by Paula Mowery
I rushed to the small hall between the bedroom and bathroom. A short string hung from the ceiling. I stood on tiptoes and pulled it. A panel lowered, and a ladder glided down to the floor in front of me. I mounted the first rung and prayed I wouldn’t encounter any bats. My mother had had trouble with those gruesome flying rodents in her crawlspace and had to call an exterminator. I climbed slowly. Another string hung down as I neared the top. Upon pulling it, light flooded the attic. I waited a moment, holding my breath. Nothing. I sighed with relief. A musty smell accosted my nostrils.
When my head popped up above the attic floor level, several plastic totes came into view. I hoisted myself the rest of the way up. The totes weren’t labeled. I would just have to open them. I approached the nearest one and snapped off the lid. Jackpot! The tote was filled with green journals. I picked one up and opened the cover. On the front page was printed in Granny’s handwriting—Until We Meet Again—Chapter Three.
I remembered that book. I had purchased that one at the bookstore. If this was here, I was sure I could find the book I finished reading today. I started to snap off lids and check for the title. The fifth crate brought success. I searched until I located the journals for the first few chapters. I climbed back down the ladder with my find and replaced the attic door. I rushed to the bedroom and spread out the journals, my notes, and the finished novel. I studied the journals comparing them with the completed novel. This was like being in a private writing class with Granny as the teacher. If I couldn’t talk to her personally about writing and strategies, this was the next best thing,
I must have given in to exhaustion at some point, because I woke up lying across the bed with journals around me and on my chest. I stumbled to the kitchen for some sustenance. I could hardly wait to finish eating. I had a new story idea of my own buzzing in my head I needed to write down. I prayed God would allow the stories He was giving to hold meaning for someone. I had no hopes of being as good as Alexa Livingston, but I was beginning to understand the allure of writing Granny had possessed.
Chase had called every other night since he had left. Three weeks had passed. I hadn’t told him what I had been doing when he called. I laughed, imagining what people must think of me. I had concentrated on writing so much, I had been a recluse for these past weeks. I had at least started attending church—Granny’s church. I immediately could see why she enjoyed being there. It was a warm place. The pastor preached the Word. I would never forget the day I walked forward in the church to make the best and biggest decision of my life.
I sat down Sunday morning in the seat I remembered was Granny’s. The opening hymn twanged out in familiar southern drawl. During the fellowship song several people greeted me with hugs and smiles. I sensed God’s presence with us in that small sanctuary. I had a sudden realization that this place and these people were all a part of who Granny was as well. After the service I noticed a Circle meeting scheduled for the next morning at ten listed on the announcement section of the bulletin.
“Millie, was this Granny’s Circle group?” I pointed to the printed announcement.
“Yes, the same one I’m in.”
“Do you think the other women would mind if I came and sat in?”
“No, child. I’m sure they’d love it.” She patted my shoulder.
Was Millie right about the ladies not minding if I visited to their meeting? The more I learned about Granny, the more I realized that I truly didn’t know her. I wanted to know her more, and this was the best way. She would have liked knowing I was involved in the church and the things of God.
When I entered the church’s small fellowship hall, there was already a group of women sitting around a long rectangular table. There were probably ten of them, all white or gray-haired. I definitely brought the age in the room way down by my presence. Millie waved me over to a chair near her. I must have been the last one expected, because a lady at the end of the table began immediately when I sat down.
“We are glad to have Alex Lyndon with us today.” She smiled my way, and I returned her welcome with a smile and a nod.
She proceeded to have their program, which was from their mission magazine. Millie elbowed me lightly to indicate I could share hers. After that, they went right into discussing what type of projects they wanted to be involved with this month. Before I knew it, they were sharing Granny’s love for different service projects as well as her continued involvement throughout her time as a member of their group.
“I’m sure they are missing Miss Olivia down at the shelter and soup kitchen. She never missed her shifts at either one,” a petite woman said.
“Yes, we should try to make sure her times are covered. We could never live up to her devotion, but we could certainly offer to give assistance nonetheless.”
“You’re right. She did love her work there. I do wish she could have realized her dream to go on a mission trip.”
“Well, now I think she went on one anytime she helped anywhere she found herself.”
“She did get to send Alex’s mother. That was the next best thing from what she said.”
All of the women nodded in unison. I had to bite my lip to keep from giggling. When the meeting was over they invited me for their luncheon. I started to decline, but they were persistent. During lunch, many of the ladies told me about specific projects Granny headed. She had made a difference in her community as well as her church and friends. It was obvious she didn’t talk about her faith, she lived it out. This was yet another part of the story of Granny’s life that had to be included. I was tired from just considering the schedule Granny kept. How did she get everything done? What an amazing woman! With all her accomplishments, how could she ever have been proud of me? I was suddenly humbled and challenged all at once.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Chase was about three-fourths of the way through Miss Olivia’s manuscript, Haply Ever After. He was excited and saddened all at the same time. This novel had to be the best, most appropriate for the last installment. However, to think that this writing talent was gone was hard to swallow. Alex came to mind, and he immediately pulled out his cell phone to call her.
