Postcards from Cedar Key

by Terri DuLong

  Saxton followed me upstairs where the reference area was located, and I spotted a woman about my age behind the desk, where a small nameplate told me her name was Barbara Murphy.

  She looked up and smiled as we approached. “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so,” I said, and went on to explain I was looking for microfilm of a 1972 newspaper.

  “Do you have a particular month in mind? That would help to narrow the search.”

  “Yes, May and June.”

  She went to retrieve two small canisters containing the microfilm, directed us to a machine, and said, “If you need any help at all, just give a holler.”

  With shaking hands, I put the microfilm on the spool, turned on the machine, and stared at the front page of the Times Record. Quickly scanning the headlines, I saw nothing of interest that jumped out.

  Saxton peered over my shoulder. “Try the next day.”

  Three tries later I pulled up the front page for May fifteenth, and as soon as I saw the headline I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Instinct kicked in—and I knew this was the beginning of my family secret unraveling.

  Houston Man Slain in Shoot-out with Police

  My hand flew to my face as a wave of nausea came over me. “Oh. My. God. This was my father.”

  I felt Saxton’s hands on my shoulders as I read the article out loud in a strained voice.

  “On Wednesday morning police were alerted to a quarrel at the Brunswick Motel between Alden Sharpe and his girlfriend, Jeannette Whitmore. Whitmore was in the office with Ann Brown, proprietor of the motel, when they arrived.

  “According to Brown, Sharpe had checked in a few days before and that morning she heard raised voices coming from the room. A few minutes later she stated that Miss Whitmore came rushing into the office, her face bruised, and screamed for Brown to call police because Mr. Sharpe had a gun in his possession.

  “Police attempted to talk with Sharpe through the locked door when a shot was fired, hitting Officer Thomas Frost. Frost is in critical condition at Maine Medical Center. More shots were exchanged, one of which fatally wounded Alden Sharpe.”

  Dizziness overtook me as my brain tried to comprehend what I was reading. My father shot a police officer? He was shot and killed by the police? He hadn’t died in Vietnam as I’d been told? I felt the tears streaming down my cheeks and heard sobbing, which came from deep inside of me.

  Saxton attempted to get me away from the machine, and I looked up to see Barbara Murphy come rushing over.

  “Is she ill?” she asked. “Let’s take her into the small conference room over here.”

  I was dimly aware of being led a few steps with Saxton holding me up. As I felt myself being lowered into a chair, I heard him say, “She’s just had some shocking news. Could you get her some water, please?”

  He knelt in front of me, grasping my hands tightly in his. “It’s going to be okay, Berkley. I’m here for you, and we’ll get through this. Take some deep breaths.”

  A minute later Barbara returned with the water, and Saxton assisted me with taking a few sips.

  Barbara put a box of tissues on the table beside me, and slowly I began to regain my equilibrium.

  Dabbing at my eyes, I said, “I don’t believe it. How can that article be correct? How could my entire life have been one huge lie?”

  Saxton squeezed my hand. “That’s not true, Berkley. It was your mother’s lie. Not yours.”

  I shook my head, trying to make sense out of what I’d just learned. “So my father was killed in a shoot-out? And why was my mother’s face bruised when she ran into that motel office? I don’t understand any of this.”

  I heard Barbara gasp and looked up.

  “Oh, my God. You’re Berkley Whitmore, aren’t you?”

  I looked at her closely, but she didn’t look familiar to me at all. “Do I know you?”

  “Yes. Well, no. Not exactly. Your mother was Jeanette Whitmore, right?”

  I nodded.

  “My mother is Rose Langley. Well, she was Rose Castle when she knew your mother. They went to college together, at UC Berkeley. My mom is originally from Bath, and they met at college because they were roommates. Your mother never told you what happened with your father? I can’t believe you’re just finding out this story now. I’m so terribly sorry.” She reached over and patted my shoulder. “If there’s anything at all that I can do, please let me help.”

  “There is,” I told her as I began to feel steadier. I went on to briefly explain my story, the family secret that had been kept from me and how I had recently started to search for the answers after my mother passed away. “And now—it seems I have even more questions than I did a year ago.”

  “You’re right. There’s a lot more to Jeanette’s story. Would you like me to contact my mother? She lives in Topsham, and I know she’d love to see you and be able to explain some things to you.”

  Her kindness and concern brought a fresh flood of tears as I nodded. “God! That would mean everything to me. Thank you so much.”

  “You stay right here. I’m going to call my mom right now. I’ll be right back. Are you in town for a while?”

  “Yes,” Saxton told her. “We’re here two more nights. Longer, if necessary.”

  I shook my head as Saxton pulled up another chair to sit beside me. “Of all the things that I thought I might find out, I just never thought it could be something as violent as this. My God, do you think he had that gun with plans to shoot my mother? And what was she doing there with him at that motel to begin with? I guess it’s pretty easy now to figure out why she told me he was killed in Vietnam. What mother wants to have to tell her daughter something like this?”

  A few minutes later Barbara returned. “My mother would be thrilled to see you, Berkley. I think she’s also upset at the way you had to find this news. She wants to know if you’d like to come by her house tomorrow morning. She’d love to meet with you sooner but she already has plans for the rest of the day.”

