Letters on the Table

by Pattie Howse-Duncan

  “Katherine very recently received word from her cardiologist that her heart was failing. He suggested she get her affairs in order which prompted the two of us to spend considerable time together the last few months. It may ease your grief to know that she hoped to go peacefully in her sleep, and as you well know, that’s exactly what happened. And if that was what she wanted, isn’t that what we would have wished for her?”

  The gathered faces nodded. They wanted what she wanted. Nothing less, nothing more.

  “There are two churches in town that have listed Katherine on their membership rolls since she was just a young girl. Both of those, Bethel A.M.E. and St. Thomas Episcopal, are now recipients of the largest donations either of these two churches have ever received. This was what she and Murphy planned all along, no matter who went first.

  As for these letters, Katherine specifically requested that you read them aloud, one by one. What you’re going to find is each of these four letters is the 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, he 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, “We now know the full story of Katherine’s life, and as we proceed we will begin to learn how her gifts will become a part of you. 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 sincerely 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.

  From the desk of

  Katherine McGregor

  ________________________________________

  My Dearest Sam,

  I want to thank you for being such a good friend to me. You always took better care of me than I did myself and because of that I always felt very safe and very loved. You were the first to call to give me a weather alert if we were under a storm watch, you always insisted on carrying my packages or stacks of library books, you always made sure I wasn’t too warm or too cold, and you were always willing to share anything you had with me, except the front seat, of course.

  They say if you want to really know the goodness of a person you should see what they do when they think no one is looking. You certainly proved your goodness to our town, and you made Kingston proud. As the Citizen of the Year, you have a Medal of Honor to prove it.

  I would like to leave you something so that you may continue taking care of those around you. There is a small storefront downtown right next door to our police department. The Kingston Police Department Bicycle Maintenance Department is looking for someone who could be his own boss and work to make sure the bicycles are always in good working order. If you are interested, your job would be to air the tires, grease the gears, tighten the handlebars, adjust the seats, and anything else you feel is important. You would be doing for the policemen’s bicycles all the things you know so well about maintaining your own bicycle. As your mother always taught you, take good care of your things.

  By doing so, you would be providing a valuable service to our policemen. They all think as highly of you as I do. It brought me great pride to watch you develop friendships with so many of Kingston’s police officers. They admire you for your loyalty. You would wear a badge as an honorary policeman, made especially for you to honor your service and good deeds.

  William will be in charge of ordering all your tools, equipment and furniture. He will check on you each week to make sure you have everything you need and will deliver your paycheck. You will be your own boss. No one will work with you. I think you would prefer it that way. I hope you will take care of the police department’s bicycles the same wonderful way you took care of me.

  I don’t want you to feel alone now that I’m gone. William will be with you as he has been the past few years. You can depend on him, just as he can depend on you.

  I received many gifts in my life and I had many friends, but I never had a finer gift than the gift of friendship you gave me.

  All my love,

  Katherine

  From the desk of

  Katherine McGregor

  ________________________________________

  My Dearest William,

  Of all the people gathered around this table, I have known you the shortest amount of time. If I could change that, I would have met you when you were nine so you could have grown up on our land, under a canopy of trees.

  Instead, you were thirty-eight when your feet touched this land for the first time. You were instantly drawn to the trees standing so tall, watching over you as you explored and discovered and grew and began to take root. I loved knowing how much you enjoyed your solitary walks in our woods. I always felt my Murphy was somehow there with you, guiding you as you discovered the beauty of life, helping you shed the armor that protected your heart. You wore that armor for most of your life, and I had the honor of watching it slowly disintegrate.

  You told me once it was our Sunday night dinners that helped you realize what family really meant. You discovered it had nothing really to do with DNA or surnames. It all had to do with loving those around you.

  I want you to look at those gathered around you now—the people in this world I love the very most. You are sitting at the table for a reason.

  Your mother’s heart would be filled to the brim if she had known you as a man. Mine was full enough for both of us. I’ve never known a finer man than you.

  I want to charge you with some things to guide you in the days ahead:

  Go forth and love.

  Love everything you do.

  Love the opportunities God puts before you.

  Love the days ahead and leave the past behind.

  Love the woman God intends for you to marry. Go ahead and ask her.

  Find more Royce Thessings in this world and soften their final days with love.

