by Liz Eagle
“That will be fine as long as they bring along some more of that wine!” Jacqueline said with a smile. Gus had never heard his daughter talk like that about alcoholic beverages before. But he quickly attributed it to her excitement over them experiencing a fun weekend together.
In the meantime, Gynnie and Max were preparing for the picnic. Max pulled their black 1940 Ford four-door through the sliding doors of the barn behind their home, and they loaded the back with picnic baskets, jars of wine and china dishware. Jacqueline stepped up into the car using the running boards, and she and her father sat in the back seat. As Max drove down Main Street, Gus and Jacqueline looked out at the stores and rooftops that were so much shorter than those in the city. The view changed gradually as Max turned left and headed almost straight up the east hill. They drove through a few more small towns and within thirty minutes they had reached the entrance of the park.
The winding road through the park was spectacular. The deep gorge held the roaring Genesee River. There were three separate and distinct waterfalls, each bigger than the other. It was like nothing Jacqueline and Gus had ever seen before. They exited the car at various overlooks along the way to take in the magnificent scenery.
“This is a beautiful park,” Jacqueline said. “It must be listed as one of the Seven Wonders of the World.” Her father agreed. When Max stopped at a picnic site for lunch, they chose a rock table and Gynnie spread a red gingham tablecloth over it, taking out some linen napkins from their basket. The site was so close to the middle falls that they could hear the roar of the water falling over the rocks and occasionally felt some spray on their faces.
While Gynnie removed her china plates from the basket and started to set the table, Max opened a jar of wine. It was purple in color this time. Jacqueline lit a cigarette and wondered from what fruit or vegetable this bottle was made.
“This is a private stock of wine that we made two years ago from the grapes in our garden.” Max said, reading from the label on the jar.
It took only one taste, and Jacqueline was sold. She downed the first glass in no time while watching the falls and smoking. “May I have one more?” she asked Max, hoping that by drinking another glass she would not make a fool of herself and embarrass her father. But after all, she was on vacation and really didn’t care.
“Why, certainly,” Max said. “I am glad you like this bottle but be careful. The age on this one makes it more potent than the one you had last night.” His warning only made Jacqueline want to drink more so she would get that same good feeling she had experienced last night, but maybe even faster.
Gynnie had packed a wonderful picnic lunch with cucumber sandwiches, fresh potato salad, homemade refrigerator pickles, and apple pie that was still warm for dessert. While they ate, Max filled them in on the history of the park. He said that it was once occupied by a tribe of Genesee Indians. It was obvious Max enjoyed talking about the park, and Gus could tell he had done this more than once. Gynnie chimed in to add a few extra points that Max had left out. It was as if they had the whole park soliloquy memorized.
“The next stop, after we finish our meal,” Max continued, “is the cabin where Mary Jamison lived with the Indians after she was kidnapped.” He paused to light a cigarette and took a long puff.
“A woman was kidnapped here?” Gus asked. “I thought this was such a safe and quiet place. Have there been any other incidents of violence?” Gus wondered if they would reveal anything about the case on which he was working. This was such a quiet area of New York State, not at all like the big cities where you would expect such things would happen. He hoped that this topic would lead them to talk about the murders that occurred last year. Lighting a cigarette, he waited to hear a response from Max.
“Oh, that was long, long ago,” Max said, blowing out the smoke from his cigarette. “But yes, she was actually kidnapped by the Genesee Indians, and after a time, when she realized she could not escape, she assimilated with them.” He continued, not giving Gus what he was after. “She was then called ‘The White Woman of the Genesee.’”
Gus was fascinated by Max’s stories and the legends of the park, so much so, that he was not paying close attention to how much wine his daughter was drinking. He wondered why Max did not elaborate on any recent violence or answer his question. Perhaps Max was hiding something, he thought to himself.
Max opened the last jar, this time it was brandy. He poured it into the glasses. Gynnie watched Max as he poured, then she noticed the front of the jar. She immediately snatched the jar away from Max, almost knocking over dishes in the movement and dumped the entire contents on the ground. Gus and Jacqueline were certainly taken by surprise. Why on earth would she waste good brandy? Gynnie’s brows furrowed and she scowled at Max. It appeared they were exchanging some nonverbal signal. Gus asked, tentatively, “What was that about, Gynnie? Was there something wrong with it?” That was an uncharacteristic move for Gynnie from what Gus had observed since they stayed at the inn, and it made him tread carefully.
“Well, yes...there was something wrong. I will let Max explain.” She was clearly uncomfortable and got up from the table and walked away. Gus turned his attention to Max.
“Yes. Well...” Max cleared his throat. “You see, last year we had a small mishap in the cellar with some of the brandy,” he explained. “It really was nothing, but we did try to dispose of any brandy we thought might not taste good. Yes, foul-tasting brandy, no one wants that. I believe my observant wife saw we accidentally brought along one of the jars we meant to dispose of and we somehow overlooked it. That cellar is pretty dark, and I must have grabbed it by mistake. Nothing to worry about. Just happy she noticed it, and no one had to taste it. Foul, like I said.” He gestured to the right, moving on to a new story about the origin of the nearby bridge.