  A feeling of gratitude washed over me. “Thank you so much. Yes, tomorrow morning will be fine. This is so nice of both of you.”

  “I’m off work tomorrow, so I’ll be there too. My mom lives on Elm Street, farther up from where you did. Here’s the address and her phone number if you need to call her. She said any time after ten would be great.” She passed me a piece of paper with the information. “Would you both like some coffee? Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thanks,” I said. “But I would like to get a copy of that newspaper article. I didn’t even get a chance to finish reading it.”

  “You stay here as long as you need to. I’ll go make a copy of that for you. As I recall, there was only one other article about the shooting in the paper a few days later, but that was mostly about the police officer’s recovery. He did live, although he passed away just last year from cancer. I’ll be right back.”

  I let out a wry chuckle. “Well, at least I can rest easier knowing my father wasn’t a cop killer.”

  Later that evening I was curled up on the sofa with a cup of herbal tea and Saxton beside me. He knew I was in no condition to go out for dinner, so he made a run to the grocery store and cooked steaks on the grill, baked potato, and salad for supper at the cottage. I felt his hand reach for mine.

  “Doing okay?”

  I nodded. “I guess so. It’s just so much to take in, and I still don’t even have the full story. I just can’t believe my mother experienced something like that, and the more I think about it, I don’t think there’s any doubt that she was a victim of domestic abuse.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, and tomorrow you’ll get some more answers.”

  42

  I didn’t sleep well at all. When I did manage to drift off, I had crazy dreams about violence, somebody running, lots of turmoil. I’d wake to feel Saxton beside me, knowing he wasn’t getting much sleep either.

  I opened my eyes to see sunshine streaming through the blinds. The bedside clock t
old me it was eight-fifteen, so I must have managed a few hours of sleep. I felt Saxton stir and turned to look at him.

  “Good morning, handsome. I love you.”

  “Oh, how I love you, beautiful. Good morning.”

  “Why don’t you try and get a bit more sleep? I know I kept you up most of the night. I’ll go start the coffee.”

  “Nah, I’m fine, but coffee sounds great.”

  Saxton had picked up some cinnamon buns and Danish at the local bakery the evening before, and I put those on a plate as the coffee brewed. I heard the shower being started in the bathroom at the same time the phone rang.

  “Berkley, I really hate to bother you, but I didn’t hear a thing from you yesterday and I was getting a little concerned. Are you okay?”

  I smiled when I heard Jill’s voice. “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t up to talking to anybody after I left the library. Yeah, I think I’m okay. Still kind of numb, I guess.” I went on to fill her in on the details of what I’d discovered the day before.

  “Holy shit! I sure never thought you’d find out something like that about your father. We always thought he died in Vietnam.”

  “Yup, we did. I’m now wondering if your mother knew. She had to, Jill. These are small towns around here. It was in the papers and people talk. Unfortunately, she’s gone now too.”

  “I know. Well, if she knew anything, she never told me a thing. But she was never a gossip, and she knew you were my best friend, so it makes sense she wouldn’t say anything. But yeah, I agree, I’m sure she knew all about it. I was so upset when you moved away so fast, and now I do remember her telling me that sometimes people just had to do what was best for them. Of course, at five years old, it made no sense to me at the time.”

  I felt Saxton come up behind me, encircling me in his arms. He smelled of soap and toothpaste and aftershave. I turned around and placed a kiss on his lips.

  “Well, we’re meeting with my mother’s old college roommate this morning, so hopefully I’ll gather some more pieces to this puzzle.”

  “Listen, I know tomorrow is your last night at the cottage. But if you have all of your info by tomorrow, I’d love to have you guys come here instead. You can get to Logan for your flight the next day just as easily from North Yarmouth as you can from Topsham.”

  “That would be great. Let me talk to Saxton and I’ll call you back later tonight.”

  At precisely ten o’clock we pulled up to the home of Rose Langley. Although a little larger, her house resembled my old one.

  We were greeted at the door by Barbara. “Come on in. It’s good to see you again. My mom’s in the kitchen.”

  She led the way down the hallway to the back of the house, where a woman in her late sixties was pouring coffee into china cups. Shorter than Barbara and with a smart silver hairstyle; there was no doubt they were mother and daughter.

  Rose scooped me into a tight embrace. “Oh, Berkley. It’s so good to finally meet you. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of you and wondered what became of you and your mother.”

  Rose Langley was one of those people who, when you met her the first time, you felt like you’d known her forever.

  “Thank you so much for letting us come over. This is my friend, Saxton Tate,” I said.

  Handshakes were exchanged, and she indicated for us to have a seat at the table. Barbara produced a platter of blueberry muffins.

  “Oh, my goodness. Are those the Jordan Marsh muffins?”

  Rose laughed. “They certainly are. I think everybody in New England got that recipe during the sixties.”

  “Jordan Marsh was the big department store in Boston,” I explained to Saxton. “They had a bakery where they sold these incredible, humongous blueberry muffins. Somehow the recipe got out, and every housewife around New England got a copy of it.”

