by Cat Johnson
Bethany
“Bethany, I heard you started reading Rose’s letters.” Harper leaned farther forward to see me at the other end of the crowded diner table.
“Yup.” I nodded.
Brandon had suggested we invite Harper and Stone, Agnes too, as well as Boone. Agnes was busy helping to clean up the church by the river that had gotten flooded, but everyone else was here for lunch.
That Brandon loved my friends gave me the warm and fuzzies inside. Or maybe that was just him.
“Anything interesting?” Harper continued.
“So much,” I said. “We’re going to have to have a girl’s night to discuss it all once I finish reading them.”
“With wine,” Red added.
“Definitely with wine.” One fry was poised in the air as Harper spoke before she popped it into her mouth, closed her eyes and groaned. “These are the best freaking fries in the world, by the way.”
Brandon had personally kept an eye on the fryer while Russ’s students prepared our soup and sandwiches.
Since the meat delivery hadn’t arrived yet, there were slim pickings for our pre-opening luncheon. But there was sliced cheese and bread and canned soup. Grilled cheese and tomato soup with a side of hot french fries, shared with the people closest to me, seemed like heaven.
Brandon grinned, looking pleased at Harper’s compliment. “Thank you. I’ve been practicing.”
I suspected what he was thinking. Most likely it was the same thing I was. That it was just last night that he had cooked fries for me. Just last night that everything changed between us.
So much had happened between then and now.
I was staring at the strength of his profile when he caught me looking at him. His smile had my heart fluttering, until it faded.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
He nodded. “Fine. Just thinking how I’d rather stay here than go back to work tomorrow.”
I knew he’d have to leave eventually. I just hadn’t thought about exactly when. “Are you leaving tonight? Or can you to leave in the morning?”
“I can leave early tomorrow morning. Why? You have something planned for me for tonight?” His question was low and suggestive, along with the cock of his brow.
“I’ve got an idea or two.”
His smile was sexy as hell. “Good.”
“Sitting here in this old timey diner, I kind of feel like we’re back in the fifties,” Boone observed, completely oblivious to the fact Brandon and I were having a moment. A moment that would have to be continued, later, in private.
“That’s what sold me on it. The history. The Mudville House too.” Brandon’s expression grew serious and he turned to Stone. “How did the house on Second Street survive in the storm? Do you know?
Stone set down his glass of water and nodded. “I stopped by before. It’s wet, I can tell you that. But the basement took the brunt of it. The pump did its job and the first floor stayed dry.”
Brandon blew out a slow breath. “Thank goodness.”
Cash snorted. “That old Van de Berg place has been flooded before and it’ll likely be flooded again. But just like good old Rose, that house is a tough old bird. It’ll take more than the Muddy River to destroy her.”
Brandon’s eyes narrowed. He turned to me. “Wait. Rose as in your letters?”
“Yes.”
He frowned. “Rose lived in the Van de Berg house? On Second Street?”
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“So Rose was a Van de Berg?” he asked.
“Mm, hm.” I nodded, wondering where his fascination with the Van de Bergs was coming from. “I never mentioned Rose’s last name to you?”
He blew out a big breath and shook his head.
“No. You most definitely did not mention Rose’s name was Van de Berg,” he said with more emphasis than I thought it warranted.
I didn’t understand why this was so important to him, except maybe for the fact that Rose’s house was old and for sale and, just as with the diner and Mudville House, old things for sale seemed to be an addiction of his.
And of course, we’d spent time last night reading Rose’s letters so I guess he’d be curious at the coincidence that she’d once lived in the house he was interested in.
“I think Van de Berg was still her name right through when she died. Right, Red?” I asked.
Red nodded. “Yup. Van de Berg is the name on her headstone in the family plot in the cemetery at St. Luke’s church.”
“Which is why I’m a whole lot worried about what is going to happen in those love letters,” I continued. “I’m thinking she never got to marry that boy Charlie she was in love with and I’m afraid to learn why.”
“Oh my God, you need to tell me more about this,” Harper demanded, but I couldn’t answer her. I was too worried about the expression on Brandon’s face.
“She was pregnant,” he whispered, still appearing as if he was deep in thought. He glanced up at me. “Did she have a son or daughter?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t think so.”
Harper, as the newest transplant to town, and me as the second newest, both looked to those born and raised here. The Morgans and Red.
“Nope,” Stone, the oldest, shook his head. “No children. At least none that I ever heard about.”
“Then what happened to the baby?” I whispered. My heart ached for her and the life she might have had with Charles and their child.
“Infant mortality was high back then,” Harper reminded.
“So was the instance of pregnant unwed girls going away to ‘visit’ a distant relative for a few months,” Red pointed out, air quotes and all.
We were all invested in Rose’s life. We had been since reading her journals last year. But none of us had gone pale during the discussion of her and her baby’s fate—except for Brandon.
I reached out and laid my hand over his on the table. “What’s going on? Brandon, what’s wrong?”
