Copyright © Pattie Howse-Duncan 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing of the author.
ISBN: 9781657760394 (paperback)
To Nathan and Mary-Phillip who encouraged me to tell another story, to Keith for listening to a whisper and finding me, and to Pam who lives her life with the courage of a fierce warrior and the compassion of a saint.
Contents
Prologue
Part One: 1941 – 1946
Early Katherine
Her Two Worlds
Meeting Murphy McGregor
Pixie Gifts
One War Ends
Murphy’s Inheritance
Part Two: 1966 – 1975
Trouble at Beechwood
Fire
After
Romance
Party of Three
Beauty Shop
Doc and Baxter
Part Three: 1977 – 2014
Savannah
Leaving
Proposal
Journey
Sam
Murphy
Hollis’ Secret
Delivery
Settle In
Baby Jesus
The Revealing
Do Unto Others
Katherine
Reading of the Will
Postlude
About the Author
Prologue
None of them had any idea how their lives would be connected by the reading of the will. Having been summoned by her attorney, they gathered to hear what Katherine had bequeathed to each of them.
The walnut furniture and the paste wax had grown old together, permeating the room with a distinct aroma, inviting to the nostrils, stirring memories of the days when furniture was crafted from real wood and the polish required muscle to apply. The books added another layer to the smell. A good smell. One that beckoned you to lose yourself in their pages. But they were not there to read. They were there to listen, to absorb her wisdom one last time.
Waiting for him to enter, they shared in somber tones the details of their sorrow during the last few days since the burial. They saw it in each other’s eyes. Her love was their anchor, their unifying bond.
Each one straightened a bit as he entered the room, carrying a large calendar atop a cumbersome stack of files. He paused in front of each of them, regarding them directly before extending a warm, strong handshake. He knew. He knew their pain and sorrow. He feared his own grief from losing her would reside permanently in a portion of his heart, but today he would fulfill one of the most important tasks of her life, and he was proud to be her messenger.
Arranging the folders at the end of the long table, he gave a nod of dismissal to the two young clerks. One exited through the north door and closed it securely while the other exited through the south door, leaving it slightly ajar. Not wide enough for one to enter or exit, but plenty wide enough for someone to sit clandestinely in the adjacent room and absorb all the words soon to be spoken.
“Within minutes, your lives are going to change, and I want us all to remember this time, this place, this collective group.” Holding the calendar in midair for all to see, he used a felt tip pen to draw a thick red circle around the date, making sure they understood the enormity of the moment.
“Katherine specifically requested that you read your letter aloud, one by one. What you’re going to find is each of these four letters is a sum part of a whole.” And although it was something they already knew, he reminded them as he distributed the envelopes, “Katherine loved you very much, no doubt. She kept each of you in her heart as if you were her own.”
Holding their envelopes gave each a sense that she was with them still. One raised the envelope to his nose to see if it smelled of her; one held it cockeyed to the light to see if she could decipher the contents; one held it in his lap and traced her handwriting with his finger; and one clutched it to his heart and closed his eyes.
Never taking his eyes off the assembled, the attorney magnified his voice and dropped a bombshell, “And if all goes as planned, we’ll be joined by one other.”
He then took a long sip of his iced tea and said, “I have been instructed to read Sam’s letter aloud after he opens it, so I think it’s time for us to begin.” Realizing he might be rushing the man, which Katherine would have adamantly opposed, he corrected himself and said, “That is,” nodding as he continued, “whenever you’re ready, Sam.”
And it was then that Sam clumsily and wordlessly ripped open his sealed envelope and handed it over to be read aloud.
Part One
1941 – 1946
Early Katherine
One morning mid-May in 1941, Martin Engstrom planted a goodbye kiss on his wife’s forehead and playfully tugged his daughter Katherine’s long blonde ponytail just as she was sitting down to a plate of scrambled eggs. He walked out the door headed to Burke, the next town just twelve miles east. And like the morning dew, he disappeared.
The sheriff’s department launched an official search. Seems the entire town of Kingston banded together to find him and bring him home, wearing out the road between the two towns, and letting the hounds rip through the countryside. They did everything they knew to do.
Sheriff Sullivan stopped by the Engstrom’s house about dusk each day to relay to Emeline the dismal absence of any fresh leads in her husband’s case. Paunchy and disheveled, he walked with an arrogant swagger, giving people reason to think they’d elected the wrong man, but no one seemed to know how to go about correcting that kind of wrong.
Hesitant to invite him inside, Emeline always stood braced against the oak post on the front porch listening to the sheriff’s obvious inadequacies. All the while, young Katherine stood soldier-still just on the other side of the door, eavesdropping on those ugly conversations between her mother and the lawman.
