A Man of His Word

by Karen Kelly

  “See any open booths?” As far as Annie could tell, the only free space was up on the hanging shelves alongside the ivy-filled teacup planters.

  Alice squinted in concentration as she stared around the room, and replied, “I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe we should have waited to get the letters.”

  Alice nudged Annie’s arm. “Oh, those people are leaving.” Alice waved her hand toward the middle of the large picture window, where a couple was standing up. The man settled his wife’s coat over her shoulders, pausing to give them a brief squeeze before donning his own outerwear.

  “Hurray for early eaters!” Annie and Alice edged slowly toward the table, both showing their intention to claim it and giving the busboy time to clear and wipe it. A lanky teenager lurched through the crowded room with a large, gray plastic tub. Except for his tawny curls falling to his shoulders, he would have resembled a great blue heron. His long fingers plucked the plates, silverware, and cups off the table, and then he wiped the tabletop with a wet cloth.

  Annie turned to Alice, keeping her voice soft. “I don’t remember the busboy; is he new?”

  “He just started over the weekend,” answered Alice. “From what I’ve heard, life’s been hard for him. He dropped out of school a couple of years ago; he’s taking classes at night now.”

  “Good for him. I’m glad there was an opening for the job.”

  “I think Reverend Wallace acted as his employment agent.”

  The young man straightened, lifting the tub from the table. As he came alongside them on his way to the kitchen, Annie touched his shoulder to get his attention. “Excuse me, I just wanted to thank you …” Glancing at his limp white shirt, she saw no nametag.

  His eyes widened in surprise for a second. “Uh … OK.”

  Alice added, “We’re friends of Peggy and come in here pretty often. I’m Alice, and this is Annie.”

  A mental battle between distrust and trust reflected in the boy’s brown eyes. Finally, he managed to mumble, “I’m Breck.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Breck,” said Annie. The two friends smiled and turned away to snag their clean table before anyone else came into the diner. The busboy pushed open the swinging door and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “I get the feeling Breck hasn’t heard ‘thank you’ much in his life,” Alice said, sliding into one side of the booth.

  “Well, we’re going to make sure he starts hearing it a lot more.” Annie reached over for a menu and opened it to read the daily specials list tucked inside. “I want anything but turkey.”

  Peggy appeared at the table with mugs and coffeepot in hand. “What did you do to Breck? He looked fog-crazy.” In an instant the mugs were set before Annie and Alice, and filled to the brims.

  “It’s Annie’s fault,” Alice declared. “She told him, ‘Thank you.’”

  “What are we going to do with you, Annie Dawson?” Peggy shook her head and clucked as she pulled her order book from the pocket of her white apron. She leaned closer to her friends. “And keep it up. I kept thinking of Breck during the meeting. He’s never had a parent in prison, but it doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have been.” Peggy shot a look over at the door as it was pushed opened by several more hungry customers. “So, what are you going to have today?”

  “Fish chowder and a salad,” said Alice.

  “No change on the dressing, right?”

  “Right.”

  “How about you, Annie?”

  “I’ll have the same—it sounds tasty and turkey-free. I’m a little turkeyed-out at this point.”

  “That’s one less turkey quiche sold today,” Alice quipped.

  “Add enough bacon, and you’ll never know you’re eating turkey.” Peggy flipped to the next ticket in her book. “I’ll put your order in as soon as I grab that guy’s order.” She nodded toward a solitary man in a gas-company shirt.

  “No problem,” Annie assured her. “We have plenty to keep us occupied.” She patted the old leather portfolio.

  “Can’t wait to hear about it!” Peggy tossed the sentence out as she pivoted to head to the other table.

  “We better read the letters before the food comes,” said Alice, holding out a hand. “Drips of chowder won’t mix well with the old ink.”

  Annie took a quick sip of coffee. “Neither will coffee, so we need to be careful anyway.” Reaching into the portfolio, she pulled out a bundle. After checking to make sure they were the oldest ones, she selected the top two envelopes and handed one to Alice.

  Alice gently removed the thin trifolded paper from the envelope and opened it, as Annie did the same with hers. “What’s the date on yours?”

