A Thousand Generations

by Traci DePree

  Kate shivered involuntarily. There had been something deeper in his gaze; what it was, she wasn’t sure. But one thing she did know: she hadn’t imagined that stare.

  Chapter Five

  Kate had looked for the man during the rest of the event, to no avail. He’d simply vanished. When she had asked Phillip if he’d seen the man, he said no.

  “Are you sure it was him?” he asked.

  “He was limping,” Kate said. “Bald, looked about the same height...”

  Phillip turned to look, as if somehow he would be able to spot the stranger. But the man was long gone.

  Kate shook her head. The man hadn’t done anything other than stare at her; there was no crime in that. Hardly something to get all worked up about. Yet his stare niggled at her.

  They rode in Phillip’s Ford pickup back toward Copper Mill in the late afternoon, having filled the truck bed with all manner of treasures from the auction. Headboards and nightstands, wrought-iron fencing, boxes of vintage clothing, and paintings, as well as the kitchenware they’d been eyeing were all piled neatly and tied down.

  “How do you do this all the time?” she asked Phillip, feeling the ache in her feet as well as her arthritic knee.

  “You get used to it.” He smiled. “Auctions were one of Ginny’s favorite things to do. That woman knew how to work a bid.” He laughed, an echo of melancholy in his tone. Kate saw him swallow hard, and she patted his arm in a motherly way.

  “I’m glad you’re talking about her,” she said.

  “Will I ever stop missing her, Kate?” He sighed. The truck slowed at a stop sign, and Phillip turned his head to look both ways before proceeding.

  “Probably not,” Kate said. A long silence filled the cab. “Do you ever think about dating again?”

  “How could anyone ever fill Ginny’s shoes?”

  “That would be impossible,” Kate agreed. “But someone could come along...You never know.”

  “I’m just trying to keep busy long enough to outrun my sadness.” His tone suggested that he was joking, but Kate knew that he was dead serious.

  By the time she and Phillip had unloaded their purchases and arranged them for sale at the store, it was after six o’clock. Kate invited him home for supper, but he respectfully declined.

  “I’m going to do some work around here tonight,” he said.

  “Do you want me to come back and help?” Kate asked.

  “No, you kids deserve an evening together,” he said with a smile. “Seriously, you’ve already helped me so much. But if I’m going to be ready for this grand opening, I’d better get my books in order. And that’s something only I can do.”

  Kate conceded, and before she left, she took one last survey of the store. It was looking more and more like a true antiques shop, with displays like the rooms of a house, set up throughout the long, expansive space. Another week or so, Phillip said, and he’d be ready to open the doors.

  PAUL HAD MADE tuna casserole for supper. Kate could smell it when she came in the front door.

  “You cooked?” she said when he poked his head around the corner from the kitchen.

  She slipped off her shoes and sighed with relief as her aching feet met the entry’s cool slate floor. Walking to the kitchen, she met Paul at the kitchen counter and kissed him on the cheek. The dining table behind her was set for two, with dinner salads in bowls and ice water in perspiring glasses.

  “You were out,” he said. “It was the least I could do.”

  “It was very sweet of you,” she said, relieved that she didn’t need to expend any more energy than the day had already zapped from her.

  The timer dinged, and Paul bent to pull the steaming casserole dish out of the oven. Then he placed the dish on the trivet at the center of the table.

  They had just finished bowing their heads for grace when the phone rang.

  “Should we ignore it?” Paul said with a raised eyebrow.

  “No,” Kate said. “We’ll just wonder who it was if we do that.” She got up to answer. “Hello.”

  “Mom?” It was Rebecca.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” she said, mouthing her name so Paul would know which of their three children she was referring to. It hadn’t even been a week since their last call.

  “I am so excited,” Rebecca went on.

  “Have you started rehearsals?” Kate guessed as Paul dug into his food. She could smell it from her spot by the counter, and it made her mouth water.

  “We started two days ago. We have an amazing cast! I think this one could actually end up on Broadway.”

  Kate decided not to mention that she’d said the same about most of the other plays she’d been in. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said instead. “Do you have your lines memorized already?” Kate glanced back at the table and saw that Paul was spooning a portion of the casserole onto her plate.

  “We’re doing read-throughs, so it’s not a problem,” Rebecca said. “My only concern is that the director threatened to fire Melody already.”

  “This is the girl you told me about that you were so glad got a part?”

  “Uh-huh,” Rebecca confirmed. “She’s been acting really weird lately.”

  “Weird how? What’s she doing?”

  Paul set the plate and Kate’s salad in front of her on the kitchen counter along with her spoon, and she mouthed “thank you” to him before taking a small bite. It tasted so good.

  “She’s been late to every rehearsal, forgets her script, just seems really distracted.”

  “That is odd,” Kate agreed. “Doesn’t sound like someone who’s taking her role very seriously.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Rebecca said. “I’ve tried to reach out to her outside of rehearsal. I told her we could go over lines together, that kind of thing...But she wasn’t interested. I’d hate to see her lose the part.”

  “That’s up to her, though,” Kate said. “You can’t protect people from their own poor choices.” She took a bite of her salad with blue-cheese dressing.

