“I didn’t say I wanted to do that,” Tisha said.
“Bear with me, please,” Nolan said.
“Are there any magic timers this time?” Brittany asked.
“Everyone has agreed to one hour,” Nolan said, “with the proviso that if it becomes untenable, I will close the session sooner. Do you all still agree?”
Everyone nodded.
“We all also agreed not to talk over one another. Correct?”
More nods, slightly more reluctant.
“When I meet with families in conflict, my goal is always that they’ll learn something that helps them understand each other better. I think in your case, with four generations here, the Brandts may be a great place to start.”
Brittany gestured to Ora. “Well, my grandmother is here this time. She knows a lot more than the rest of us.”
Ora waved a hand. “Oh, it’s just family stories.”
Nolan said, “My daughter the genealogist would say those are the best kind.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Tell the stories you used to tell me when I was little,” Brittany said, “about your grandmother on the Brandt side.”
Tisha stiffened slightly.
“I know you don’t understand why the Brandts are so important to your mother, Tisha,” Nolan said, “but that’s one of the things we’re going to learn together.”
Tisha nodded and chewed her gum a little harder. At least she didn’t smack it.
“My grandmother was Decorah Brandt,” Ora said. “They called her Corah. I suppose my name was a form of hers, but she never approved of the shortening.”
“So Decorah’s family were the Brandts of the Brandt Building on Main Street,” Nolan said.
Ora nodded. “They had a mercantile. She married rather late for a woman in her time. She was already past thirty. But the store was in trouble, and a man who was interested in investing was also interested in her. Axel Emery. He wouldn’t invest in the store if she wouldn’t marry him, though.”
“So she did,” Nolan said.
“Yep. It turned out he was more interested in the store than he was in her, but she found that out too late. It wasn’t a happy marital arrangement, but they did have two daughters.”
“He wanted a son, though,” Brittany said. “Isn’t that what you always told me?”
“It’s what Grandmother Decorah always told me. In the end, they lost the store anyway, at the start of the Great Depression. Axel abandoned her after more than twenty mostly miserable years. The rumor was that he found another younger wife and finally had a son, but I don’t know if that’s true.”
“But Decorah stayed in Canyon Mines?” Nolan asked.
“She had two barely grown daughters—my mother and her older sister—no store, no husband, no money. Eventually she lost the house as well because of unpaid back property taxes that she had no idea Axel hadn’t been paying for years. She never had a kind thing to say about that man. She never had a kind thing to say about anybody, actually. Not even her own daughters.”
Peggy spoke for the first time. “My mother was glad to get out from under the heavy tongue of her own mother, who learned well from Decorah.”
Ora shrugged. “Darlene. She never approved of the man I married. Thought I married too young.”
“If you hadn’t married when you did,” Peggy said, “you wouldn’t have had me, and none of us would be here now. Nineteen years old, ten months married, and a mother. No going back from that. Maybe we’re all just a string of mistakes.”
Nolan held up a hand. “No one said that.”
“Of course not,” Peggy said. “The real mistake was Decorah’s—marrying that man to save the store. All he really wanted was title to the house and store. That’s what happened in those days. But if she hadn’t, we really wouldn’t be here.”
“You are not a string of mistakes,” Nolan said.
“Well, he died anyway,” Ora said. “My mother never forgave him for wooing me, and then she never forgave him for leaving me a young widow and Peggy without a father.”
“Is that where the Crowder name comes from?” Nolan asked.
Ora nodded. “Micah Crowder. Even if only three years.”
“You never married again?”
“I had offers. But no.”
“I wonder if you know why you chose not to marry again.”
“I do. Because I hated myself. Who would truly want me? Maybe Micah wouldn’t have stayed, either.”
“Ma! What are you saying?” Peggy said.
“I’m sorry it took me as long as it did to rinse their filth out of the way I spoke to my own child and grandchild, but I’m hoping to do better by Tisha.”
“Ma,” Peggy said, softening.
“It’s true,” Ora said. “We all know it. Sometimes I open my mouth and Darlene is talking. Tisha deserves better.”
Tisha’s eyes brimmed.
“Was Micah’s death your fault?” Nolan asked.
“Of course not!” Ora said.
“I didn’t think so. Then there is no reason for anyone to carry the weight of Darlene’s lies all these years later, is there?”
“What are you talking about?” Brittany spat out.
“ ‘We’re all Brandts,’ you told me the other night,” Nolan said. “You have to go all the way back to Decorah Brandt, before she was married, to find some pride in a family name. Yet it doesn’t sound as if even Ora remembers much about Decorah herself to like.”
Brittany mumbled, “I never thought of it that way.”
“Yet Micah Crowder made you happy. Right, Ora?”
“He did. I was very young, but he did. I would do it all again if he would have me again.”
Placidity cradled the room. Nolan let it do its work, seeping out of released sighs and swaddling tentative exchanged glances until they took hold, enfolding generations.
“And so you are Brandts,” he said, “but also Crowders, with no cause for shame.”
“I have a question,” Tisha said.
“Yes?” Nolan looked at her.
