Braided Gold

by Glen Roylance

  Intellectually Paul had met his equal! He felt admiration for this little woman in a wheelchair. “And how did you get started, with your love of books, I mean?”

  “As a child it seemed that I was naturally drawn to books. I think my father took great pride in that, particularly when it came to history books. He started out reading to me, and when my own reading skills became sufficient he introduced me to the library. It was intoxicating. By the time I had entered high school I was reading on a college level and looked forward to Saturdays when my father often took me to the University library. I still remember the day he used his influence to get me into the special collections section where many books were reserved for those doing research. It seemed sacrosanct to me. I have been reading voraciously ever since. The world will truly become dark for me if I ever go blind.”

  Elizabeth entered the room, pushing a silver-lidded food warmer, and began to place serving bowls of delicacies on the table. “Did she try to convince you that reading was superior to eating?” asked Elizabeth.

  “There are times I have become so absorbed in reading that I’ve forgotten to eat,” said Paul, “but I’ve never sworn off food. When people no longer enjoy eating, there’s not much life left in them.”

  “And tonight,” said Elizabeth, “we have culinary delights in your honor, Paul.” She was both sincere and accurate. The meat platter contained delicately arranged medallions of pork, roast duck, and lamb, complete with meat jellies and sauces. There were also fresh sautéed vegetables prepared in spiced Hollandaise sauce and red russet potatoes cooked in butter sauce so as to capture their natural flavor. A second trip to the kitchen brought assorted salads and other side dishes, all of which attested to the fact that Elizabeth was a gifted cook.

  The dinner table talk ranged through a variety of topics, mostly informal yet full of substance. Helen may have been the family bookworm, but Elizabeth took no back seat when it came to intellectual capacity. Both women seemed to possess a zest for life and a lively sense of humor.

  Paul was interested to hear recollections of their growing-up years as the daughters of a prominent university professor. There were confessions of youthful mischief in which two girls with active minds had aided and abetted each other. On one occasion their father had been asked to help organize a symposium on Civil War history. It was an area of study that had captured his interest for many years; in fact he had collected much research material with the intent of writing and publishing a book comparing the military tactics of the North and the South and the effect of these strategies on the outcome of the war.

  When a sheaf of materials had come in the Saturday morning mail from the chairman of the symposium oversight committee with a request that Dr. Reid assume full responsibility for the physical arrangements at the University of Michigan, he had left the materials on his desk, having only read the request letter. He had pressing business that morning and left hurriedly, planning to carefully review the remaining materials later in the day. It was Helen who had glanced, with some curiosity, at the pages outlining an impressive series of presentations. Later in the day it was she who initiated a mischievous idea, but Elizabeth quickly became her accomplice. One of the pages containing a summary of the opening session indicated special guest acknowledgements. There was also a notation about the keynote speaker, a highly touted historian from the University of Chicago. The girls retyped the outline, substituting their father’s name as the keynote speaker, indicating that the topic would be “A Study of Civil War Military Strategies: An Example of Historical Interpretive Analysis.” The girls waited impatiently for their father to go through the packet of materials and were not disappointed when, later in the day, a veritable explosion came from his study.

  “I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it!”

  “What in the world is the matter?” said the girls’ mother, hurrying to his study.

  “They have listed me as the keynote speaker at the symposium and no one has even mentioned it to me. Somebody on that organizing committee has dropped the ball. The whole thing is preposterous. Not only have they asked me to make all the campus arrangements, but they want me to give the keynote presentation as well. There is no way that I can be ready in time.”

  “But of course you can, dear. And just think of the honor this will bring to you.”

  “There is no honor in a shoddy presentation. I would need at least six weeks to distill my research into a symposium paper.” The vigorous conversation had continued as Dr. Reid followed his wife into the kitchen where she was preparing the evening meal, dividing her interest between pork cutlets and her husband’s tirade over the committee’s gaffe. In the meantime the girls had quietly removed the bogus outline page from the symposium packet, replacing it with the original. Elizabeth had then casually walked into the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the girls’ practical joke.

  “Daddy,” she said. “Are you sure you’re not mistaken about the committee wanting you to make a presentation? Maybe you misread something in the information packet.”

  Her father took the bait. “My dear, your father knows how to read! The letter was very explicit. Come, let me show you.” But the disturbing information was nowhere to be found, and in place of his name was that of the distinguished professor from the University of Chicago. Dr. Reid’s reaction had been one of disbelief. Again and again he scanned over the page. “I know what I read,” he said. “It was as plain as …” and then he tumbled to what had happened.

  Sure enough, as he turned his eyes to his daughters he discerned telltale smiles. After a moment or two of bluster he caught the humor of the situation and threw his head back in laughter. In retrospect the practical joke became even more amusing to him, and he ended up sharing the story with many of his colleagues during the symposium. Interestingly enough, some years later at a similar symposium at the University of Chicago the keynote speaker was none other than Dr. Carl Reid – and his topic? Why, his Civil War research, of course, and a year later the University of Michigan Press published his book.