He swallowed and finally met my gaze. “We have to go back to your house and read the rest of those letters.”
“Okay. But why?” I frowned.
He swallowed and finally met my gaze. “Because I think I might be Rose’s great-great grandson.”
TWENTY-SIX
Brandon
The pieces were all right there in front of me. That I hadn’t put them together until now was mind boggling. But now that I had connected them, had seen the whole picture, I couldn’t unsee it.
The Family Tree Heritage results. The email from my long-lost cousin Amanda Van de Berg. My coming to Mudville on a lark to begin with. My meeting Bethany. Her having those hundred-year old letters . . .
If any one of those steps had been altered, I wouldn’t be here today.
Every one of them had to happen exactly as they had.
It had all led me to the here and now. Sitting in Bethany’s packed kitchen surrounded by everyone she held dear in town.
Even Agnes, whom I was told had been Rose’s good friend, had been summoned.
“Can you explain to me again how you’re related to Rose?” Agnes asked.
I opened Amanda’s email to me with the information about her side of the Van de Berg family.
“Someone I share DNA with Amanda and Christopher Van de Berg. Amanda said her father, Michael Van de Berg, was the one who inherited the house on Second Street,” I began, referring to the email on my cell phone for accuracy’s sake.
“Back in two-thousand when Rose died. Yes.” Agnes nodded.
“The family is out in California so he sold the house,” I continued. “Apparently, according to her understanding of the family tree, Frank Van de Berg, born in 1908, married and had a son in 1933 named Robert, who had a son in 1961, who was Amanda and Christopher’s father Michael.”
Agnes nodded. “Frank was Agnes’s little brother. I remember him. He lived in the Buffalo area for a while and then moved out to California, but he’d visit occasionally, right up until his death.”
“I�
�m going to have to look at the DNA results again and see where all the intersects are. What I know of my own heritage is that my mother Susan was born in 1957. Her parents, my maternal grandparents, were Martha Middleton, born in 1920 and Charles Monroe, born in 1918.”
“Charles.” Bethany’s eyes widened. “As in Rose’s Charles from the letters. What if your grandfather is Rose and Charlie’s out of wedlock son, named after his father?”
“But my Grandpa Charlie’s last name was Monroe. Not Van de Berg or whatever Charles’s last name was.”
“Wait. I saw Charles’s last name somewhere.” Bethany moved across the kitchen and reached for something on the counter as she spoke, “There was one envelope wrapped up along with all the letters. It had a return address on it.” She glanced down and said, “His name was Bishop. Charles Bishop.”
Agnes nodded. “Bishop was a local family name here in Mudville.”
“But it would make sense Charles Monroe had a different last name if Rose’s parents forced her to put him up for adoption as an infant,” Harper said.
“And Brandon, your grandfather’s birthyear . . . 1918.” Red lifted one shoulder. “The timing is about right.”
Bethany nodded. “According to the letter, Rose found out she was pregnant in the summer of 1917.”
“Do you know how close of a DNA match your mom is to Amanda’s family?” Stone asked.
I shook my head. “I didn’t look very deeply into the results at all. I just know that my assistant had gone through all the data in the report and online and Amanda and her brother were on there as possible cousins to me on my mother’s side.”
“The hot young blonde assistant that looks like a model?” Boone asked.
Bethany looked appalled. Stone looked amused. Meanwhile I was in awe of how news traveled in this town. Stone had warned me. I guess he wasn’t joking.
I rolled my eyes. “One, she’s my assistant and I would never date a subordinate in my own company. Two, she’s about a dozen years younger than me.”
Harper gasped. “Very tropey. The older billionaire boss and his assistant. Any chance she’s a virgin? You’d really have a hit on your hands then.”
“Jesus,” I cussed beneath my breath. Now was not the time for the resurgence of the virgin discussion.
“You’ll get used to her.” Red tipped her head to Harper.
Stone snorted. “You think so? I still haven’t.”
Harper grinned wide and planted a big kiss to Stone’s lips. “Good. I want to keep you on your toes.”
He shook his head. “Oh, you do that. Don’t worry.”
Patient but no nonsense, Agnes said, “All right. Enough you two. So, back these letters . . .”
Cash rubbed his hands together. “Agnes is right. Let’s get this Rose show on the road.”
I nodded and reached for the earliest one. Of course, for the benefit of the newcomers, I’d have to reread the first few letters.
The box of Kleenex sat in the middle of the kitchen table. That turned out to be a wise choice.
By the time I’d reread the first three aloud, every female in the room had a tissue clutched in her hand.
Heart pounding, I reached for the next letter, this one new territory for me as well as everyone else.
July 12, 1917
My dearest Charles,
That you can return home, for even a day after your training was such happy news it brought me to tears. That you want us to wed at that time, even more so. I have been making my way through my days both laughing and crying. Such are my emotions. Momma and Daddy are so happy we are to marry. Of course, that is all they know and all they will know. Thank goodness you will return to me soon, before our little secret can no longer be hidden.