  You have discovered your purpose in life. Continue to act on it.

  Families often inherit things from their ancestors. It’s a remarkable feeling to own something that belonged to someone before you. I want you to know that feeling.

  The north quadrant is the oldest piece of McGregor land. It was first owned by Donovan Colin McGregor, my Murphy’s great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather. He began acquiring it in 1740. I have no doubt, every McGregor who lived on it or owned it would agree you are worthy of it. It is yours now. You may keep it and live on it. You may decide to sell it. If you do, Thomas has a list of interested buyers. Listen to your heart. You will know what to do.

  Always remember this . . . you came into my life as the driver who delivered ten large crates of carved figures. The rest of it is a love story only God could have authored. And I was the lucky one.

  I love you as if you were my own,

  Katherine

  From the desk of

  Katherine McGregor

  ________________________________________

  Dear Hollis,

  Murphy and I watched you find life again, among the trees. The land taught you how to cultivate and regenerate because it knew you needed to be reminded. It is no surprise that you now own the west quadrant of the McGregor empire. W
hen I first presented the idea to you a few years ago, you were humbled. That’s exactly how Murphy and I felt when you decided to take the job and work on our land. We knew good things were in store for all of us.

  My gift for you, dearest Hollis, is freedom. Freedom to do whatever you please. And I hope it will involve the talent you have deep within you. Bring those sketch books to life. Stop taking care of the land, and let it take care of you. Walk your acreage and select the perfect tree and give life to one of your sketches. Get lost in it. Mull it over and let the artistic energy within you spring forth.

  Listen to the crunch of leaves underfoot, the Coopers hawks swooping past, the rush of the stream after a melted snow, the messages whispered in the trees as the wind blows through them. And then listen again. The land will tell you what to do.

  I have one request, an endeavor you will be able to do well, no doubt. I ask that you find a way to record the stories of all the McGregors who lived here before us. You and I both know the tales by heart. I always wished Murphy and Savannah had penned them, but they did not. If you get some sort of a writer’s block, spend the night under the stars. The McGregors will whisper their stories to you as you sleep. Begin with the wild Irish tales of Donovan McGregor and detail them all, ending with the greatest McGregor, our Murphy. They deserve to be remembered by those who come after us.

  Freedom, Hollis, is a remarkable thing. Men fight wars for it. You fought a war and came out on the other side a strong, remarkably talented man. Freedom has arrived. Ring the bells and go forth, proclaiming your life exactly as you want to live it, surrounded by trees to protect you and all those you love.

  With all my heart,

  Katherine

  From the desk of

  Katherine McGregor

  ________________________________________

  My Dearest Savannah,

  What a treasure you have been to us. I remember laying eyes on you for the first time. It’s funny how our hearts have a way of allowing us to remember so vividly those joys in life which take our breath away. From the time you stepped foot on our land, the trees were greener, and the air was fresher. Murphy and I bathed in your love like birds in a fountain.

  We were not surprised when you became a journalist. It was within you all along, as if you were born to be one. Did you know I saved every note, letter and email you ever sent us? You will find them in my things, tied up neatly in several stacks with blue ribbons. Save them. They are treasures to be passed from generation to generation.

  Even as a very young girl, the mystery of my father’s disappearance seemed to haunt you, making you determined to be the one to unravel the mystery. I can still hear your young voice saying, “I’m going to find out what happened to him and give it to you as a gift, from me to you.”

  I had to wait a very long time to finally learn the truth about my father’s death. As she was leaving this life, Lily Mae told me she wished she had spoken the truth years earlier because the secret of it had eaten at her every day since the day she met me. That was a very long time. Did she think I wouldn’t be able to forgive her for not telling me years ago? If that was the reason, she didn’t understand the depth of my love for her.

  Was she afraid I’d turn away from her and somehow shift the blame of a terrible event to her? How could I have done that? She was only the messenger. My father’s death had nothing to do with her, but she allowed that worry to fester, not realizing there wasn’t a thing in this world she could have told me that would have lessened my love for her. Forgiving someone is part of loving someone.

  My last gift for you, my Savannah, is liberation. You have a secret you’ve held tight within you for many years now. It must have taken great strength all these years to keep it buried so deep within you. The kind of strength that comes when you love someone fiercely with all your being. I know your secret and now is the time to release it. Set it free, my dear sweet girl, so you can begin to live your life again, the way God intended.