Gus was curious about their sudden reaction to the brandy. This got him thinking about the case he was working on. He made a mental note to document his impressions and tried to refocus on the park and his daughter.
The four of them packed up the dishes, the table linens and disposed of the trash. Jacqueline could tell by the way she was feeling that the wine she had drunk was stronger that what she had last night. She was starting to feel the effects of her two glasses, or was it three? Jacqueline liked the feeling of being relaxed and knowing that she was with her father and good friends, she felt safe to experiment with the forbidden fruit. She understood that her father seemed overly distracted by the brandy on the ground. She decided not to think too much about it, she was having too good of a time to waste it worrying.
After several hours of driving and walking around the park, the four of them arrived back at the inn. Jacqueline was feeling very tired and excused herself to go to her room for an afternoon nap.
“She can’t hold her liquor!” Gus jokingly said to Max and Gynnie. They couldn’t help but chuckle as Jacqueline stumbled up the stairs. Her feet somehow got in her way as she tried to make it up step by step.
Admittedly, Jacqueline did feel tired, but she had really enjoyed the feeling the wine had given her. It seemed to help her forget all the unpleasant memories of the last year. She was already looking forward to the evening meal and more wine. That would certainly help her to sleep better, she thought.
Since Gus was still officially working a case, he wrote down the day’s events, slipped the document into his briefcase, and locked it.
Chapter 5
Winston-Salem, North Carolina
Lil Starling spent her day off from work sitting on the couch in the living room of her home. This was a good opportunity since her children were at school and her husband was at work. She took all the documents out of some of the boxes and sorted them into piles. She was good at sorting information, as this was part of her job as a probation officer. She was charged with the task of writing the presentence reports that the federal judges used for sentencing a defendant. Oftentimes, she
had to take a complex case and reduce it to chronological order, sorting out the relevant facts as it applied to the case. This was difficult to do in most cases. No criminal act was simple anymore. There were always reports from multiple arresting agencies like the FBI, DEA, or any others involved in the cases. In a complex drug distribution case, for example, there were always several defendants, and each of them needed to be assessed a specific quantity of drugs. She often wondered why a drug distribution ring had so many people, as the more people there were involved, the increased likelihood of getting caught. Stupid.
Lately, she felt as though she was slated for the most complicated cases. Perhaps it was because she was a senior officer and had been there the longest. But no matter what the case, it always energized her. Lil loved her work. She would get a cup of hot black coffee, sit at her desk in the quiet of her office, and sort through all the mess to produce a report suitable for a federal judge to appreciate. Some of her reports had made it all the way to the Supreme Court on appeal. She needed to approach the task of solving this mystery, or at least determining what her grandfather was talking about, with the same methodology.
Luckily her grandfather, Gaylord “Gus” as everyone called him, made copious notes, and she could read his writing pretty well. Some of the notes were typed on FBI forms. Most of these were typed or handwritten on Form 302, a form that had not changed in 70 years, the standard form for summarizing interviews with subjects. These were much easier to read. Lil stacked all his notes in one pile, the typed forms in another pile, and court documents in a third pile. She made sure to leave room on the coffee table for a yellow pad on which she would write down questions or anything relevant. She stopped only to get a refill of coffee.
Next, she organized the documents in chronological order. It was intriguing reading someone’s thoughts from 1944. The court documents had yellowed over the years, but none of the paperwork was damaged by water or mold, so they were in good shape. One group of papers that looked like a court transcript was held together with three rusty brass fasteners. They clearly used a different format back then. Nevertheless, she hoped that she would be able to find out what was so interesting to her mother’s father, her grandfather Gus.
Her phone rang. “Hello,” she answered professionally, but she was clearly feeling interrupted.
“You sound rushed, are you okay? I hope I have not interrupted you,” Judge Stone said, genuinely concerned.
“Oh, hi, Judge, I’m glad it’s you,” Lil responded. “I am fine, just sitting here with all these boxes and all these old documents. I had just started to sort and read through them. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to let you know that I have been tied up in a trial all week but am touching base with you to ask how things are coming with your family and the documents that you were given.”
“That is very kind of you, Judge,” she responded. “Thank you. There is so much to sort through. I resorted to tackling it like I would a presentence investigation and have arranged all the documents in piles of relevance. So far, I believe my grandfather Gus had some reservations about my father’s side of the family. He also thought my mother was developing a drinking problem with wine that my aunt and uncle made. He was pretty perceptive, if only he were able to nip it in the bud because my mom became a full-blown alcoholic when I was in high school. He had never noticed her drinking like that before staying at the inn. I guess these documents were from the time and place where she developed a problem.”
“Well, once you get to the investigative reports,” the judge said, “call me and I will be happy to help. I have friends in lots of places, and I know that if we needed them, they would also be willing to help in any way.”
“Thank you kindly, Judge,” Lil responded. “I hope my research doesn’t come to that, but I appreciate you for volunteering their services, whoever they are. I am sure it will turn out to be just a figment of my imagination.” She doubted her words but tried to sound convincing.
