by Traci DePree
“Whether or not the stories were true, well, that’s a different question.” She straightened, and the cat jumped down to curl up on her feet.
“But there were some things”—she paused to look at Paul—“that the family was very hush-hush about. I always thought it was because the Depression was so hard on them, but perhaps that was just my childish interpretation. I do remember Grandma Marie talking to Dad about a time when she was upset because people in Copper Mill were unkind, spreading rumors...”
“What kind of rumors?” Kate asked.
She paused, and Kate sensed that even after all these years, Gladys was debating how much to share, still wanting to protect a grandmother who was long gone. She finally seemed to make up her mind and continued with the account.
“She’d been shopping at the grocery store in Pine Ridge, and there was this woman. She had thick makeup on her face. She said Grandpa was a no-good thief. Grandma was absolutely devastated—didn’t say a word in reply.” She shook her head. “Dad later told me she bawled right there in the bread aisle, between the peanut butter and the hot dog buns.”
“I don’t recall that story,” Paul said.
Gladys ran a finger along the rim of her now-empty iced-tea glass. “Dad told me not to tell anyone about it.”
Paul sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You know,” Gladys said as she furrowed her brow. “I wonder...” She patted Paul’s knee, then stood and added, more to herself than to Kate or Paul, “Maybe in their bedroom...”
She moved to the stairs and gestured for Kate and Paul to follow her. Kate and Paul glanced at each other curiously but made no comment. They went up to the second story, which was a rambling assortment of bedrooms. The floorboards squeaked with each footfall.
“What’s going on?” Paul asked.
“There was a chest,” Gladys said as she entered the largest bedroom, though it wasn’t large by modern standards.
The room had long been vacant, seemingly untouched in ages. It had the same white chenille bedspread covering the double bed, the same pastoral paintings on the walls of hills and valleys with sheep grazing, the same oak furniture now dusty with disuse. Even the silver-plated hairbrush, comb, and mirror lay where they always had on the vanity.
“I seem to recall some letters and journals...” Gladys went to the closet that recessed deep into the wall in the corner of the room. Kate and Paul stood nearby as she took to rummaging, setting boxes and whatnot aside as she searched.
“Can we help you?” Kate asked.
“No, I’ll find it.”
Finally she came out holding a breadbox-sized, honey-colored chest in her hands. She handed it to Paul.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Old pictures and letters that Dad set aside,” Gladys said, intrigue in her voice. “I haven’t read them in years...but maybe there’s something there.”
Paul lifted the lid as Kate moved closer to look over his shoulder.
“Wow,” he whispered. Inside were hundreds of photographs and yellowed envelopes, as well as several tattered red notebooks.
Kate opened one of the notebooks. The pages were curled with age, and the cursive inside was formal looking, practiced.
“Why don’t I remember this box?” Paul said to his cousin.
“It was hidden in the back of my mother’s closet.” She motioned to the place she’d retrieved it from. “I found it long after she passed, when I was looking for her wedding dress for Lois.”
Lois was Gladys’ daughter, who’d now been married thirty years. She and her husband, Elroy, lived less than five minutes away in the tiny Cape Cod home they’d built when they were newlyweds.
“This is remarkable,” Kate said.
They returned to the living room and soon had the contents spread out before them on the long coffee table. Kate sat between the cousins, reading the first of two journals Marie Hanlon had written.
“This has your name on it,” Gladys said, holding an envelope out to Paul.
“Me?” He took it, pursing his lips into a thin line.
Inside was an ornately decorated, tasseled bookmark with a Scripture reference on it and a note that read, To my little man. Never stop learning and becoming all you were meant to be.
“Who is it from?” Kate asked.
“Grandma Hanlon,” Paul said. “For my fifth birthday.” He shook his head. “She gave me my first Bible that year. How did the letter get in here?”
Gladys shrugged.
“Speaking of...,” Paul went on. “Do you have a Bible handy?”
Gladys got up and briefly left the room, returning with a worn leather-bound volume. She handed it to Paul, who turned to the Scripture cited on the bookmark.
“What does it say?” Kate asked.
Paul smiled to himself before reading. “Jeremiah 29:11—‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” He closed the cover. “One of my favorite passages.”
He turned the aged bookmark over in his hands, then tucked it into his shirt pocket, giving it a pat, and returned to their task.
It was clear as they looked at the pictures that the Hanlon family had led a full life. There were photos of Christmases with brightly lit trees and smiling faces, graduations, and family pictures that grew in members from year to year. Grandparents held babies, and mothers kissed fathers while the camera chronicled it all.
At the sight of another photo, Paul inhaled deeply. “It’s Charlie,” he said, holding the image out for the others to see.
It was a photo of Paul’s brother in full army uniform, his hair in a crew cut. He looked too young to be a soldier in Vietnam, much too young to die in a faraway country. Kate had never met the man, though Paul told her of him and his wonderful sense of humor.
Tears welled in Gladys’ eyes, and Kate laid a comforting hand on her back.
“Wow,” Gladys said, shaking her head, “I haven’t missed your brother like that in a long time.”