  “March 24, 1929.”

  “Mine is from April; read yours first.”

  Annie smiled as she looked down at the judge’s handwriting, neat and precise as it was in the Bible but larger for the eyes of a young reader.

  Dear Charlie,

  Old Man Winter won’t give up the ghost yet. It’s been snowing since last night. Must have three feet so far. If the Red Sox weren’t playing badly, I’d be tempted to go to Florida for the Grapefruit League. For now, I’ll stick to updates on the radio. They never should have traded Babe Ruth.

  How’s the osprey you were doctoring? Aunt Ida wants to know if you still have all ten fingers. Between that fish hawk and your new carving hobby, she’s worried.

  That’s all for now,

  Uncle Will

  “No wonder Charlie’s carving was so intricate,” said Alice. “He started young!”

  “Do you suppose Aunt Ida ever stopped worrying over his fingers?” Annie’s eyes dropped down to the page again. “Sounds like Grandpa’s vocation showed itself early too.”

  “You said William and Ida never had children, right?”

  Annie nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Ida probably spent her maternal instincts on her nieces and nephews.” Alice tapped the letter she held. “I better read this one before Peggy brings our food. It’s dated Sunday, April 14, 1929.”

  Dear Charlie,

  Aunt Ida and I are pleased to hear the bird and your fingers are faring well. Will you be setting the osprey free soon?

  Your aunt and I were struck with cabin fever yesterday. We took the hayburner out for a ride. In town we stopped at a diner to eat lunch. When we walked back to where we had parked, there stood a moose. I guess he was going stir-crazy too. It was a fine bull moose. What a rack he had! If he had rammed the car, it would have been a goner. We knew better than to try and scare him off. After we stood like statues for a few minutes he lumbered on down the road, and we drove home.

  We’ll see you in six weeks,

  Uncle Will

  “What was it he called the car?” said Annie. “A … hayburner? Haven’t heard that term before.”

  A low voice answered, “A hayburner is the old equivalent of a gas guzzler. Before the age of automobiles, it meant a horse that you lost money on.” The two women had been so enthralled with the letters they hadn’t noticed Ian Butler’s approach. “I remember my grandfather grumbling about his old truck by calling it ‘that ole hayburner.’”

  Before Annie or Alice could open their mouths Peggy came alongside the table with two soup and salad plates. “Mr. Mayor, are you going to sit down or not? Chop, chop.”

  “Do join us, Ian,” Alice said, glancing around the busy diner. “Doesn’t look like you have much choice.” She slid over to make room.

  “We’ll do our best to keep you entertained,” Annie added.

  “They’ve got a new mystery to tell you about!” Peggy blurted as Ian sat down. “But give me your order first.” She set the women’s lunches before them with a flourish that had nothing to do with the food.

  After deciding on his meal, Ian settled back against the high padded booth. “I’m all ears.”

  The women described the discovery of the Bible and its curious notations, and their creation of the spreadsheets.

  “Her
e are the clues and what we know so far, which is basically nothing.” Annie took the spreadsheet from the portfolio where she had tucked it and slid it over to Ian. “Stella knew a few of the Latin words, so at least we have a start.”

  Ian took reading glasses from his shirt pocket, settled them in place, and examined the spreadsheet, while the women took a sip of their chowder to make sure it wasn’t too hot.

  “Wouldn’t trust Marie with Tex-Mex, but she does know her way around chowder,” Annie said before taking another spoonful.

  “She does,” Alice agreed. “Not sure a diner with bad chowder would last long in Maine.” She turned her gaze sideways toward Ian after a glance revealed him frowning. “Something bothering you, Ian?”

  “Hmmm?” Ian murmured, politely but distractedly. “No … just …” He trailed off as he pulled out his smartphone and unlocked it. He tapped something into his browser and looked up at his friends again as it loaded.

  “This entry here,” Ian indicated two sets of Roman numerals with two Latin words next to them, orientis and septentriones. “I think they could be a set of coordinates, latitude and longitude. I’m checking to see where they land.”

  “Coordinates?” Annie repeated. “I never would have thought of that!”