“Hey, how are things?” Her upbeat tone quickened his pulse.
“Good. This latest novel of Miss Olivia’s is outstanding.” He propped his forearms on the desk.
“It would have to be. I’ve had the opportunity to read more of her earlier works. What can I say? She was awesome.”
“Yeah, I just hate that this is it. By the way, did you find any more journals or manuscripts?”
“Umm, no, but I’ll let you know if I do.” Suddenly her tone sounded awkward after his inquiry.
“Is everything okay?”
“Sure, I’ll keep looking.”
“Okay. The debut is getting closer. Are you going to take me up on my offer and come?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to, but...”
“Don’t turn me down.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Just keep thinking about it. I want it to be a tribute to Miss Olivia.”
“I’m sure it will be great.”
After saying goodbyes, Chase sat still, staring. Alex’s strange reaction to his question about the journals still bothered him. Maybe it was just his imagination.
“Mr. Carson, could I come in? We need to talk,” his assistant said.
“Sure, come on in. Your expression and tone tells me I’m not going to like what you’re about to say.”
“You’re right. You’re not going to like it.” Before she sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk, she laid a stack of various sized and colored papers in front of him.
He glanced at the headline of the newspaper article on top—“Author Comes Out of the Closet in New Book Series.” He looked up into Carol’s eyes.
She nodded. “It’s Stephanie Rader.”
Chase leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. “So, give me the low down.”
“She is debuting a new secular series. Rep
orts and reviews say the content is quite racy to say the least. We’ll have to make a statement about where we stand, and what we will do with her books.”
Chase closed his eyes, willing this nightmare to go away. The company stood for godly morals and values. If these new books contained questionable content, then their reaction should be to remove the books they had published with this author. They would need to issue a statement about why they would do so. Chase opened his eyes.
“I know what we have to do, but we’re going to take some hits, not only from the media, but from our pockets.”
“I know. First, why don’t you let me get the author in here to talk? She has violated part of the contract she has with us. There is a morality clause.”
Chase nodded. “Okay, let me know how soon she can come in.”
“I will.” Carol stood and started toward the door but turned back. “Hey, it’s okay. God wasn’t caught off guard.”
“You’re right. That’s exactly what Dad would have said.” He grinned.
“I know. That’s why I said it. I heard him say it several times.” She smiled at Chase as she closed his office door behind her.
Chase sat in the silence of his office. What would his father do right now if he were here? As soon as the answer came, he found himself kneeling in prayer on the floor beside his desk.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After talking with Chase, I decided to do exactly as I said I would. I searched for other journals. I didn’t have to go far. I was seated in the living room chair that had become as popular a spot with me as it had been with Granny. I had never noticed the side table near the chair had a magazine rack underneath. Three journals stared back at me. I grabbed them and began thumbing through. My eyes bugged when I realized these were personal journals, not story journals. The last entry was dated just days before she died.
My time in this world is nearing an end, but I have no fear. God has given me a full life, a rewarding life I never deserved. I look forward to being greeted by my sweet daughter. The thought that finally Hayward had the opportunity to meet his daughter is also a comfort. He has had some time with her himself now. It has been too many years since I have looked into the eyes of my beloved Hayward. I only regret that I never could prove his murder. I know it would never have brought him back, but I could have made sure greed didn’t cause anyone else to suffer the loss I suffered. The only sorrow I feel for exiting this world is leaving my sweet Alex. I know God has plans for her beyond what she even knows.
Fresh tears trickled down my cheeks. It was truly amazing the faith Granny had in me, yet I didn’t have in myself. Her words were so confident when she wrote that God had a plan for me. I wanted to believe it and realize it. What love she still held for her husband. What would it be like to have someone to love like Granny had? It was sad to think Granny was still haunted by her husband’s death even days before her own death.
The information I had found about my grandfather’s death still intrigued me. I sprinted up the steps to the bedroom and retrieved the shoebox containing the document about his death. I skimmed the newspaper article again. In 1950 there wasn’t the same forensic technology we had access to now, however, the article suggested there was very little done to verify the cause of death. It seemed to be chalked up to accidental. But, Chase had mentioned a novel of Granny’s that resembled this storyline. Since it was probably one of her first books, it might be difficult to secure a copy.
I carried the box downstairs with me and into the study. As I considered what archives might be available and even if there might be a remaining business partner to interview, I spotted a book on the shelf I hadn’t noticed before. I drew closer to the shelf and gasped when I realized the book’s title—The Lone Survivor. I immediately opened the cover and started to read. I read until my eyes burned. I finally finished the story the next afternoon. Chase was right. The plot was very close to what I had pieced together from the articles and written pages in the shoebox. Now I had to know if my grandfather had been murdered.