Paul said to his cousin, “Do you mind if we make a copy of this one?”
Gladys shook her head. “Not at all.”
“I’d like to get it framed.”
Paul held another photograph out to Kate. “That’s Grandpa,” he said. “And two of my uncles, Michael and Robert.”
Kate studied the image. In the photo, Horace held up a line of fish for the camera, while a man on his left pointed and grinned. Despite being a stout man with a fierce look, Horace, whom Paul pointed to, looked startlingly like Paul. He had the same clear blue eyes, and if he’d smiled, he’d have been quite handsome.
“They did love to fish,” Paul said, chuckling.
“That’s where you got it from, no doubt,” Kate added.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Gladys said, digging through the chest. “There was a story in one of these...” She kept searching until she pulled up another notebook.
“It’s a fishing story that Horace wrote. I’d forgotten about it.” She handed the book to Paul, who searched through its contents until he found the entry. His mouth dropped open, and he inhaled sharply.
“What is it?” Kate said, her curiosity rising.
“It’s...interesting,” he said before reading the diary entry out loud.
July 10, 1930
I’m taking the week off from the store, which is rare for me, but I want to spend some time with my son Frank.
Chris Nelson is manning the store for me, so I’m confident all will be well. He’s a capable assistant I recently hired from Chattanooga.
It was about eight o’clock this morning when a car stopped by where Frank and I were fishing in Copper Mill Creek.
Three men and a teenage boy got out of the car. They were dressed in suits, and they asked me if I’d be willing to show them where the good fishing was in the area. I told them they weren’t dressed properly for fishing, so they said they’d come back tomorrow and
that they’d pay me thirty dollars a day to be their guide!
What could I say? Money is in short supply and I need to pay bills at the boutique.
Paul lifted his gaze to Kate and Gladys. “Here’s the next day’s entry.” He read on.
Just as they promised, the men and boy returned today, dressed in more casual attire for fishing. Frank and I taught them how to cast, how to keep the fly moving on the water’s surface.
They are odd ducks—I don’t think any of them have ever been in the outdoors, much less fishing. They kept looking around like they were afraid a bear would come bounding out of the trees. All of the men are clean shaven and good looking, and they talked of city life in Chattanooga and Nashville. One even mentioned knowing Chris Nelson from there.
When I asked their names, the man who knows Chris introduced himself as Jack Leonetti. Frank told me when we got home that he saw a gun with the image of a rearing horse on its stock tucked into his pants.
Kate’s heart took on a frantic beat. A rearing horse? She had seen that image on the computer when she’d researched the bullet from the mannequin. It was the image carved onto the stock of the Colt .380, the kind of gun John Dillinger had in his possession when he’d been killed outside the Biograph Theater in Chicago. She glanced at Gladys as Paul finished reading the story. The older woman was shaking her head.
“Who was Jack Leonetti?” Kate asked.
Gladys’ face darkened, and she seemed troubled. “Grandma wouldn’t let us say his name in her presence,” she began, “but he was a gangster, Katie. A really bad one.”
Chapter Nine
Kate and Paul had been quiet and reflective on the drive back home. Gladys had told Kate she could take the chest in case she wanted to look through it again.
When Kate arrived home, she set it on the floor alongside the couch in the living room, then started for the bedroom to join Paul. But before she had taken a couple of steps, the phone in the kitchen rang, so she went to answer it.
“Hey, Mom,” Rebecca said. Kate glanced at the clock on the wall. It was only nine o’clock. Somehow it felt much later.
“Hi, sweetheart. Did you have a good day?” Kate asked as she pulled out a stool and sat down.
“I don’t know that I’d call it good...,” Rebecca said.
“Is something wrong?” Kate asked.
Paul came padding out to the kitchen in his pajamas and slippers. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out the milk.
“No, there’s nothing wrong with me,” Rebecca said. “I wanted to get your advice on something.” Her voice was hesitant, as if she was unsure of whether to say what was on her mind. Finally she sighed and blurted out, “Melody got fired this morning from the play.”
“Oh,” Kate said, “that’s disappointing.”
Paul met her gaze and mouthed, “Is she okay?”
Kate nodded, and he returned to pouring himself a glass of milk.
“I felt bad for her,” Rebecca went on. “She was late again, of course. That was why the director finally let her go. So when we had our first break, I went into the bathroom, and she was there crying her eyes out. But I saw something, Mom...” Rebecca inhaled a stuttering breath.
Kate waited for her to go on.
“She had bruises, Mom. Not just one or two, but her whole stomach, at least what I could see of it, was covered with them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. She was reaching to throw a tissue in the trash, and her shirt moved. It was awful. Do you think someone could’ve beaten her?”
“I have no idea.” Kate shook her head, disgusted by the thought of someone doing such a thing to another human being. “Did you ask her about it?”
“No. I was so shocked when I saw it that I didn’t know what to do. I tried to console her about losing the role.”
“That’s good,” Kate encouraged. “There might be a simple explanation...Maybe she fell or something.”
“That’s true,” Rebecca said.
Kate could tell she was thinking it through.