  Alice leaned toward the phone, trying to see without bumping heads with the mayor. “What, or make that where, does it say?”

  Ian had to wait for the page to finish loading before he could answer. “It looks like the Baltic Sea region. Lithuanian coast, to be more exact.”

  Annie’s look was dubious. “Lithuania? Are you sure?”

  “Let’s review and verify.” Ian hadn’t spent his years in government without learning the value of double-checking his facts. He slid the spreadsheet back to Annie. “Read the numbers and symbols to me, and I’ll plug them in again.”

  “OK. And it won’t hurt to recheck the Roman numerals, either.” Annie read from the page. “Capital L is fifty, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Alice and Ian agreed.

  “And there’s a V right after with no space, so that would add another five, making it fifty-five. Then there’s the little circle at the upper right corner after the V.”

  “What else could that be, if not a degree symbol?” asked Alice.

  Ian nodded. “The symbols that follow the second and third numbers that look like a foot mark and an inch mark are actually symbols that stand for ‘minutes’ and ‘seconds’—units of degrees, not time—in cartography. The combination of the three symbols in that order always indicates latitude or longitude. I know that orientis means east, so that set of numbers would be the longitude. And I’m pretty sure that septentriones has to do with the seven stars that make up the Little Dipper—where the North Star is located—so this set of numbers must be the latitude.”

  “Since you’ve spent time in the armed forces, I’m inclined to trust you on that,” said Annie, feeling a little regretful she hadn’t paid more attention in geography class. “OK, so the second numeral is XLI. That’s forty-one, correct?” Alice and Ian nodded again. They quickly worked through the rest of the numerals, and then Ian plugged them into the location finder again.

  When the results were displayed, Ian said, “It’s definitely the Lithuanian coast.”

  “Is there a town there?” asked Alice. “I can’t help feeling like we’re grasping at straws.”

  Ian’s fingers tapped on the phone display. “Ah, it’s a seaport. Klaipeda State Seaport.”

  “Spell it for me, please.” Annie took a pen from her purse and wrote the name in the space allotted to that clue on the spreadsheet. “I can only trust this will make sense sooner or later.”

  “What will make sense?” Peggy asked as she placed Ian’s lunch in front of him, along with a mug of coffee. “Sorry to take so long getting your coffee, Mr. Mayor, but it’s been crazy since I got back from the meeting.”

  “I didn’t even notice, Peggy,” Ian assured her. “Too busy tackling clues.”

  Alice tilted her mug to show her need of a refill before answering Peggy’s question. “Ian has translated another clue for us. Apparently, a seaport in Lithuania is somehow involved.”

  Peggy held up a perfectly manicured finger before pivoting away for a moment to grab a coffeepot from the beverage station. While filling Alice’s and then Annie’s mugs, she commented, “Well, that’s not so unusual. After all, William was a judge in Portland, not some western county like Somerset. Eat up and figure out some more clues while you’re at it.”

  They all heard the “Eh, Peggy?” coming from two booths away.

  “Gotta go,” she silently mouthed, and off she went.

  Ian took another long look at the notation list. “Well, there aren’t any more coordinates, and nothing else looks familiar.”

  “You weren’t a Latin scholar in school, either?” Annie tilted her spoon, scooping up the last of her chowder.

  Ian flashed a grin. “Definitely not. Didn’t see the sense in it, as I had no interest in the law or medical fields.” He snapped two fingers. “Or the ministry! Reverend Wallace studied Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. I bet he could be a big help in translating these words.”

  Alice pointed her spoon at Ian. “You’re right. Every once in a while he mentions a Latin phrase in a sermon.”

  Annie’s face brightened. “I’ll call him as soon as I get home and ask if he has some time this week. That’s definitely the next step.”

  “Along with reading the letters,” Alice reminded her. “We’ve read two, and there’s at least twenty more. I think tonight will be a night of—” Alice’s phone buzzed.

  Alice glanced at it before answering. “Hi, Mary Beth.” A listening silence accompanied a slight nod. “Great! I’ll tell Annie; she’s right here. I’ll be in tomorrow or Thursday. Bye.” Alice snapped the phone shut. “It’s official. The shop’s going to be a drop station for Santa’s Stocking donations.”