Almost two weeks into the investigation, Katherine listened as her mother courageously, but completely out of character, questioned him. “It’s been twelve days now, and your men haven’t found a single clue, so are we sure they’re looking in the right place? It just seems maybe…” Emeline stopped abruptly when her eyes shifted from the floor up to Sheriff Sullivan’s reddened face.
Katherine saw it too as she cocked her head around the corner. His anger was evident, looking as though he might detonate.
Ready to pounce, he used words meant to frighten as he tore into Katherine’s mother, “How dare you try to tell me how to do my job? Don’t you know my men have been workin’ this case day and night since your husband left you?” His sour breath was hot on her face. Nothing was going to stop him now. “Martin would’ve been ashamed to know ’bout you talkin’ to me like that. By God, you better get that stupid idea out of your head and don’t even think about gettin’ no state authorities comin’ in here. Ain’t nobody gonna tell me how to investigate anything. You hear me now?”
As Emeline back-stepped he stomped his muddy boots toward her until he had her pinned against the screen door. He raised his hand above her but then stopped suddenly when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Katherine had deliberately stepped onto the porch, and she fixed him with a fearless stare, which he was not expecting.
Bounding off the porch, he slammed the door to his patrol car with such force it’s a wonder the window didn’t crack and then left tire tracks on the tarred driveway all the way onto Central Avenue.
She was only seven, but Katherine’s brain registered the fact that the sheriff had just referred to her father as if he were never going to return. Would have been. And if she heard it, she was sure her mother heard it, too.
It would be seven years prior to Katherine’s own death when she’d learn the indisputable details. Her father’s disappearance and then learning the truth surrounding that terrible event would serve as the bookends of her life story.
Nothing in Martin Engstrom’s lifestyle predicted any type of trouble. He lived a simple life, a carpenter by trade, widely reputed to be the finest woodworking craftsman in the area. Meticulous and slow as a turtle, anyone who hired him knew they’d chosen wisely. His sense of design guaranteed him an extensive list of clients and job security but an ulcer at the same time. But now he was simply gone. Obliterated from existence but not from memory.
Katherine’s mother had always been the quiet one of the three Engstroms, content to spend hours piddling around the house without much talk. When one of her dark moods crept in, Emeline did a poor job hiding her frustration with her daughter’s steady stream of chatter. Frequently, she took her dinner plate on a metal tray and sat alone in the bedroom, exhausted from fighting the onslaught of depression. Her husband’s and daughter’s endless talking, talking, talking agitated her nerves. She resented the noise, knowing their conversations were as predictable as clockwork, beginning the second her husband walked through the door each evening and ending when Katherine finally closed her eyes each night.
But then, without warning, like the snap of a finger, like the clang of a bell, she would emerge from the darkness and then happily spend weeks at a time enjoying the presence and commotion of her family. No one understood it—Emeline least of all. And now she faced the cataclysm that her husband would probably never return, and she feared she did not have the strength to endure life without him.
Katherine’s childhood ended abruptly as May turned into June. She and her mother traded places as Katherine became the caretaker when Emeline could simply no longer will herself out of bed. Each morning she brought her mother dry toast to soothe her upset stomach. She sat dutifully at her bedside as her mother lay motionless, staring into space, tears dripping like a slow faucet in need of repair. Her mother ate very little, and as the heat of the summer days arrived, she spoke less and less.
The good people of Kingston rallied together to encourage and support the remnants of what used to be a family of three. There was money in the bank to pay the house note, but their only transportation vanished with Martin.
Doc Bishop was a man of integrity, and he knew a tragedy when he saw one. He did more than supply pills. He stopped by twice a day to check on both mother and daughter, keeping the pill box replenished and instructing Katherine to make sure her mother took one each morning and one each evening.
He tossed around several ideas, with his wife, Mary Nell, who helped him navigate these rough waters. “I thought I’d seen it all, but this scenario just about breaks my heart.”
“Emeline has a pantry full of blue ribbons from the Davidson County Fair. No one makes better pies. Could she make a living doing something like that?”
Doc shook his head as he listened and emitted a quiet but pained sigh. “She’s so fragile. I’m not sure she’s able to get out of bed, much less bake pies.”
“What are your worst fears?”
“The worst-case would be institutionalization.” He studied Mary Nell’s face to make sure she fully grasped what he meant and added gravely, “Perhaps for years.”
She knew Doc might not be able to save Emeline, but she was sure her husband would do everything within his power to give Katherine back her childhood—with or without her mother. “What can I do to help?”
He must have been pondering the answer before she asked the question. “I don’t care what it is or what it costs; I want you to find me something I can take that child each and every day. Not food, of course. Kingston has given them enough food to feed Washington’s army. I want something that’s just the perfect fit for a seven-year-old girl. Something Martin would have wanted her to have. Something to give her respite from the sadness around her and rescue her from the tragedy that’s strangling the life right out of her childhood.” He was obviously filled with a combination of fatigue and worry. “Most importantly, whatever it is, it needs to be something I can deliver seven days a week, without fail.”
