Regarding Anna

by Florence Osmund

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The Will

  That night after dinner with Tymon, even though I was overly tired, my eyes wouldn’t close. No matter how hard I tried to turn my brain off from thinking about Tymon, Minnie, Fern, and Elmer—I couldn’t. I started wishing I could go back to thinking Rosa and Adam Lindroth had been my real parents, like they had always wanted me to think, and forget about everything else.

  Had Tymon and Anna had a romantic relationship? A one-night stand? What did I really know about this man? And what was his motive for sticking around Minnie and now me? Was he merely trying to be a good friend, or was he out to get something or to be something—like a father. I didn’t know which of these two scenarios scared me the most.

  I must have finally fallen asleep because I woke up early to the clock radio playing Bob Dylan’s newest song.

  How does it feel

  To be on your own

  With no direction home

  Like a rolling stone

  How did it feel? Lousy.

  My mission for the day was to find the key Minnie had retrieved from the floorboards. It was painful to go into her bedroom. The only thing I had done in that room since she’d died was change the bed linens. I sat in her favorite chair and thought back to the time she had found the key. I’d watched her fish it out, but I couldn’t remember what she had done with the key afterward.

  I knew she hadn’t given it to me. I tried to remember if she had been wearing an apron that day. She was always sticking things in her apron pocket and then forgetting about them. I went to the hook by the back door where she had hung her aprons. Their pockets revealed a few things but not the key.

  Back in her bedroom, I checked the pockets of her dresses and sweaters that hung in her closet and eventually found the key in the pocket of her coral sweater, the one I had told her looked so nice on her.

  I wiped the tears away and put the key in the change compartment of my wallet where I knew I could find it again.

  I decided to spend the better part of the day on the phone contacting everyone in Minnie’s address book in order to identify her professional relationships for legal purposes and personal ones to inform them of her passing. There were hundreds of entries. I had started to contact them prior to her funeral, but when all I found were outdated and out-of-service numbers, I gave up on it until I had more time.

  After two hours had passed, I was only up to the letter G. That woman must have put every number she had ever dialed in her address book, no matter how trivial. Many of the people who answered the phone didn’t even know who Minnie Lawless was. One entry turned out to be the school crossing guard who said he knew exactly who she was—she had often yelled at him for a variety of reasons, none of them justified.

  I had stopped for lunch when Naomi called.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours, and all I’ve gotten is a busy signal.”

  I told her what I had been doing all morning.

  “I have to talk fast. He’s in the bathroom. He’s back in touch with his cousin Henry, and from what I overheard, it’s been a long time since they’ve talked. Mr. Berghorn wasn’t happy with whatever it was that Henry was saying, and I heard your name mentioned…” The tone of her voice suddenly became businesslike. “And what time do you close? Yes, I see. Thank you. Bye.”

  I supposed Elmer must have finished his potty break.

  I waited for Naomi to call back, and when she didn’t I continued with my calls.

  Later that afternoon, I finished calling every number in Minnie’s book. Sadly, my efforts revealed no current personal relationships. Five listings—two banks, an attorney, and two doctors—appeared to have been current professional relationships for her and required an in-person visit so I could prove I had the right to gain access to her personal information.

  The house was exceptionally quiet. I would have given anything to hear the familiar sounds of Minnie rattling around the kitchen, fussing with her houseplants, or even making a sarcastic remark about something I had done or said or hadn’t done or hadn’t said.

  I made a sandwich for dinner and was so exhausted that I fell asleep in the middle of The Virginian and didn’t wake up until the evening news. I figured I’d sleep well that night.

  * * *

  A few days later, I drove downtown for an appointment with presumably the most important person in Minnie’s address book, Raymond Webb, her attorney. He had said very little to me on the phone, which of course I understood. I was confident he’d tell me anything I wanted to know about his dealings with her once I showed him my power-of-attorney document. His office was near the library, and my plan was to go there afterward to see what I could find out about the Irish Sweepstakes, the only sweepstakes I was aware of in Ireland and thus the only lead I had in determining the rightful owner of the stash of Irish bills, which Minnie had hidden so well.

  I entered Webb’s office on the fourteenth floor of one of Chicago’s historical buildings in the Loop. Mr. Webb was a nice-looking man—dark, wavy hair with a little grey at the temples, nice blue eyes, and a friendly smile. His office seemed to reflect his importance, with its rows of matching reference books in the bookcases, collage of certificates and diplomas hanging on the wall, and substantial furniture upholstered in dark burgundy leather. After we introduced ourselves and I satisfied his curiosity about why I was on crutches, he requested my ID and then asked me a series of questions, including how Minnie and I had met and where I had grown up, gone to school, and worked.

  When he seemed satisfied with my answers, he explained that he had to verify who I was before discussing anything to do with Minnie, power of attorney or not. I understood that.