  Ian looked up from his plate. Alice and Annie explained the charity program to Ian. “That sounds great,” he said. “I’ll be sure to have Grace email the town employees, encouraging them to contribute.”

  “Mary Beth is making some flyers to post around Stony Point,” said Alice. “I’m sure she’ll get one to you.”

  “Looks like letter reading will have to wait until tomorrow.” Annie moved her bowl and salad plate away from her. “I better decide what I’m going to make so that I can buy materials tomorrow. Christmas will be here before we know it.”

  “And the New Year,” added Ian. “I have more threads to untangle than both of you do, so I need to get back to work. Please keep me updated when you learn more about the mystery.”

  “We will,” Annie and Alice chorused as the mayor slid a generous tip beside his plate and went to the register to pay his bill.

  8

  “Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face.” Victor Hugo’s words were blown into Annie’s mind by the gust of wind that swirled around her as soon as she exited her car. Reverend Wallace used the quotation often, and as Annie hurried up the stone path to the minister’s house she thought of how well he embodied it. During the fast-approaching but slow-leaving winter Annie was counting on his humor to drive winter from her face. That day, she was looking for him to help shed some light on her family’s past.

  Annie pressed the doorbell and stepped back to look at the charming house. The white clapboards, low-pitched roof, high half-round window, and the dentil molding that marched below the cornice combined to create an elegant yet welcoming building. It, too, had weathered many storms with good humor.

  The door opened to June Wallace’s smiling face. “Annie! Please come in before you’re blown over to the church or beyond!” The wayward wind puffed through the door, lifting a soft wing of her fine gray hair. “Roy’s in the library. I hope you’ll have a little time for pie before you go.” She held out a hand for Annie’s coat. “It’ll be out of the oven soon.”

  “So do I, June.” Annie
shrugged out of her coat and gave it to her. “Although I think I may need to start taking Pammy’s exercise class because of all the talented bakers in Stony Point.”

  June’s eyes skimmed down her own figure, which had slowly grown sturdier with each decade, and chuckled, “If you do, I may join you.” After settling Annie’s coat over an arm of the hall tree, she bustled toward the kitchen door, as Annie knocked quietly at the library door.

  “Come in, come in,” rang the minister’s voice. Annie turned the glass knob and swung the door open to the room that lived up to its name with walls of shelves packed with books, maps, and dozens of old LP records.

  “Hello, Reverend Wallace,” said Annie. “Thank you for making time for me so quickly.”

  “I didn’t want to tempt some of my flock with impatience by making them wait until after Christmas for their clues to this new mystery.” The minister grinned from behind his massive desk as he waved Annie to the chair opposite him. “Truthfully, it’s a nice refresher for me from all my other obligations. Now tell me, what are we translating?”

  Annie sat down and reached into her zippered canvas tote bag. “I brought William Holden’s Bible so you can see how he made the notations, but I also have copies of the spreadsheet Alice and I made of all the verses and notations.” She slid the extra copy she had printed earlier across to him. “I thought it would be easier if we each had our own copy.”

  She reached both hands into the tote and drew out the heavy Bible. She carried it around to the other side of the desk and laid it in front of Reverend Wallace. She turned to Exodus 22 and pointed at verse 22. “Here’s the first underlined and notated verse.”

  Reverend Wallace leaned over the large Bible, mouthing the words of the verse. Then he looked at the words written in the margin, bellis perennis and filia.

  “Stella translated filia for us,” Annie told him. “You’ll notice it on the spreadsheet.”

  The minister looked at the spreadsheet and nodded. “Stella was right, of course. The word is ‘daughter.’ Now, to find bellis perennis.” He had started to reach over the old Bible for an equally bulky book but pulled his hand back, a sheepish look on his face. “There I go, jumping the gun. You’re right, using this delicate Bible for the translation work isn’t wise.” With a gentle touch of respect, he examined random pages, occasionally looking at the spreadsheet before turning the pages. “I don’t see any notations made with any other colored ink. Did you find any variations?” he asked after a while.