  “I guess you’re right,” Rebecca admitted. “I know how grateful I am to have a part, and I can’t understand why others don’t take their roles as seriously as I do. I’m early to every rehearsal, and in between rehearsals, I’m going over and over the script.”

  “That’s why you’ll succeed, honey. That strong work ethic. You get that from your father.”

  “I think I get it from you too, Mom.”

  Given the ache in Kate’s legs from the day she’d had, she had to admit that Rebecca might be right.

  KATE HAD BEEN UP since five o’clock on Friday, having her daily time in the Bible and praying, specifically for Phillip, that God would continue to comfort him in his grief. Then she and Paul had breakfast and she moved on to her regular chores.

  She was putting away laundry when the phone buzzed to life, so she quickly closed Paul’s sock drawer and reached for the cordless phone on the bedside table.

  It was Renee Lambert, a member of Faith Briar and the town busybody. Kate could hear Kisses, Renee’s teacup Chihuahua, barking in the background.

  “Sh,” Renee hissed, Kate assumed at the dog. “Umpkins, no sweetheart!” The barking continued, but Renee talked over it. “I saw the article in the Chronicle yesterday, Kate. What did Paul say?”

  “What are you talking about?” Then it came to her. Jennifer McCarthy must have written up her story about the mannequin already. How had she managed to get it in the paper in such a short amount of time? She’d only interviewed them on Wednesday, and the paper came out on Thursday.

  Kate heard a door slam on Renee’s end, and the barking stopped.

  “I haven’t had a chance to read it,” Kate said as she looked around for their copy of the Copper Mill Chronicle.

  “I’d be mortified if it were me. Jennifer accused Paul’s grandfather of being a crook!”

  “What?” Kate said, feeling a surge of indignation.

  “It was very unflattering, Kate,” she went on. �
�People in town have been talking about it since yesterday. It doesn’t reflect well...You should ask for a retraction,” Renee advised. “It’s libelous what she wrote.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Renee,” Kate said, wanting nothing more than to get off the phone so she could find the paper and read the article.

  “What about that bullet hole?” Renee was on a roll. “That was especially indicting. This morning I heard some of the ladies at Betty’s Beauty Parlor say they think the grandson of a thief has no business parading as a minister.”

  Kate let the words sink in for a moment. She felt hurt that folks could say such things. The people of Copper Mill knew Paul. They knew he was an upstanding citizen, a man who stood for his values and consistently lived the faith he proclaimed from the pulpit every Sunday.

  “He isn’t parading, Renee,” Kate said kindly. “He is a minister. And you know his character!” She didn’t mean to raise her voice, but listening to Renee’s chatter, she couldn’t help but feel defensive on behalf of her husband.

  “I didn’t say it, Kate. I’m just letting you know what’s going around town. Some folks even referred to that section of the Bible that talks about the sins of the fathers carrying on to the third and fourth generation, and that Paul would somehow be affected by his grandfather’s indiscretions.”

  Kate barely knew how to respond. She shot a quick prayer heavenward for grace, then said, “God makes us new creatures, Renee.”

  Renee mumbled a faint agreement, then huffed. “You know I don’t believe a word of all this, this...Well, I’d ask for a retraction nonetheless. You don’t want a black mark on the good Hanlon name.”

  After Kate hung up, she immediately went to the living room to look for the paper. She found it lying flat on the coffee table with a pile of the previous day’s mail on top of it. The headline read: MANNEQUIN REVEALS COPPER MILL’S SHADY PAST.

  There were two photos with the front-page story, one of the mannequin in her Roaring Twenties attire, and the other of the damaged upper arm where Zachary Boelter had performed his “surgery.” Kate began reading the article:

  Local antiques dealer Eli Weston was out for a casual hike on his grandfather’s land last weekend when he happened upon a mystery. Hidden in the depths of an abandoned copper mine was a mannequin, but this wasn’t any old mannequin.

  “I couldn’t believe my eyes,” the unassuming Weston said. “It was in perfect condition. A little dirty but in really good condition.”

  What Weston didn’t discover until that night was what was hidden inside the 1920s-era mannequin: money, and lots of it. All of the bills were collectibles from the early part of the century, and even a few from the late 1800s. The value could range as high as thirty thousand dollars.

  Kate paused to wonder where Jennifer had gotten that figure, especially since she and Eli had been careful not to mention an amount. Had she thrown out a wild guess, or had Eli handed her the information? He was the only other person who knew.

  Kate read on:

  Several clues hint at the mannequin’s former purpose: an inscription on the bottom of its right foot that reads “Hanlon’s Boutique,” the cache of money that authorities are looking into, and a bullet found in its upper arm from a Colt .380.

  The clothing store that operated in Copper Mill from the twenties to the thirties, Hanlon’s Boutique, was owned by Horace Hanlon, grandfather of Paul Hanlon.

  When asked if the dummy and its rich cache did indeed belong to Horace Hanlon, Paul Hanlon gave no definitive answer. Though a bullet hole in the shoulder of the mannequin would seem to reveal a shadier past to this local mystery and this historic business. Was the money ill-gotten gain? If the suspicious money and a dummy with a bullet hole is any indicator, that would seem to be the case.