  Saxton laughed. “Secrets always have a way of getting out, don’t they?”

  I caught his meaning and smiled.

  Rose and Barbara joined us at the table, placing coffee in front of us. “Help yourselves to the muffins,” Rose said. “Now—where to begin?”

  “Could you start at the beginning? How you met my mother at UC Berkeley?”

  Rose took a sip of coffee and nodded. “I grew up in Bath, just a few towns away, but I never knew your mother when I lived here. Strange enough, we had to travel across the country to meet up. We weren’t originally assigned as roommates, but when we got there, there was a mixup and, long story short, we ended up sharing a room. I think we connected right away because of our Maine roots.”

  “And you knew my father? You had met him?”

  “Oh, yes. It wasn’t long before everybody on campus knew who Alden Sharpe was. Came from money in Houston. I don’t like speaking unkindly of the dead, but I never cared for him. I wasn’t impressed with his wealth or his good looks. He was charming, okay, and I’m afraid he charmed the pants right off of your mother. Literally.”

  I smiled at her outspoken honesty.

  “They met within the first month of classes. Alden was a bit older than us though. He was in a graduate program. But somehow he hooked up with Jeanette. To be honest, I was a little surprised. Your mother was quiet, a bit shy, and I wondered what the attraction was for him. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Your mother was extremely pretty. Actually, quite a few fellows had their eye on her.”

  More and more, I felt like I hadn’t known my mother at all.

  “But it wasn’t long before I came to understand what the attraction was for Alden. In addition to her good looks.”

  I waited as she broke off a piece of muffin and chewed it thoughtfully.

  “Yup, he had control over Jeanette. She was easy to mold to his liking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Alden had to be first in everything. He was arrogant. Had an air about him. Was known for giving some of the professors a hard time if they didn’t agree with him. I think poor Jeanette was so caught up with the attention he showered on her, she was willing to do his bidding. She seldom disagreed with him. By the time our freshman year ended, she was completely infatuated with Alden Sharpe.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Well, they began dating. We called it going steady back then. She wore his college ring on a chain around her neck. To the casual observer, they looked like the perfect couple. But I knew better.”

  I took a sip of coffee, digesting all that Rose was telling me.

  “During that summer, Alden invited Jeanette to his parents’ home in Houston.”

  “What? She met his parents? My grandparents?”

  “Briefly. She was supposed to stay there a week before going home to Maine for the summer, but her visit only lasted a few days and she left. From what she told me, from the moment she got there she didn’t feel comfortable. His parents weren’t friendly to her at all. The house was huge, more like a mansion, she said. Servants everywhere. It was completely different from what Jeanette was used to, and I don’t think she enjoyed it at all.”

  I felt anger surging over me. All that money. All that wealth. And I knew for a fact that not one penny of it had ever found its way to my mother. All of her life, my mother struggled financially, raising me. On her own. Alden Sharpe had never contributed anything toward my support.

  “So did they break up?” I asked.

  Rose let out a disgruntled sigh. “Quite the opposite. When they both returned to campus in the fall, they were connected at the hip. He never let her out of his sight. Very possessive. He even got into a few fist fights with a couple fellows that had the nerve to speak to her. Word got around campus fast, and pretty soon, about the only friend that Jeanette had left was me. Nobody wanted to tangle with Alden.”

  “So in today’s world, he’d be considered a bully,” I said.

  “Exactly. But during our sophomore year, I began to notice things. Jeanette would come back to our room crying after an evening out with him. When I’d question her, she’d just say they had an a
rgument but everything was fine. Then one night she came back and her face was terribly bruised. I insisted she be seen at the infirmary on campus, but she said it was nothing. She’d tripped on the pavement outside. The first incident, I believed. But after that, I knew better.”

  “Oh, my God! So he was beating her up?”

  “I’m afraid so, and it never stopped. Right up till the end. He was a control freak, Berkley, and he had your mother exactly where he wanted her.”

  I now felt a different kind of anger welling up inside me. “But why the hell didn’t she leave him? Just break it off?”

  “If you’ve never been in a situation like this, you probably don’t understand. That’s easier said than done. An abuser manages to strip away every single ounce of a woman’s self-esteem. She doubts herself constantly and even allows herself to believe that maybe she’s the cause of the abuse.”

  I’d read articles about this. Seen movies about it. But I’d never given it much thought.

  “A man like that can run a woman into the ground. And that’s exactly what Alden did with Jeanette. She didn’t trust him, but even worse, she no longer trusted herself.”

  But why didn’t she just get away from him was the thought that kept going through my mind.

  “I witnessed how he chipped away at her, a little at a time. Her confidence was gone and in its place was fear. She was terrified to leave him, Berkley. One night she came back to our room and I knew she was in terrible pain. She showed me her arm and said she’d fallen. Again. I didn’t believe her for a minute and pretty much dragged her to the infirmary. She had a broken arm. That was when she finally began to open up to me.”

  “And that wasn’t enough? She still wouldn’t leave him?” I couldn’t even comprehend staying with a man that had done this to me.

  “It wasn’t that she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She was too filled with fear. She shared that he had threatened to kill her if she ever left him.”