  I recently spent some time doing my own research. With William and Annabelle’s guidance, I discovered why you broke away and fled to the other side of the world. As hard as it is for you to read these next words aloud, I ask that you do not put this letter aside, because my gift, my very last gift to you, is in the revealing.

  I now know that through your research you made the painful discovery that your mother’s accident was not due to an icy bridge and that it was not a single car accident. You learned that your mother’s alcohol level was over the legal limit. Your father kept the details from you because of his fierce love, not just for you, but also for your mother. We sometimes protect those we love the most from ugly truths we fear will destroy them.

  Try to imagine that kind of love. It can’t be difficult for you because you have that same kind of love within you. You discovered a secret so ugly that you thought it would ruin a love that was gentle and healthy and whole. But that kind of love cannot be destroyed. You just weren’t brave enough to test it.

  There was no icy bridge the night your mother died but there was a second car—details you found reading the files at The Boston Globe. I can only imagine how your journalist’s mind raced as you read the name of the driver of the second car, Margo Adkisson, and you began putting the pieces together. You discovered that Margo Adkisson was three hundred miles from home when the accident occurred. And when you saw that she was from Camden you knew you had to learn more about her. And then the journalist in you searched the microfilm for anything else you could find, and her obituary confirmed what you desperately feared. She died nine days after the accident. It listed the names of the children who survived her. She had kept her maiden name when she married, just as your mother did. You knew then you and Clark had lost your mothers in the same accident. And the fact that he did not know tore your heart in two.

  I can only imagine how your world trembled at that moment. You thought Clark could never love the daughter of the woman who stole his mother. You thought he would see you as an extension of the ugliness. You thought he would never forgive you.

  Lily Mae once told you something so powerful you wrote it in your journal and said you would remember it forever. You wrote, “We aren’t responsible for the sins of others, only our own.”

  My gift to you is sitting in the adjacent room, and I hope it is a gift you are willing to accept. Clark has never stopped loving you. He now knows all that you know, and it will be your decision to take the next step.

  You can either stand up right now, walk out the door and return to South Africa with the knowledge that your secret is no longer buried, or you can stand up, walk into the adjacent room and allow the man who has loved you all these years to hold you once again.

  The secret to life is love and forgiveness. It’s as simple as that. Forgive your mother’s mistake, and stop owning it. Love the man who married your mother, and love the man who has waited all these years to marry you.

  This I know—love and forgive, forgive and love.

  What do you know?

  All my love,

  Katherine

  Postlude

  Five years later

  Wanda Sullivan-Langston no longer remembers the pain she inflicted on others. She has advanced dementia and lives in Shady Valley Assisted Living. Following her example, her children are bitter and corrosive and feel no guilt that they have abandoned her. There will be no one to mourn her when her days have ended.

  Sam wears his badge and sits beside Santa every year in the Kingston Christmas parade as the Kingston Police Department Bicycle Mechanic. The town has never forgotten his loyalty.

  William and Annabelle’s summer camp for foster children will open this summer. It was and always will be sustained from the thinning and harvesting of a small area of beechwood trees on the north quadrant. The camp is called “Hallowed Ground.” William sometimes hears Murphy’s voice and sees Katherine’s face as
the sun is breaking through the trees during his early morning walks.

  The forest on the south quadrant of Beechwood forms a canopy to shield and nurture the curiosity of Katherine Margo Abigail Courtway where she lives with her parents, Savannah and Clark. “Living Among the Trees, a Chronicle of the Ancestral Stories of the McGregor Clan” by Savannah Courtway and Hollis Walker has just been published. It’s predicted to be a non-fiction bestseller before the year’s end.

  Hollis owns the west quadrant. He sometimes hears those who came before him whisper through the trees. He pauses and takes it all in, cherishing his freedom. His sketchbooks are brimming, and his works of art are in demand from galleries around the country.

  After seven generations of McGregors, the National Forestry Commission finally owns the east quadrant.

  About the Author

  Pattie Howse-Duncan lives in Arkansas with her husband. She spends her time enjoying family, creating, entertaining, reading and traveling. This is her first novel. She can be reached via Facebook.