After hanging up the phone, Lil leaned back on her couch and wondered if all her problems with marriages or relationships could be traced back to her mother and father? Lil did not have a problem with alcohol, but certainly enjoyed a glass of red wine with dinner occasionally, or a glass of cool white wine in the hot months of the North Carolina summer. On the other hand, she always suspected that her family members had a problem with alcohol. Could Dad’s divorce from Mom and his two subsequent marriages be somehow related to my divorces? These questions were too deep and complicated to try to figure out right now, she thought. Besides, Lil had more pressing issues at hand. She went back to reading the notes, comforted to know that she had the judge on her side.
Chapter 6
1944 from Warsaw, New York to New York City
“All things must come to an end,” Jacqueline said before giving her father a heartfelt goodbye and boarding the train to head back East. As she took her seat, she reminisced about the weekend. The picnic was wonderful, the meals were extraordinary, the inn was beautiful, but the best part was the wine. The sexual comment that she thought Max had made popped back into her mind for a second, but she tried not to dwell too long on it, there were so many wonderful feelings that lingered from the weekend to focus on. Nevertheless, it was depressing to go back to the city especially when she did not know if she would be able to ever come back to the little town in the valley. She missed her father already but knew that whatever he was working on was important and that they would send telegrams to each other to keep in touch.
During the long train ride back to Manhattan, Jacqueline allowed herself to think about Frank and his new Parisian wife. Her thoughts went all the way back to their wedding day in the city. The long, off-white, clinging silk wedding gown that she had worn was still hanging in her apartment. Jacqueline recalled the excitement she felt when she found a pearl-covered cap shaped like a Navy sailor’s cap. She deliberately picked that hat because of his military service, but she forgot that the Army and Navy could be rivals. It didn’t really matter anyway. They were madly in love, and he never brought it up. Frank was fascinated with her beauty, her long legs, and he vowed that they would always be together, no matter what. What a liar.
Jacqueline felt so hurt. She teared up every time she saw a couple walking hand in hand. She wondered why he had not, at least, come home to tell her the news that he was in love with someone else. He did not even have the decency to tell her in person. Stinking coward, she thought angrily. Her self-confidence had taken a real blow because of that. She was now a divorcee’, damaged goods, she concluded. Was it her fault? Maybe they didn’t have sex often enough. Was she not thin enough? Whatever the reason, it was probably her fault, Jacqueline thought. She wished she had enough money to buy a bottle of wine to drink on the train.
Though life in the city was hectic, she moved right back into the routine of her modeling job. “How was your trip upstate?” her seamstress asked. “Oh, it was fabulous,” Jacqueline said, filling the seamstress in on the details while standing on the platform. “Did you meet any handsome, available men in Warsaw?” the seamstress wanted to know all the details as she envied Jacqueline’s life.
“No, I did not see anyone I would be interested in,” Jacqueline said. “We stayed pretty busy.” Even as she answered the seamstress’s questions, Jacqueline wondered if she would ever find someone to replace Frank. She knew that she was only pretending to put her career first. What she truly wanted was to find someone with whom to spend her life but maintaining her pride would require her to keep up the pretense until that special someone appeared.
“Please stand up straight, dear,” the seamstress said. “I can tell when you are feeling a little down or depressed. Your shoulders slouch, and it makes the dress hang awkwardly.” The seamstress was trying to be supportive but was paying attention to the task at hand-altering the dress.
“Listen Jacqueline, I know that you have this perfec
t figure and all,” she said, “and it can handle any style of dress, but it has to be perfect. So please stand up straight. The dress must hang on you just so or the artist will include any imperfection in the drawing, and it will show up in the newspaper. You don’t want all of New York City seeing you that way, do you?”
“I know,” Jacqueline said as she tightened her stomach and pulled back her shoulders. “I will pay attention. Sorry. I was just thinking about something strange I heard Max the innkeeper say over dinner. You read a lot of British novels, right?”
“Of course. I love them. I read as many as I can. Why? Is there something I could help you with?” The seamstress liked Jacqueline and they often shared recommendations for good books.
“Well... I could have sworn that Max said, ‘here’s to how’s your father,’ as a dinner toast. You know what that means, right?”
“Oh, my. Yes, I believe I do….” She lowered her voice. “It’s sort of an innuendo for sex, is it not?”
“I think it is, yes. But why would someone say, ‘here’s to sex,’ as a toast at a nice dinner? And use a foreign code phrase for it? It was just so strange.”
“That is very odd indeed! What kind of people are these? That is so ill-mannered.” The seamstress sat back and looked up at Jacqueline.
“It could have been that I misunderstood, I had had quite a bit of wine to drink before and during dinner, but I swear that is what he said.” Jacqueline was not sure what she was going to do with this revelation, but at least she had some confirmation as to the meaning of the phrase.
“Didn’t you have an audition last week for a movie?” The seamstress wanted to redirect the conversation. Even she was feeling uneasy about the strange toast.