  Kate’s heart sank. The reporter might as well have said that Horace Hanlon was John Dillinger.

  Chapter Six

  That night Kate slept fitfully. Her mind was too busy with all that had happened that week. She’d tried calling Jennifer at the paper to see where she’d gotten that estimate of the currency’s value and to talk to her about posting a retraction, but the reporter had been out all day. Kate had finally given up on the idea, deciding that letting the publicity die down might be her best option in the long run. The sooner the people of Copper Mill forgot about the unforgiving story, the better.

  Paul was snoring when she finally decided to get out of bed. She glanced at the clock. 5:00. It wasn’t as early as she’d thought. She pushed the covers aside, picked up her Bible from the nightstand, and padded into the living room.

  Her mind was puzzling over what could possibly have happened so long ago, and how Horace Hanlon’s mannequin could have ended up in an abandoned mine stuffed with money. It was becoming clearer and clearer to her that the mannequin had been involved in something less than honest. But what?

  She settled in her rocker and pulled a warm blanket up onto her lap as she opened her Bible to Exodus 20, the chapter Renee Lambert had mentioned in their conversation the previous day.

  Kate read verses five and six:

  You shall not bow down to [idols] or worship them; for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments.

  She read the passage again. It was interesting, Kate thought, how often that verse was quoted without the second part, as if God’s love couldn’t break through one man’s poor choices. What were three or four generations compared to a thousand? Nothing! And yet so often, people chose to focus on how their actions negatively affected others instead of looking to God’s amazing love and his ability to reach beyond man’s puny failure and redeem humankind.

  Had Paul’s grandfather made such bad choices as Jennifer McCarthy implied in her article? Everything Kate had uncovered about the mannequin so far would seem to indicate that, though any link to Horace Hanlon at this point was purely circumstantial.

  The sound of Paul’s shuffling feet drew her attention.

  “You were tossing and turning all night,” he said. His hair spiked off his head, and his eyes looked sleepy.

  “Did I keep you up?”

  “You know me, I can fall back to sleep in a heartbeat.” He sat across from her on the couch. “What were you thinking about?”

  “The mannequin.” She looked him in the eyes and smiled.

  Paul had read the newspaper article when he’d gotten home from work the previous day, and he too had been upset, but his ire had dimmed over the course of the evening, as Kate knew it would. Paul was forgiving to a fault.

  “I was reading in Exodus,” she said. “Chapter twenty, about the sins of the fathers.”

  Paul nodded that he was familiar with the passage.

  “Read verse six,” she said, handing him her Bible and waiting while he studied the page.

  “It’s so easy to focus on the negative, isn’t it?” he said, affirming her own thoughts.

  “If we research this mannequin and where she came from,” Kate said, realizing what the Scripture had brought into focus, “not to mention where that money came from, we might not like what we find.” Once in motion, events resulting from their discovery would be unstoppable, and the past that lay buried for decades would come to life, for good or bad.

  Paul considered her comment for a long moment. “True,” he admitted, “but it doesn’t change what I know about myself. I love God and want to serve him; that’s the only thing I have any control over. I can’t answer for who my parents and grandparents were or what they did with their lives.” He paused. “Now the folks at church, they’re a different story. They have to rise above all this gossip, or we will have a problem.”

  Kate smiled at her husband’s pragmatism. He never allowed emotion to draw him away from what was most important.

  He patted her knee, then stood, stretching. “Is there coffee?�
�

  “Not yet.” Kate rose to get breakfast started while Paul went to dress for his morning run.

  When Paul returned, they ate breakfast together, then went their separate ways, Paul to church to finish up his sermon preparations, and Kate to begin her Saturday morning routine.

  At roughly nine o’clock, the phone rang. Kate grabbed the cordless phone on the bedside table and answered, immediately recognizing Eli Weston’s voice. “The mannequin’s missing! Did you take it?”

  Chapter Seven

  What?” Kate was making her bed when the call came. She finished tucking in the bedding and turned to sit on the quilt, stunned not only by the news of the theft but also by Eli’s accusation.

  “When I opened the store for the day, I realized the door was already unlocked and the mannequin wasn’t in the window. I thought you might’ve taken it, but then—”

  “I wouldn’t have taken it, Eli. I haven’t left the house since yesterday. Did you call the police?”

  “They’re on their way.” She could hear the strain in his voice and wondered if it was from the stress of the theft or if remnants of hurt lingered from their last meeting. From the way he was talking, it seemed like both.

  “Is that all that was taken?” Kate asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t see or hear anyone or anything suspicious?”

  “I’d been in the back working like I always do. I heard the bell above the door ring which startled me since I thought I’d locked up the night before, but no one was there when I came out.”

  Kate was shocked. “Do you think someone broke in during the night?”

  “There’s no sign that the lock was tampered with. I guess I could’ve forgotten to lock up, but when I heard the bell tinkle...Someone came in and out right then. I think it was whoever took the mannequin.”