“The Brandts lost the store because Decorah married Axel Emery and then the Depression happened. But how did we get the store to begin with? Isn’t it a big thing to have your name on a building?”
“Oh that,” Ora said. “The mercantile had been there a long time, during the mining years. Decorah’s father bought it. No—he traded for it. My grandmother used to tell some cockamamie story about how they had a nice home in Denver, but he wanted to live here. He was broke or something when his mines gave out.”
“Wait,” Tisha said, “he had a store and mines?”
“Apparently.”
“That doesn’t sound broke to me. What happened? Something must have happened.”
“I can’t tell you, honey. I was twelve when Grandmother Decorah died. My mother never had any use for the old stories. My father left us when I was six, and after that she was as bitter as Decorah was. Probably before. Maybe it’s what drove him off. I can’t say.”
Nolan mentally ticked off the generations. Brittany. Peggy. Ora. Darlene. Decorah. In all those years, five women had only a handful of happy married years between them—and Ora’s marriage had been in the shadow of her mother’s disapproval.
“There has to be a way to find out more of the story,” Tisha said.
“The story is you should be proud you’re a Brandt,” Brittany said.
“And a Crowder,” Nolan said.
“And I’m something else,” Tisha said quietly. “I still want to know more.”
Nolan nodded. “This is a good example. We’ve all been wrapped up in what Ora shared. She knows quite a bit about where she comes from, with some gaps. Tisha feels like she has a lot of gaps—half of herself is a gap.”
Tisha was nodding heavily.
“I think she’s old enough to handle answers,” Nolan said. “I’m not saying we have to hear the answers tonight. But, Brittany, I’d like you to seriously con
sider answering some basic questions. If we need to have a counselor present for the conversation, I’m happy to help arrange that.”
Brittany clamped her mouth shut and stared at the ceiling and then at the bookcases and then at a painting on the wall.
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” Nolan said. “I’m just asking you, on Tisha’s behalf, to consider how she feels about this question and how you can help her navigate the journey by coming alongside rather than putting up obstacles in her way.”
Brittany cleared her throat awkwardly and glanced at Peggy.
“You don’t have to be so dramatic,” Brittany said.
Nolan waited.
“Just a college boy I met at a concert at Red Rocks. I went with friends.” Brittany’s tone was hushed, halting.
Tisha slid forward in her chair.
“He was a little older—you all know I was still in high school—but we hit it off and saw each other on and off for a few months. He had a car, so it wasn’t hard. Sometimes he was waiting for me after school.”
“I want to meet him,” Tisha said. “I want you to tell me everything you remember about him.”
Brittany shook her head. “None of that is a good idea.”
“I’m old enough. You heard Nolan.”
Brittany leaned forward, elbows on knees, head in hands. “Letitia. Why are you doing this?”
“Mom, please.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Brittany said. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? Don’t I deserve to know?”
“From getting hurt.”
“How can I be more hurt than I feel now by not knowing?”
“You can get involved with a man who disappoints you, like the rest of us have done. Haven’t you been paying attention at all?”
“Micah Crowder didn’t disappoint Grandma Ora.” Tisha was unrelenting. “He died. That’s not anyone’s fault.”
Brittany exhaled. “Tisha.”
“How do you know where my father is if he’s such a disappointment?”
“It’s the twenty-first century, even in Canyon Mines.”
“Then it won’t be hard for me to find him, either.”
“But it would be a mistake.” Brittany’s edge sliced just as hard as it often did.
“You don’t know that.” Tisha’s pitch crept higher with every exchange.
Nolan intervened. “How about this? I’ll act as the go-between and approach Tisha’s father. A buffer, a cushion, so if there is the possibility Tisha will be hurt, it won’t be so direct.”
Peggy clucked disapproval, and Brittany glanced at her.
“If it will get Tisha to shut up and straighten up her life,” Brittany said, looking at Nolan but not her daughter, “then maybe it will be worth it. But when she gets hurt, and she will, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Can I at least know his name?” Tisha sat on the very edge of her seat.
“Wouldn’t it be better to let Nolan do his thing first?”
“I just want to know his name.” Her eyes shone, pleading.
“Tisha,” Nolan said, “if your mother gives you his name, I need your promise that you will not go off half-cocked and do something impulsive. The agreement is I make the first contact—and it might be the only contact. Understand?”
Tisha trembled and nodded.
“Jayden,” Brittany whispered. “His name is Jayden Casky.”
“Jayden Casky,” Tisha whispered.
“Good,” Nolan said. “Thank you, Brittany. I’ll get the information you have about where he is separately, as we discussed. I have one last question for all of you.”
Tisha slid back in her chair.
“The diary page the Heritage Society has,” Nolan said. “What do you know about it?”
“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never even been to the museum,” Tisha said. “We’re related to it, right?”
“Georgina Brandt,” Ora said. “That’s who they think wrote it.”
“Who is she, again?” Tisha asked.
“Decorah’s mother.”
Tisha thought and ticked off the generations on her fingers. “So my great-great-great-great-grandmother.”
“That’s right,” Ora said. “Her husband is the one who traded for the store.”