So it was that summer that Katherine became a nursemaid and a bookworm, thanks to the bundle of books Doc delivered daily. Like a hungry dog with a bone, she devoured each one, zealously reading through all the Nancy Drews, all the Hardy Boys, all twelve of the Five Little Peppers series, and every other title Doc’s wife acquired from the library.
Doc found time each day to listen as she recounted the details of what she’d read the day before. Stretching out his long legs, hands cupped behind his head and glasses propped on top of his salt and pepper hair, he convinced her that nothing in his life was more important. “So, how’d she know the missing portrait was buried in the bungalow’s basement?” And that was all it took. Katherine would tell the story, sometimes stopping to show him a word she didn’t understand. The next day would replicate the day prior. The only deviation would be the way he’d frame his leading question, based on the book’s title.
Doc laughed hard when the plot turned comical. He pounded his fist when things went awry. He moped when a character met misfortune. He vigorously rubbed his graying temples when danger lurked. He was her entire audience, and he took it all in, never missing a beat. It was during Doc’s visits with Katherine that her heart began to love him.
But Doc and Mary Nell Bishop did much more than supply medicine and books. They gathered a handful of steadfast Kingston families—the kind of men and women who needed no reminder of what was expected of them, to care for widows and orphans. While the country was beginning to emerge from the great financial depression, Katherine’s mother was mired in the other kind.
This small army put together a rescue plan for Martin’s survivors. Nick Baldwin, president of First Bank of Kingston, arranged to sell the house while there was still time for Emeline to make a profit. He was certain there would eventually be a life insurance payout, and he would oversee the investment. Ted Graham had only recently reopened his diner on Jefferson Street, and he offered a two-for-one deal. Katherine and her mother could live without charge in the efficiency apartment above the diner if Emeline would supply them with four pies six days a week and clean the diner from top to bottom on Sundays.
This same band of friends, under Doc and Mary Nell’s supervision, gathered on an appointed Saturday to move Emeline and Katherine to their new place above the diner. The color of the walls of their meager room reminded the two new tenants of a dirty version of canned lima beans. The room shrank drastically each time they carried a piece of furniture up the narrow staircase, causing one to walk sideways navigating from one end of the room to the other. Most of the furniture was taken right back down the creaky staircase and reloaded into the back of the truck. There simply was not room for anything more than two twin beds, a chest of drawers, a bookcase, and two straight-backed chairs to accompany their now perpetually closed drop-leaf table.
What was left of Martin’s family, his pitiful wife and one precious child, stood and watched as the reloaded truck, looking like a pirate ship full of plundered treasures, drove down the street and slipped over the horizon.
The stark reality of what their lives had become hit them both at the same moment, like the sting of a hard slap on wet skin. Katherine watched silently as her fully-clothed mother slipped off her shoes, climbed into one of the twin beds and cocooned herself underneath the covers, completely oblivious to Katherine’s needs. This neglect of her daughter would become Emeline’s pattern for the next nine years.
Katherine found the thick layer of sadness suffocating, and she hungered for the
fresh air outside. Low hanging tree branches from a massive pin oak beckoned her out the back door of the diner and after a quick shimmy upward, she roosted in a secluded spot.
Only a minute or two passed when Katherine realized someone was standing directly below her, looking upward into the tree, straight at her, as if she had expected to find a girl perched high among the magnificent limbs. Katherine found herself peering at an abundance of brown. A dark-skinned lady with a nice smile.
The smile seemed to start in the lady’s eyes and continue straight through her smooth lips. She had a good face. A dark brown face with skin that reminded Katherine of her father’s coffee after he added a drop or two of fresh cream. That kind face had big brown eyes and a brown hat that Katherine supposed might be covering a big bun of dark hair. She was carrying a couple of brown paper packages and a pocketbook. Brown on brown.
The lady was the first to smile, but Katherine was the first to speak.
“Hey.”
“Well, hey yourself.”
They both waited to see who would speak next. The tree’s shade offered a welcome respite from the August sun.
“How’d you climb yourself in that big ole tree?” Her voice was calm, relaxed. Katherine liked the sound.
“Easy.” Katherine’s voice had an eagerness about it. She wanted to say more. “I’ve been climbing trees my whole life.”
“And just how long that’s been?”
“I’ve been climbing a long time. I’m seven now, but my birthday’s next month and I started climbing trees probably when I was about three.”
Gently resting her packages on the bench under the massive tree, the lady nodded as she listened to Katherine’s answer, agreeing as if she already knew the answer. “You say you’re seven now? And you been climbing since you were ’bout three? So how long would that be, you reckon?”
“Four.” Katherine displayed four splayed fingers, eager to show off her mathematical aptitude.
Letters on the Table Page 1