  “Are you aware that I met with Minnie the week before she died?”

  “No.”

  “She wanted me to draft a will for her.”

  That caught me off guard. Had she known she was going to die? Maybe that was why Muriel had been on her mind.

  “We have a problem in that while I have a draft of the will, it is unsigned, which for all intents and purposes, is the same as having no will at all. Now, I can petition the court to have it become a valid will, but of course I don’t know what the outcome will be.”

  “Did she see the draft at least?”

  “No, but it was based on information she had given to me, and that will be my argument.”

  “It would make things a lot easier, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, it would.” He paused. “Grace, she wanted to leave you her house.”

  I realized I was staring at him, which was rude, but I was so shocked I couldn’t get any words out. Why would he even tell me this if there was a chance the will wasn’t valid?

  “You had no idea.”

  “None.”

  “So I want to do whatever I can to validate the will for you. And at no charge.”

  I didn’t trust him.

  “I appreciate that.”

  “She told me about you.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes, she did.” He paused again. “I suspect there’s a lot more to your story than what she shared with me, but I can tell you one thing…she cared about you and probably would have done anything to help you in your quest to find the truth. And between you and me, I think helping you gave her a purpose in her life she hadn’t had in a very long time.”

  I had to choke back a rush of raw emotion.

  “She made such a difference in my life.”

  “I think you made a difference in hers.”

  “Did she happen to mention to you that I’m pretty sure I was born in that house?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  The mixed signals he was sending were unsettling. One minute he was all lawyer-like and the next he talked about Minnie like they were friends. I was no lawyer, but I thought he had shared way too much information with me, especially since there was no guarantee he could get the will validated. Why hadn’t Minnie ever mentioned him? Apparently, she had told him
plenty about me. And why was he so willing to go to bat for me?

  “So where do we go from here?”

  “I’ll petition the court to admit the draft as her final will…and we’ll wait.”

  “How long do you think it will take?”

  “Hard to tell. On the low end, maybe ten days. Or it could take much longer. I’ll know more when it gets filed.”

  Before leaving his office, I gave him the name of the probate court representative I had met. He told me he was available to help guide me through the probate process if I wanted to retain him.

  It was a short walk to the library, and all I could think about was Minnie wanting me to have her house—the kindest, most generous thing anyone had ever done for me in my entire life—and she wasn’t there to thank. I was curious as to whether she had intended to tell me this after her will had been finalized.

  I headed straight for the international section where I asked a reference librarian if there was any way to find out the names of the Irish Sweepstakes winners up to and including 1942.

  “I can’t think of a single resource we have with that kind of information, but wait here a minute.” She disappeared and then returned with a piece of paper. “Here is contact information for three large Irish organizations, two local and one international out of New York. I think they would be more likely able to help you.” She wrote down her name on the same piece of paper. “But I like a challenge, so I’m going to see if I can’t find something as well. Just call me if you find what you’re looking for, so I don’t spin my wheels for nothing.”

  My last stop for the day was North Community Bank where Minnie had kept a safe deposit box. After showing my power-of-attorney document and talking to a bank clerk about their procedures, I was ushered into a small room and told to wait. A few minutes later, he returned with a metal box. He unlocked one side of the double lock, and I unlocked the other. As I did so, I found myself hoping there wouldn’t be much inside, as I felt like I couldn’t take on any more revelations that day.

  I quickly went through the contents—her birth certificate, her late husband’s and daughter’s birth and death certificates, her marriage license, her daughter’s hospital bracelet, and several silver dollars. Minnie had been born in 1914, married in 1934, and widowed in 1942. She’d been only twenty-eight years old when they died, just five years older than I was.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “You’re Not Alone”

  I was a block from home and couldn’t wait to collapse on the living room sofa. Meeting with Minnie’s attorney had been emotionally draining—I was sad, tired, and confused. I hoped to feel better after a nap.

  When I inserted my key into the lock at the back door, I was surprised to find it was not engaged. I was certain I had secured the door when I’d left that morning, as I always did.

  I slowly opened the door and thought if this was a movie, there would be someone in the audience yelling, “Don’t go in there!” But it wasn’t a movie.

  I took two steps into the kitchen and stopped. Every drawer and cabinet had been opened and emptied—food, utensils, plates, bowls, pots, pans, and everything else that had once been in the cupboards were scattered all over the floor and on the countertop. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move.

  I listened for noises, but the house was deadly silent.

  Fear overrode all my other emotions. I allowed myself several seconds to calm down before I called the police and then waited for them out front.

  It was obvious whoever had done this was looking for something specific, and what was particularly disturbing was that they had conveniently done this when I wasn’t home. I hadn’t told anyone where I was going or how long I would be gone. Was someone watching me?