I cannot wait to see you. And John as well but mostly you. Do not tell him that.
Wait until you see my wedding dress. It is the most beautiful creation. I truly feel like the luckiest girl in the world. My love for you grows daily, along with our babe.
Yours forever and always,
Rose
I glanced at the date again before I put it down. Looking around at the group, I said, “That one was July twelfth. We’re looking for the next one after that.”
While those clustered around the table and near the counter looked at the letter nearest to them, Harper pressed her hand to her chest and looked toward Red. “The wedding dress we found in the attic during the estate sale . . .”
Red nodded. “I know. It had to be Rose’s. The style would be right for this period. The question is, did she ever get to wear it?”
“I’ve got one from July. It’s from the twenty-fourth.” Stone looked around. “Anyone see a letter dated before then?”
When no one had, I stood and took the letter Stone handed me.
Sitting again I cleared my throat. It seemed I was the designated narrator of Rose’s life. Apt, I suppose, since chances were good I was her blood relation.
It would explain why I had cousins my family had never heard of. Once I got back to the office, I was going to go through that DNA report and the internet database line by line.
But not before I found out what had happened to Rose and Charlie and the baby.
I began again . . .
July 24, 1917
My dearest Charles,
John’s letter to our mother and father with the devastating news that your unit’s leave has been cancelled and you will instead ship off directly to France arrived today, along with yours to me.
They have canceled plans for the wedding and promised we will wed whenever you return. They, of course, do not know the secret I still hide. My life, as I’ve known it, is over. My heart is broken. My only comfort is your love.
Yours,
Rose
I cleared my throat, tight with emotion. Shit was starting to get real.
It might have been a hundred years ago. One hundred and three actually, but I was as affected as if it was playing out before me live now.
Without my asking, Bethany set a glass of water next to me. I glanced up and forced a smile. “Thanks.”
She nodded and squeezed my shoulder. Her eyes were glistening. I knew how she felt. Emotions were high.
I took a sip of water and then checked the date again. “That was July twenty-fourth.”
The search began again for the next one in sequence.
“I have one from August first,” Agnes said, carrying it over.
And so we, and the story, progressed like that for another dozen letters.
Months passed in Rose and Charlie’s time. But it was only minutes for us. Months during which she wrote about how hard it was becoming to hide her secret. Where she begged him to come home, even for just a day. Where she asked if she could travel to him, even though war spread havoc in Europe.
Not for the first time I wished we had his responses to her. The holes in the story were often filled by her answers to his letters, but I felt his missing side of the story keenly.
Finally, we were down to one final letter. Boone had already carried it over to me when I set down the last one I’d read.
The room was silent but the tension was high as I looked down at the last letter.
My breath caught in my throat when I realized what was in my hand. I glanced up and saw Boone press his lips together and nod solemnly.
He must have noticed too. This handwriting was different. It was a manly messy scrawl, with none of Rose’s feminine flourishes. The paper was coarse, not Rose’s fine stationary.
I swallowed hard and began reading.
My dear sister Rose,
It is with the greatest of sadness that I write to you.
Charles Bishop is no longer of this earth, and as such a part of me has died as well, for not only was he my best friend, and brother in arms, he was also like a brother to me, as much family as young Frank is my brother and you are my sister. But more than that, I know what this news will do to you, my dear sister. Never in my life did I imagin
e I would have cause to inflict such pain upon you, but this war has brought about the unimaginable in so many way.
Charlie was the best of the ‘Fighting 69th’. Know that he died with honor, saving the lives of others while giving his own.
He died with your picture tucked inside his helmet where he had looked at it often. He saved every letter you ever wrote to him and reread them at night in his bunk, often falling to sleep from exhaustion with a letter in his hand. His personal effects will go to his parents but I took your letters to him and have enclosed them here for your safe keeping. I pray I will survive to offer you comfort in person.
Your loving brother,
John
There wasn’t a dry eye in the house, including mine. I brushed away the moisture, laid the letter down and leaned back in the chair.
“That’s it,” I said, letting out a breath that didn’t even come close to relieving the pressure in my chest.
I looked around the room and realized the letters may be finished but the effect they had on every one of us wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Bethany
I pushed the door closed behind the last of my guests and locked it, joking with a forced smile, “I thought they’d never leave.”
The corner of Brandon’s mouth tipped just a bit.
I moved over to where he sat in the kitchen in front of the now chronological pile of letters. The most recent, the heart wrenching one from John to Rose, on top.
“You all right?” I asked.
He lifted his gaze to meet mine. “Yeah. I feel like I’m almost in mourning. Silly, huh, given the death of my great-grandfather was over a hundred years ago.”
“Not silly at all. I think we’re all feeling that way. Like we’re sharing Rose’s loss. It doesn’t matter how long ago it was. Reading her words, we all feel a part of it. Like we knew her well, even if we never met.”
“It’s just so strange to think here I was looking at her house, reading her letters, and the whole time she was my great-grandmother and I never knew.”