s dead. I need help, if you can, Richard. I can’t seem to . . .”
“I’ll be right there.”
Leland walked slowly back to Ellie, lay down beside her and wrapped her in his arms for the last time. Breathing in her scent provided him a strange comfort in sharp contrast to the turmoil surrounding him.
Leland became aware of Richard Price standing quietly in the doorway of the bedroom several minutes later. The disarray left no doubt there had been a brutal fight. Splashes of blood covered the rug beside the bed. Glass from the shattered vanity mirror lay strewn about along with Ellie’s hairbrush and combs, magazines from the night stand and items from the top of the dresser, which stood askew.
“Leland?” Richard called quietly.
No response. Just an almost imperceptible shudder and the sound of soft weeping.
“Leland? I’m so sorry. What happened here?”
“She’s gone.” Whispered, as if he could not bear to speak the words aloud.
“Leland, we have to call the police. Shall I do that?”
“Tell them not to hurry. I don’t want them to hurry.”
Richard Price left the room. Time passed. Not enough time. Not enough time to grieve, to allow oneself to believe the unbelievable. The police arrived. The ambulance. Someone took Leland gently by the shoulders and moved him off the bed and into the living room.
They asked him questions, silly irrelevant ones, like “When did this happen?” and “What do you remember?” and “How did you discover her?” They didn’t ask the most important question, the one he had been asking himself since he’d walked into the bedroom and found Ellie dying. They didn’t ask, “How are you going to survive without her?”
He answere
d the ones he could and asked some of his own.
“Sometime around lunch. What time is it now?” and “I came in from the workshop” and “Clayton looked at me and said ‘I kilt her, Paw,’ then ran out the door. Where is Clayton?” and “Is Ellie dead? I think Ellie is dead.”
He watched them wheel the stretcher out the door and knew the answer. No matter how ardently he wished otherwise, that fact would remain unchanged.
Finally everyone left except for his friend. Richard brought him a cup of tea. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Not now. Not anymore.”
“Let’s get some of your things together, Leland. You can stay with us until we figure this all out. Claire and I will be happy to have you.”
Claire? Leland found it difficult to pull his thoughts together. Claire? Richard’s wife. He still has his wife. “I should stay here.”
“Why, Leland?”
Isn’t it obvious? Yet nothing was obvious to Leland. He had no reason to stay, but the thought of leaving, sent his mind reeling. “Can I stay here?”
“You’d be all alone, Leland. It’s not good to be alone at a time like this.”
“What time is it?”
“Let’s get some things together for you, Leland.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Richard Price answered, and Leland heard him speaking in hushed whispers with the visitor. Then he returned, crying.
“What?” Leland asked, anxiety and hope rushing to the surface of his emotional quagmire. Maybe Ellie didn’t die. They came to say she made it through after all.
“Leland, I don’t know how to say this . . .”
“Is Ellie alive?”
“No, Leland . . . no. It’s Clayton. They found him over in the park . . .”
“Is he coming home?”
“Leland, I’m so very sorry. Clayton hanged himself.”
The two men sat together until the sun faded from the sky, Leland sinking deeper and deeper into a chasm of anguish from which he would never fully emerge, his friend sitting quietly at his side, praying fervently for guidance on how to prevent that inevitable outcome of so much tragedy.
