Hidden History

by Melody Carlson

  “He’s doing well—awfully busy though. Even though we live in the same city, I hardly ever get to see him. He’s a vet for the zoo. Actually, he’s the head of all the vets.”

  “How nice,” said Louise.

  “Does he have a family?” asked Jane.

  Susan shook her head. “He never married. Of course, he says it’s because he’s married to his work. I suppose that’s not far from the truth. Tom and I used to try to match him up with some of our women friends, but Mark was forever forgetting to show up or canceling at the last minute. Not too many women can handle being stood up for a sick gorilla.”

  They all laughed at this, and Jane continued her line of questioning. “So does he do anything for fun?”

  “Mark’s idea of fun is traveling to strange places to treat strange animals.”

  “Sounds like he hasn’t changed,” said Alice.

  Susan turned and looked at Alice. “Is that what broke you two up?”

  Alice shrugged. “It was so long ago. It’s hard to remember exactly what happened.”

  “Well, that probably wasn’t it,” said Jane. “Alice loves animals. She’ll stop on an eight-lane freeway to help an injured squirrel.”

  Alice tossed Jane a glance.

  “Okay, but you would for a dog.”

  Alice smiled. She could not deny Jane’s statement.

  “Isn’t that how you got Waffles?” asked Jane.

  “Waffles?” said Susan.

  “That’s a dog I had years ago. Just a mutt someone had lost—”

  “You mean abandoned,” Louise corrected her. “And anyone who saw the animal could clearly see why. I do not think God ever made an uglier dog.”

  “He was a good dog,” protested Alice. “Best dog I ever had.”

  “Stupid as a stone,” added Louise. “Why, that dog used to chase parked cars.”

  “He’d had a head injury,” said Alice.

  “One among many,” quipped Louise.

  They all laughed again.

  “Well, you ladies have been good medicine for me,” said Susan as she blotted her mouth with her napkin. “Just what I needed. And to think one of Mark’s old girlfriends lives here.” Susan stood, thanked them for the delicious meal and excused herself for a walk in the garden.

  After the kitchen was cleaned up and evening chores done, the three sisters met for tea in the library. Once settled comfortably, Alice began to read.

  November 19, 1925. My father insisted that I contribute my essay contest money to the farm. He said it will be used to “buy seed for next year’s crops,” but then he took off and we have not seen hide nor hair of him for two and a half days. Mother is very sorry about the whole thing, but there is nothing she can do about it, and I certainly do not blame her for our unfortunate situation. Just the same, I am very angry with my father. The honest truth is I wish he would leave us for good and never come back. If I believed in God, I would pray for this to happen. I quit praying to God when Adam was killed in the war across the Atlantic. Oh, I may have been only eight at the time, but I knew exactly what I was doing. I had prayed almost daily before that, sometimes twice a day. I mostly prayed that God would keep my favorite brother safe from the Kaiser’s bullets and make my father a good man, but when God failed to protect my brother, I decided it was useless to pray for my father, and so I quit praying altogether. I am sure it would be the final blow for my mother to discover that I no longer believe in God.

  I heard Mr. Dolton speaking to the science teacher once. Mr. Benson is supposedly an atheist, in other words, someone who does not believe in God. I think that would adequately describe me, although I have yet to announce to anyone, “I am an atheist.” Mr. Dolton said, “You have to be awfully brave to be an atheist.” Mr. Benson said, “Why is that?” and Mr. Dolton answered, “Because it is so risky if you are wrong.” The other teacher just laughed. The problem is I like and respect Mr. Dolton much more than I do the science teacher. I would feel better if Mr. Dolton were an atheist too.

  “Oh dear,” said Louise as she refilled her teacup. “That poor misguided young man.”

  “Not so much misguided as searching for the truth, don’t you think?” Jane asked.

  “I suppose. But what a harsh early life he had.”

  “God promises to use all things to our good,” said Alice, “when we love and serve Him. Obviously, that’s what He did with all of Father’s hardships.”