  Elizabeth and Helen took turns explaining another practical joke they had played on their father when he declared his intent to write a historical novel. His subject matter would involve the conspiracy to assassinate Abraham Lincoln, the central character being John Wilkes Booth. The subject was one of many that had held peculiar interest for him over the years. Although he was reluctant to mention it among his colleagues, his favorite genre so far as light reading was concerned, involved murder mysteries and spy novels. It was an avenue of escape in his busy life so connected to “heavyweight” issues in the academic arena.

  The thought of merging professional and leisure interests in the writing of fiction intrigued him, yet he worried about affixing his name to a work that might detract from his reputation as a staid, conservative historian. His wife chided him about his concerns, saying that he ought to go ahead and do the writing, then worry about the other issue if and when a publisher expressed interest in the work. After considerable thought on the matter he announced, in all solemnity, that such writing would have to involve the use of a pseudonym. With some measure of satisfaction he said, “Marshall Richards is the name – G. Marshall Richards. What do you think?” His wife registered her approval, still uncertain as to why the issue merited such concern.

  The girls, who always tuned in on such conversations, hit upon a scheme. Over the next several weeks they methodically went through magazine and newspaper advertisements offering free information or sales pamphlets to readers. It became an exhaustive project driven by the sheer merriment of mischief. They accumulated names and addresses of over 75 advertisers offering free literature, introductory trial plans, and samples for prospective buyers. The offers dealt with everything from encyclopedias to artificial eyelashes and from bodybuilding programs to horoscopes. They clipped coupons, wrote letters, and then put everything in the mail under the name of G. Marshall Richards.

  The girls gleefully antici
pated the responses that would surely come to the home. And indeed, the responses did come. At first they began to trickle in to the utter astonishment of the girls’ father, and later there was a veritable flood of junk mail all addressed to G. Marshall Richards. Early on Dr. Reid put the pieces of this puzzle together and came to the conclusion that his daughters had been at work. He vowed not to say anything, thus depriving them of the satisfaction of knowing they had gotten under his skin. But one day when he came home to find fifteen envelopes of various shapes and sizes neatly stacked on his desk, all bearing the name G. Marshall Richards, he called the girls into his office for a father-daughter talk. What began in the spirit of gruffness turned into a bout of laughter for all three, especially when Elizabeth had said with feigned sincerity, “But Daddy, we just wanted you to see that the world is anxiously waiting for G. Marshall Richards to step forward.” Long after the matter had passed the memory of it all was revived. Apparently the Richards name had somehow been entered onto the master lists used by mail order merchants to market their goods, and the advertisements continued to come for several years.

  It was a pleasant evening for Paul, not at all what he had anticipated. The warmth of both Elizabeth and Helen, as well as their sincere interest in him, was disarming. The good food, together with the good humor, completely removed any apprehensions about his visit, and as the evening wore on it seemed that he had stepped into a different world, leaving cares, controversies, and conflicts behind. He felt drawn to Elizabeth in some inexplicable way. There was something about her obvious fondness for him that was reassuring when all of the important people in his life had turned away from him.

  At length they moved back into the living room, and Paul, in a more observant, relaxed frame of mind, began to notice the beautiful paintings hanging on the walls. Though he had not made himself a connoisseur of art, he found them to be exceptionally well done. They were mainly landscapes but there were also several still life paintings. When he asked Elizabeth where she had acquired the works, she pointed with pride to Helen. “Helen has been an artist since she was a little girl. She fills her spare time with painting and has managed to do quite well in the marketing her work.”

  Paul looked at Helen with admiration. “It’s just something I have to do,” she said. “I don’t paint for money. I paint because I have to. For me it seems to satisfy some spiritual longing. I like to feel that the power of God is involved with what I do on canvas. But when it comes to artistry, it’s Elizabeth that takes center stage.”

  “You also paint?” asked Paul with surprise.

  “No, I have no skill with the paint brush.”

  “She’s a pianist,” interjected Helen. “and a very good pianist, although very few audiences have ever heard her play. She plays mainly for the hearing of these four walls, and once in a while there are guests like yourself to entertain.”

  The unmistakable lead-in was not lost on Paul. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, “please play something, won’t you?”

  “She also composes and arranges. Give Paul a sample.”

  “Yes, Paul, I will play for you. I have discovered it to be a way of communicating my feelings with people and there is so much I wish to tell you this night.”

  She moved to the beautifully polished grand piano and seated herself at the keyboard. Commencing with Chopin’s “Fantaisie Impromptu,” she moved on to one of Beethoven’s Sonatas, and then came a favorite of Paul’s, “The Romeo and Juliet Love Theme” by Tchaikovsky. Not only was her technical skill brilliant, but as Elizabeth had promised, she seemed to be able to use these timeless melodies as a means of personal expression. For the second time that evening something swept over Paul, drawing him to this woman he hardly knew. Finally Elizabeth played a composition of her own, indicating that she had composed the piece with Paul in mind. It commenced with a strong forceful theme, set in counterpoint against a far less dramatic but more melodious motif. It seemed that these two themes were set in conflict one against the other. Then, in a steadily building crescendo the dominant theme became twisted and dissonant, falling off abruptly as the surging secondary motif swelled in beautiful melodious harmony and progressed to an exhilarating climax. It was a masterfully composed tone poem; the significance of it all was intriguing to Paul. His enthusiastic praise brought a modest response.