“What does the diary page say?” Tisha asked.
The other women looked around and shrugged.
“I don’t remember exactly. Some grumbling,” Peggy said. “I don’t think she much liked living in Canyon Mines.”
“Now I want to see it,” Tisha said.
“It’s right there in the museum,” Brittany said. “Hop on your bike and go anytime.”
“It’s the kind of thing Jillian would put in one of her folders,” Tisha said. “An original source document.”
Nolan grinned. “Exactly.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Che bella cosa na jurnata ‘e sole, n’aria serena doppo na tempesta!”
Nolan sang at full volume as he tapped down the front stairs and strode through the living room. It was a beautiful day to be singing about a sunny day, no matter the language.
“Look at these boxes. Red, blue, red, blue. It’s almost as if you two have a system.”
Tisha tilted her head and eyed Jillian. “Does he do this often?”
“The singing, or observing the obvious?” Jillian squatted to add a label to the front of a box.
“Once again I am mocked for my talents,” Nolan said. “Just for that, I am going to make you both sandwiches and demand a lunch break.”
“My grandma Ora would say your dad has a screw loose,” Tisha said.
“Some days he’s lucky if he has one single screw that’s not loose.”
“I know where he keeps his power drill. I can fix that.”
Jillian and Tisha snorted.
“I can still hear you,” Nolan called over his shoulder. “Now you’re getting double lettuce and mayo plus mustard on the sandwiches.”
Nolan lined up six slices of multigrain bread from Ben’s Bakery, which Jillian assured him had been baked just yesterday, spread the mayo and mustard, stacked the lettuce and thinly sliced chicken before setting the top of the sandwiches and cutting them all in half. After arranging them on plates adorned with red grapes and green apple slices, he called in Jillian and Tisha.
“Normally I would make a four-course hot luncheon on Friday,” he said, “but because of the mocking, this is all you get.”
“Hush,” Jillian said. “May you always find nourishment for your body at the table. May sustenance for your spirit rise and fill you with each dawn. And may life always feed you with the light of joy along the way.”
They picked up their sandwiches.
“I thought after lunch we could wander down to the Heritage Society, if you have time, Tisha,” Nolan said.
“The diary?” Her eyes brightened.
“It shouldn’t take too long.”
“Do you have time?”
“I do if you do.”
“Mind if I tag along?” Jillian asked.
“No problem.” Tisha dropped a grape in her mouth.
They ate and decided to walk into town. By the time they arrived at the Heritage Society, the director was returning from her own lunch break.
“Marilyn! Just the person we were hoping to see.” Nolan held the door open for everyone.
“What’s on your mind, Nolan?” Marilyn asked.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting this young lady, but she is a direct descendant of Georgina Brandt and has never seen the famed diary fragment. I’m pleased to introduce Tisha Crowder.”
“My goodness. A Brandt woman in our museum. By all means, you should see the page. Let me grab some keys. Follow me.”
Marilyn led the way to a display case on one side of the main room of the museum that featured Canyon Mines historical items from the late nineteenth century.
“
Normally we only allow people to see it through the glass,” Marilyn said. “As you can imagine, it’s fragile. But because of your connection to the Brandt family, I’ll get it out and let you have a closer look. But no touching, please.”
“Absolutely not.” Nolan crossed his hands behind his back and winked at Tisha.
Marilyn stepped behind the case to unlock it, then slid a door open and lifted out the small shelf the diary page sat on.
“Fancy handwriting,” Tisha said. “None of my friends write anything in cursive. I mean, I guess we learned how in like the third grade, but who really needs to know how to do that anymore?”
“Elegant penmanship was an art in the days of your ancestors,” Marilyn said, “but it was also considered a reflection of character and discipline. Mrs. Brandt would have been of an age to learn penmanship in the Spencerian method, which emphasized order and precision.”
“I wouldn’t want her to see anything I wrote,” Tisha said, “but I bet I can type faster with my thumbs than she could.”
“That’s certainly one perspective,” Nolan said.
“It’s ragged at the edges.” Tisha pointed without touching. “Like it was torn out of a book.”
“It probably was,” Marilyn said. “That’s why we refer to it as a diary ‘page’ or ‘fragment.’ It seems to be a diary entry of some sort, but we don’t have the whole diary.”
“Then how did you get this one page?” Jillian asked.
“It came from Stephanos at Motherlode Books.”
“From the Brandt Building?” Nolan said.
Marilyn nodded. “He was doing some remodeling to update the two small apartments on the second story some years back—you know, where Joanna Maddon is living in one of them.”
“Right,” Nolan said.
“She’s got that puppy. Just looking for trouble if you ask me.”
Nolan laughed. “Do you think Stephanos really doesn’t know?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s not my business. Anyway, this fragment of a diary was caught between layers of the flooring when they took it all apart to do the job right. There it was, a bit dusty but perfectly readable.”
“How are you sure Georgina Brandt wrote it?” Jillian asked.
“It’s signed with the initials G. B., and we have enough other documents from the history of the store—correspondence, sales records—to match the handwriting easily enough. She worked in the store for quite a long time, so we’re certain.”
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