The best place to start would be Millie. I scurried across the yard and up to her door. Millie welcomed me in with a broad smile. She insisted on making me tea and served it in the teapot Granny had left to her.
“Millie, I’m wondering what you know about my grandfather’s death. I found Granny’s journal, and she was still bothered by his death, even right before she died.”
“Well, I know there was no doubt in my mind either that his death was no accident.” She shook her head.
“Really?”
“I was close enough to Olivia at that time to know that Hayward would hardly even take an aspirin, much less something stronger, which they said he overdosed on.” She sipped her tea.
“There was something in the articles I found about his needing medication for some kind of accident he had?”
“Yes, poor man. He was into the actual building end of the business at first. During one of the jobs he fell from a roof and hurt his back. That’s why I could be sure I also didn’t believe the reports that he had strong pain medication. Olivia tried to get him to go to the doctor to get some kind of pain medicine, but he refused. He just didn’t like taking pills.”
“Hmmm. Why didn’t someone listen when Granny reported that?”
“I’d say because the person that would have been guilty had connections with the law.” She looked me directly in the eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Your grandfather’s partner, Mr. Cook, had himself connected and covered in many areas. He had done enough to help the community that people would turn the other way if he crossed the line, if you know what I mean.” Millie’s eyes narrowed.
“I see. Did you say Cook?” I pulled out a notepad from my purse.
“Yes—C-O-O-K.”
“Have I seen that name around town?”
Millie nodded. “Yep, that’s his son.”
“Did Granny Olivia ever try to talk to him to see if he knew the story?”
“No, she stayed clear of the Cooks. She told me she had forgiven, but it was hard to forget. She joked it was easier to just stay away from them, so’s not to lose her religion.” She grinned.
I shook my head and chuckled.
After tea I sprinted back to the house to read through the shoebox information again. It seemed strange to me that a partner would kill another just because he wanted all of the income. Surely there was some other reason for such drastic measures as murder. I decided to pay a visit to the downtown Greeneville library. Maybe I could find more newspaper articles to piece this mystery together. I had discovered a journal entry in which Granny had admitted to stopping her newspaper subscription. She stated she was tired of the lies. She preferred not knowing what was being written about her husband and his partner.
I pulled into an empty spot in front of the library, and upon entering, I found a lady at the front desk. “Excuse me. Do you have past newspapers archived here? Several years back?”
“That would be at the other building up the street. The one on the corner with the large columns.” The librarian gestured in the direction of the building.
“I know the one.”
“We don’t have the space here, so we send the archives there.” The woman flashed a smile.
“Thank you.”
I found a parking spot on the street and marched up to the columned building. The sign on the window indicated closing time to be five. I glanced at my watch—4:45. The papers would have to wait until tomorrow. There was no way I could even locate the periodicals in fifteen minutes, and I definitely couldn’t examine them that quickly. I turned back toward my car and shuffled along. I hadn’t quite made it into the driveway back at the house when Chase called.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Stephanie Radar was due in Chase’s office any moment. He had prayed continuously since being informed of the appointment. He needed to project his Christian values without jumping down the woman’s throat. That was what the fles
h side of him wanted to do.
His assistant’s head popped through the door. “Mr. Carson, Ms. Radar is here.” Carol nodded her support.
“Send her in.”
Chase took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to try to release his tension.
“Mr. Carson,” Ms. Radar said as she flourished into the room. She made herself at home by taking a seat in the chair across from Chase’s desk. She simply ignored his outstretched hand.
Chase pulled his hand back in. “Ms. Radar.” He seated himself again.
“I know what this is about.” She sighed, picking lint off her skirt.
“I’m sure you do. You have put us in a position we don’t like to be in.”
“Look, I know this new release is different than what I’ve been writing for you, but there’s no reason I can’t do both.” She shrugged.
Chase leaned forward, propping an arm on his desk. “Actually, there is a reason you can’t do both. We have a contract with a morality clause. We feel strongly about the morals and values we portray in our books. That’s why we have the clause.”
Ms. Rader waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, come on Mr. Carson. You’re gonna have to catch up. Most publishers now maintain an inspirational division in their company, but they publish other things, too. That’s just keeping up with the times.”
“We aren’t trying to keep up with the times.” He paused to lower his tone. “We are a Christian publishing company. Period. We can’t continue to publish and distribute your books if you have others out there that go against what we promote. It sends a mixed message.”
“Then, I suppose you’ll have to do what you have to do. The secular company gave me a better advance anyway.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
Chase’s blood was on a slow simmer, yet he also had a wave of sadness. Stephanie Radar had sold out to making money. She came across so cold that he was rather taken aback. There would be extreme costs to Carson Publishing to pull her titles. This was the third author who had been sucked into the secular market.