  “It certainly seems that way,” agreed Louise. “Our dear father was one of the best men that I have ever known.”

  “To think he once considered himself an atheist,” said Jane. “That is so amazing.”

  Alice sipped her tea before she began reading again, continuing with the same entry.

  I must admit that Mother and I have enjoyed the peace and quiet while Father has been away. In the evening after I have tended to the livestock and chopped firewood, I can read and study for as long as I can keep my eyes open, and Mother sits happily by the fire as she knits a blue woolen scarf. She thinks that I do not know it is for me, but last week she asked me my favorite color, then traded eggs for the blue yarn. My essay appeared in the newspaper this week, and the editor asked if I would consider writing for the paper. Of course, I said, “Yes,” and then he told me I could be in charge of the obituaries. Now, I realize I should not complain and this is only a place to start, but our town is so small that sometimes months can go by before anyone dies. I hate to sound as if I would be glad to see someone die. Honestly, I would not, but I would like a chance to write something that I could get paid for and have printed in the paper. So, I have taken to creating fictional obituaries, just for the practice. Here is the one I wrote tonight.

  Horst Clarence Bartholomew died on Wednesday of this week. His lifeless body was discovered in the barn next to the milking stool and overturned bucket. It is suspected that he expired while milking his cow, Bessie. The exact time of Horst’s passing is unknown for the only witness was the cow, and she is not talking. It is unclear whether or not Bessie had anything to do with Horst’s untimely demise, but Leonard Barnes, the town’s undertaker, has revealed that Horst’s large balding forehead did bear the undeniable shape of a cow’s hoof print. Horst’s funeral is planned for Friday at the Christian Church on Brown Street and all friends are invited to attend, but please leave your cows at home. Horst is survived by his widow Marybeth Bartholomew who is currently trying to find a new home for her cow, Bessie.

  The sisters chuckled over their father’s boyish sense of humor.

  “At least he did not let life get him down,” said Louise.

  “It’s the sign of a true survivor,” said Jane, “the ability to find humor in everyday life. Good for Father.”

  Alice closed the journal. “You know it bothered me, at first, to think of Father having such a hard childhood and youth. But the more we read this, the more I think that God really used all the sadness in his life to make him into the kind of man who could do the sorts of things he did.”

  “Like reaching out to those who were suffering,” said Louise.

  “Or helping people in need,” added Jane. “I remember clearly how Father always helped out whenever he heard of people in need. It didn’t matter if they went to our church or not.”

  “That’s right,” said Alice. “Helping Hands ministry was his idea. It was the first outreach for needy people no matter where they go to church—or even if they don’t go at all.”

  “You know, Father may not have talked about his past much, but it is clear that it affected the way he served God and his fellow man.” Louise sighed. “I guess I do not feel quite so uncomfortable knowing that the Howard family history had its dark moments.”

  “So, it doesn’t bother you to think that we may have some skeletons in the closet?” asked Jane.

  Louise puckered up her mouth. “Goodness, Jane, it is not as if anyone committed murder.”

  “Not that we know of,” said Jane with a mischievous grin.


  “Oh, Jane.”

  Chapter Seven

  Alice was relieved to learn that Vera had been able to return to school, but she could tell that her friend was exhausted when she telephoned her after work.

  “The doctor can’t seem to tell me much of anything,” said Vera. “None of the tests came back conclusive about cancer, but since it does run in my family, he wants me to have some more tests done later this week.”

  “Well, they’ll figure this out,” said Alice. “How is Fred doing?”

  “He’s worried. I try not to talk to him about it too much. I don’t like upsetting him. I’m glad I have you to talk to, Alice. It really helps.”

  “I just want you to get better, Vera. You let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?”

  Vera agreed, and Alice hung up the office phone, saying aloud, “Poor Vera.”

  “Something wrong?” asked a voice from behind her.

  Alice turned to see Susan. She nodded her head. “My best friend is ill, and they can’t seem to figure out what it is. She’s really frustrated.”