“You should ask her before jumping to any conclusions,” Kate suggested. “Maybe it’s as simple as a tumble while she was riding her bike or something.”
“Okay,” Rebecca sounded almost relieved. “I’ll do that. Thanks, Mom. I knew you’d know what to do.”
SOMETIME DURING THE NIGHT, Kate heard Paul get out of bed. She lay awake, waiting for his return, but as the minutes passed, her thoughts turned to the story Paul had read from Horace’s journal about the odd fishing trip.
Who was Jack Leonetti? And why had Marie Hanlon forbidden her family from speaking his name in her presence? What could possibly have resulted from a simple fishing trip that was so hard to bear?
Kate was determined to find out more. She glanced at the clock—4:00. Finally she realized she couldn’t sleep either, so she climbed out from under the covers and padded toward the kitchen. Paul was in his study, hard at work on his computer, so she poked her head in at his door.
“You’re working?” she asked.
He turned and nodded. “Tomorrow’s sermon.”
“When did you get up?”
“Three.”
“Want something to drink?”
“Orange juice would be nice.”
“Okay.” Kate went into the kitchen and brought back the juice. Paul was again engrossed.
“Are you going to tell me what it’s about?” she asked as she handed him the beverage.
“I don’t want to break my train of thought,” he said apologetically.
“That’s okay,” Kate assured. “I’ll hear it with the rest of the congregation.”
She laughed, then excused herself to go read her Bible and pray. It was an hour earlier than she usually had her devotions, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep if she went back to bed.
Her devotion time was her favorite part of the day, before the noise of life rushed at her. Just her and her Lord.
By the time she was done reading, the sky was already light outside. Robins and sparrows flitted between the branches of a tree in the yard. Kate watched them from the window near her rocking chair, her Bible closed on her lap and a steaming mug of coffee on the small table beside her.
God had been showing her how he worked across generations, especially in the example of Paul’s grandmother. Though Kate had yet to uncover what exactly had transpired with Horace Hanlon, his wife had clearly been an example of constancy, and that had carried down through Paul’s father to Paul. Their faith had multiplied what began as a seed in that woman. And now Kate’s own children carried on that deep-rooted faith that God promised when he said he’d show his compassion to a thousand generations for those who loved him.
What a comfort it was to know that God would keep his hand on those Kate loved simply because she loved him. So often when her kids were growing, she’d worried about the choices they made. Yet even though the paths of their lives seemed circuitous, they always led back to the Lord. How did he manage to do that?
Kate took a sip of her coffee as her gaze traveled to the early morning light over the hills.
It didn’t matter how God did it, she realized, as long as he did it. That was what counted.
THE SANCTUARY WAS QUIET as the congregation made their way to their seats at Faith Briar Church that morning.
Kate glanced around, noting that there weren’t the usual number of members filling the seats. In fact, many pews remained empty, and by the time the organ began its prelude, it was obvious that something wasn’t right.
Phillip offered a greeting and took the seat next to her, lifting his gaze to the stained-glass window on the wall high above the platform. It depicted an oak tree. It was Kate’s creation, a symbol of rebirth after the devastating fire that had destroyed the original church building.
Her thoughts turned to Phillip’s wife, Ginny. How she loved making stained-glass pieces. Ginny never got to see the stained-glass window whose colored rays now glowed ac
ross the plain church, yet somehow Kate sensed she would like it.
“Are you okay?” she asked Phillip.
“It’s a nice window,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“You made it?” he turned to her.
Kate nodded as Paul moved to the front, taking his place at the lectern. Kate noted the dark circles under his eyes. But he smiled as he took in the small congregation of Faith Briar Church.
“I’d planned on a different sermon today,” Paul began, and Kate noted the frown that momentarily furrowed his brow. He’d noticed how sparse attendance was too, no doubt. “But God has been impressing something else on my heart lately,” he went on, “and I felt I needed to preach about that instead. So today I want to talk about legacy—the legacy we leave behind for our children and our grandchildren.”
Kate glanced at Phillip, whose gaze was trained on Paul. Since the arrest, he’d seemed a bit distant, quieter. Hurt. Kate hated to think that she’d added to that pain with her own doubts.
Paul continued, “In Exodus 20, God handed the Ten Commandments to Moses—the ‘thou shalt nots.’ But in verse six it says that God shows his love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commandments.”
Paul paused and smiled. “Here in the midst of the very chapter that shows us how sinful we are, how we fail to keep the law, God says he loves us and reminds us of his mercy to us and to our children simply because we love him and seek to obey him.”
He closed the Bible and pressed the flats of his hands together. “Now, how does this connect with the topic of legacy?” he went on, grasping both sides of the lectern. “We all leave a legacy behind, whether we’re aware of it or not. Our lives touch the lives of others. Some leave a legacy of kindness, helpfulness, and generosity, while others leave a legacy of anger, bitterness, and gossip. We pass it on as we pass on any inheritance.” He shook his head. “But this legacy lasts a lot longer than money in a savings account.”
He glanced down at Kate briefly and smiled into her eyes.