  Two policemen arrived, checked the house for possible intruders, and made sure all the doors and windows were secured before we walked through the house together. They asked me what, if anything, was missing, and I told them it was hard to tell right off but it didn’t appear as if anything was missing. I didn’t tell them that it was possible the intruder had found the stash of money Minnie had hidden. I was actually hoping the person had found it—that meant he wouldn’t be back, and I wouldn’t have to spend any more time looking for O’Gowan’s heirs.

  The police asked me the requisite burglary questions and determined that whoever had broken in had gained access through the back door by pushing it in. They dusted the doorknob and around the jam for fingerprints but found none. They suggested I have a deadbolt lock installed. I asked them if they were going to dust anything else for prints, and they explained that since it was simply a breaking-and-entering case with no real property damage but for the door, the door was all they’d dust. That didn’t seem right to me, but I supposed they had better things to do with their time.

  They finished writing notes for their report and told me to let them know within twenty-four hours if I determined anything was missing.

  I called Tymon and, without going into any detail, asked him if he could repair the door jamb and install a new lock on the back door. He said he’d come right over.

  I tried to ignore the ache in my stomach, the roaring headache, and my physical and mental exhaustion while I cleaned up the mess. I started by locating a large trash bag for the broken items. Picking things up off the floor while I was on crutches wasn’t easy. Throwing away items of Minnie’s that someone had maliciously destroyed was painful.

  Tymon arrived an hour later with his tool box, several strips of lumber, a new deadbolt lock, and a heavy-gauge security door chain.

  “What on earth happened?”

  “Someone broke in while I was out running errands.” I filled him in on what I knew and how the police had handled it, leaving out a possible tie-in to the money.

  I continued cleaning up the kitchen while Tymon worked his magic on the back door.

  “I never did like the way this door was constructed. By the time I’m through with it though, it will be completely burglar-proof. What do you think they were looking for?”

  “I’m not sure. It doesn’t look like anything is missing, at least as far as I can tell.”

  “You’re not safe here. You know that.”

  “Can you go with me upstairs? I haven’t been up there yet.”

  “Did you hear me, Gracie?”

  “The police went up there, but—”

  “You’re not telling me everything.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know. I don’t think it’s a big deal. Neither did the police. Will you go upstairs with me?”

  He gave me one of those I’m not through with this subject looks and followed me to the staircase. I gestured for him to go ahead of me since it took me a while to maneuver myself up the stairs.

  In my room, things that had still been in boxes from when I’d moved in were strewn about as was everything from the dresser drawers and closet. Even the mattress from the rollaway bed I slept on had been thrown to the side.

  A cigarette butt next to a crumpled-up photograph on the floor caught my eye. I carefully picked the photo up by one corner. It was the one of Anna holding me in the rocking chair. The cigarette butt could have belonged to whoever did this or even one of the policemen, but my suspicion immediately went to Elmer.

  “Tymon, can you do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Try to find a box of Baggies in the kitchen and bring it up here.”

  Photographs are wonderful for capturing fingerprints. I wasn’t sure what would be gained by having the cigarette butt, but it could do no harm collecting that as well.

  I walked over to the edge of the room and looked up at the ceiling trapdoor that led to the attic. It was in perfect position. I didn’t think whoever had rampaged through the house would have put it back so perfectly if they had gone up there, nor would they have put the ladders back in the basement. I suspected the trunk was safe.

  Tymon returned, and as I turned toward him, the tip of my right crutch slid between two of
the floorboards. In order to catch my balance, I was forced to throw all my weight onto my left leg, the one with the bad knee. I screeched in pain loud enough to be heard in the next county.

  “Gracie! Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay. I just landed on my bad knee.”

  Tymon took my arm and led me over to the bed, where I completely disregarded the missing mattress and sat down too fast and too hard, hurting my tailbone.

  “Damn it all!” I snapped.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Suddenly, I felt like I was in a pressure cooker and someone had just opened the relief valve—there was no controlling the flood of tears that came streaming down my face.

  “What’s the matter? I’ll tell you what’s the matter!” And then, through sobs and tears, I blurted out the litany of issues both large and small that had been building up inside of me for the past few months, ending with the fact that Minnie’s passing had left me sad and alone. I was sure Tymon didn’t understand half of what I was saying through all my blubbering. When I was finished, I was so embarrassed about my loss of control, I didn’t know how I would ever be able to look that man in the eye again.

  He sat down on the bed, put his arm around me, and said in a soft, calm voice, “You’re wrong about one thing, Gracie. You’re not alone.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  A Loud Knock

  Knowing someone had broken into my home—well, the home in which I was staying—and touched all my things was unsettling. I wanted to wash everything that could be washed and throw away everything else. My body was so tense most of the time that I had to keep reminding myself to relax. If Elmer and Henry were responsible for the break-in—and I was sure at least one of them was—they would pay for it one way or another.