  Susan nodded. “That’s hard. In this day and age, we expect the medical experts to have all the answers. We forget that they don’t know everything.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” said Alice.

  Susan looked at Alice’s uniform. “Did you and Mark meet through medicine?” she asked.

  “In a way. He’d just started practicing veterinary medicine, and I had found a cat that had been hit by a car….”

  “And you felt sorry for it and took it to the vet clinic?”

  Alice smiled. “All right, I suppose it’s true what they say about me being such a softy toward animals. Especially those that have been hurt.”

  “I think it’s sweet.” Susan put her hand on Alice’s arm. “And I can see why Mark liked you so well. You never married either?”

  “No, I didn’t. My nursing career took a lot of my time, and I’ve always done a lot of church work. When I began to care for my father, as he grew more elderly, somehow marriage just never quite fit in for me. I guess I believe that God just calls some of us to be single for a purpose. I’m perfectly happy with my life.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you are,” agreed Susan.

  “So, are you feeling a bit more rested today?”

  “Definitely. But even so, I plan to stay into the weekend. My husband doesn’t get home until Sunday evening, and I don’t intend to leave until I know he’s on the plane and flying over the ocean.”

  “Good for you,” said Alice. “It’ll be nice having you around. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go change.”

  After her shower, Alice considered her little speech to Susan. It was not untrue, but Alice sensed that she had been trying too hard. But why? Why should she feel any need to convince Susan that being single was nothing less than perfect for her? Oh, yes, she sometimes wished that she had married and had had children, even grandchildren, but usually those moments were brief. She knew that she had a family within the church, and more recently, with her two beloved sisters. Still, there was a little something that nagged at her. Maybe it was that old “what if” question.

  Alice went over to her bookshelf and pulled out a scrap-book. It was something that her father had given her while she was still in high school. He had pasted her first perfect report card in it, along with a red ribbon she had won at a track meet in junior high. “The rest is up to you,” he told her.

  “But what shall I put in it?” she asked. “I don’t have any more ribbons.”

  “Put in things that mean something to you,” he suggested. “It’s just a keepsake for you to enjoy when you are older.”

  So Alice had begun sticking this and that on the sturdy gray pages—photos of friends, her graduation announcement and her honor roll tassel. She set it aside after she started nursing school in Philadelphia, too busy with a full load of classes and her part-time job at the pharmacy to keep up with such things. Of course, that changed at the end of her sophomore year when she rescued the wounded cat and began to date the handsome young veterinarian, Mark Graves. After that she started taping in movie stubs, birthday cards, theater tickets, pressed flowers and even the few love notes that he had sent her during the more than two years that they had seen each other exclusively. Alice flipped past these faded bits of memorabilia now, going to the later pages of her scrapbook. These pages held recent newspaper clippings sent to her by an old college friend, Virginia Herman, who still lived in Philadelphia and stayed in touch. Several of them were about Mark’s career.

  Alice studied the most recent photo of Mark. He had kindness in his dark eyes. She liked that he sported a full beard. It was hard to tell by the grainy newspaper photo, but his hair looked fairly gray. He looked dignified, like someone Alice would enjoy knowing. And yet they lived in completely different worlds—only an hour away, but a lifetime apart. She closed the book and sighed. How odd to think that Mark’s sister was downstairs right now. Wasn’t life funny?

  Susan joined them for dinner again, along with Ethel. Jane did not mind extra mouths at the table. She often said it was easier for her to cook for a group. This was fortunate, since the more people heard about Jane’s fine culinary skills, the more they seemed to show up at mealtimes.

  “Are you ready to go to the meeting, Alice?” asked Ethel after they finished a dessert of chocolate mousse.

  “Meeting?” Alice frowned. “Oh, I totally forgot.”

  Ethel smiled. “Good thing I stopped by. Better go get a sweater, it is starting to get cool. I’ll wait.”