  “Music is my second great love,” said Elizabeth.

  “And your first?”

  “Let me tell you about it,” she said, moving to an armchair at Paul’s side.

  Helen took her cue. “If you two will excuse me,” she said, “I have some things to attend to before bedtime.” She propelled her wheelchair in Paul’s direction, extending her hand. “I have thoroughly enjoyed getting acquainted with you, Paul.”

  Rising from his chair Paul took her hand and responded sincerely, “You are an inspiration, Helen. I’ll not forget our visit together.”

  She exited through the doorway, leaving Paul and Elizabeth together. The tension Paul had felt at the time of his arrival was now gone. Likewise, any misgivings he had felt towards Elizabeth before leaving San Diego had given way to trust. Paul’s brooding preoccupation with San Diego’s gathering storm had temporarily been suspended and he found himself on an emotional island, detached from the mainland of his life, where time seemed to be moving at a slower, more peaceful pace. Somehow his physical exhaustion had been replaced with a feeling of vitalization, both mentally and emotionally. It was as though his ability to think and reason had been stepped up, and that barriers normally inhibiting those feelings he had mistrusted throughout his life had been swept away. In some incomprehensible way he felt whole in the presence of this unusual woman.

  There was something about her that transcended the mystique of personality. He saw her as both fascinating and challenging, self-assured but not overbearing. He was moved by her apparent love for him and sincerely desired to hear what she was about to say. At the same time he hoped for something more than the syrupy platitudes he associated with most people who openly talked about their faith in God. He had perceived from the outset of this meeting with Elizabeth that matters of faith would be the ultimate destination of their visit together.

  “Will you hear me out, Paul? If I tell you about the first love of my life, will you reserve judgment and listen to what I have to say without feeling the need to reject it because it represents a foreign mindset to you?”

  “I have come a long way to visit with you. I’m willing to listen to what you have to say, but don’t expect more of me than I am able to give. I trust the rational processes. They have served me well, and I am unwilling to set them aside.”

  “And yet they have betrayed you, have they not?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t follow you.”

  “Isn’t that why you’ve not been able to find God? You’ve demanded that the rational processes give you answers, and they were unequal to the task, leaving you to assume that since this path had proved to be futile, there was no other avenue open to you.”

  “And what other avenue are you suggesting?”

  “I do not believe that God will allow himself to be found through rational inquiry. The discovery is of such enormous importance as to call for something more certain, more secure, and less vulnerable to deception. Things that can be discovered by reason can, likewise, be forsaken by reason. The ‘other way’ involves the process of revelation. I believe that God either reveals himself to finite man, or he remains undiscovered.

  “It is little wonder that scoffers and doubters dismiss the existence of God. That is because their approach can never bring certitude. God will not intrude into such minds nor forcibly open them to comprehension. Men must first willingly open their minds and hearts to him on his terms, and then come precious experiences surpassing the power of reason to establish burning conviction. These experiences always bring conclusions that are incontrovertible. They are conclusions based upon revealed understanding.

  “I spoke to you of the fi
rst love of my life. Let me tell you how I found it.”

  Elizabeth had captured Paul’s attention and awakened his curiosity. He leaned back in his chair, and without a disposition to critically filter what was coming he listened intently to Elizabeth.

  “By most standards Isaac and I had a wonderful marriage. We met at a dance one evening in Dearborn, Michigan. I used to go there occasionally during my single days. There was an elegant dance hall in Dearborn called the Crystal Palace. The big bands used to travel the country in those days and the Crystal Palace was on the circuit. Isaac literally swept me off my feet as we began dating, and within a few weeks there was a marriage proposal. My father was typically very cautious about new ventures or snap decisions, but for some reason he took a liking to Isaac from the outset and voiced no reservations about our rapid courtship.

  “Isaac was good at what he did. He had a knack for business and incredible skill when it came to manufacturing and mechanical design. We never wanted for anything of a material nature, but we both yearned for a child – a child that did not come.

  “Paul, there is something deep within some women that reaches out for fulfillment that only motherhood can fully satisfy. Just as some men are incomplete without a woman to love and care for who, likewise, returns that love, so there are women who yearn to hold a baby in their arms, to cuddle and nurse it, to hear its cry and see its first smile. So it was with me. Perhaps this is the reason I was able to identify with Cathy so readily when she spoke with me that night in our hospital room about her conflicts with you regarding her desire to have a baby.

  “Those were the yearnings I had felt. In my case, however, my husband shared them completely. I think I became angry with God. I felt that he was depriving me of something that was wholesome and good. As those barren days continued, we began to investigate the possibility of adoption. Strangely enough, about the time we began filling out adoption papers I discovered that I was pregnant. We were ecstatic with anticipation as this precious news came, and were filled with wonder when our beautiful daughter was born. We called her Christa.