  Alice thanked Jane for the lovely dinner and then excused herself. Her steps felt heavy as she went upstairs. While she was committed to the church and the board meetings, she would have preferred her sisters’ company tonight.

  “I guess we’ll have to wait until tomorrow for our reading,” said Louise as Alice and Ethel headed for the door.

  Alice nodded. “Sorry, I completely forgot about this meeting.”

  “What reading?” asked Ethel as they walked over to the church.

  Alice considered this. She would not mind if Ethel read the journal later, but this time with her sisters had been special, and she did not want anything to spoil it. “Oh, we just decided to have reading nights.”

  “You mean like a book club?” asked Ethel as Alice held the door open for her. “Something like that.”

  “Well, I think that’s a complete waste of time,” said Ethel. “If you’re going to read a book, just read it. You don’t need to belong to a group. I think it’s just something that Orpha woman invented to sell more books.”

  “You mean Oprah Winfrey?” Alice stifled a giggle.

  “Yes, that woman on TV. I heard she got rich selling all those books for reading groups.”

  “Actually, I don’t think she gets money from selling books. She just promotes good books because she loves to read.”

  “Humph. That’s what she’d like you to believe.”

  “Hello,” called Lloyd from down the hall. “You girls are running a little late tonight.”

  “Blame it on Jane’s chocolate mousse,” said Ethel as she patted her hair.

  As usual, the board meeting was not terribly exciting, and that was fine with Alice. She did not enjoy those times when members felt the need to light off fireworks. Tonight they discussed the budget and the church’s part in the upcoming, first annual Fall Festival. To the community’s great surprise, the idea of a Fall Festival had originated with mayor Lloyd Tynan during a Chamber meeting only a few weeks earlier.

  “I think it’s important for Grace Chapel to be involved in the Fall Festival,” said Lloyd. “It shows that we’re an interested and active part of our community.”

  Florence Simpson frowned. “Since when did you become a cheerleader for civic celebrations in our town, Lloyd Tynan? Haven’t you always said that we should keep things the same in Acorn Hill?”

  He nodded. “Yes, but sometimes change is good. We all saw how much the t
own enjoyed our summer celebration and how it brought people together. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Besides,” said Sylvia Songer, “the purpose of the Fall Festival is to support community services. I’m all for that.”

  “I don’t know,” said Florence with her usual skepticism. “Too much change can make a mess of things, too. I suppose we’ll start having a Winter Festival and then a Spring Festival. Maybe we can have one every month. We can change our name from Acorn Hill to Festival Hill.”

  Lloyd cleared his throat and stood up. “Actually, whether or not Acorn Hill has a festival is not this board’s decision. The town has already decided that it will happen. What we are discussing tonight is whether or not Grace Chapel would care to participate in it.”

  “That’s right,” said Ethel. “And I think that the Fall Festival is important. Besides, all of the proceeds will be going to good causes. Right, Lloyd?”

  “Exactly,” he smiled. “Local businesses and philanthropic organizations will choose a charity to receive the profits from their various booths or activities. It’ll be good for Acorn Hill commerce as well as for the community.”

  “I’d like to suggest that all proceeds from anything our church participates in should be donated to the Helping Hands ministry,” said June Carter, owner of The Coffee Shop.

  “Is that a motion?” asked Fred.

  June confirmed that it was, and Alice gladly seconded it.

  “May we open it to discussion?” asked Florence.

  “Of course,” said Fred. “That’s what we’ve been doing.”

  “Well …” Florence stood up and cleared her throat, “as Lloyd has pointed out, there are already a number of philanthropic groups involved in this—this celebration. I don’t see any reason for Grace Chapel to go jumping onto a bandwagon that may or may not be heading for a disaster.”

  “What sort of disaster?” asked Ethel.

  “Who knows,” said Florence. “It might rain that day. Or what if someone from out of town fell and got hurt and decided to sue?”

  “And the sky might fall too,” said Lloyd Tynan. “Really, Florence, you must know that the town has insurance to cover such things.”