by Cathy Elliot
Annie browsed the file. The papers were crisp and somewhat yellowed, but the typewriter print was clear. The first page looked very official: a Notice of Separation from the U.S. Naval Service: NAVPERS-553. The document provided a concise, official history of Grandpa’s military service. Enlistment and discharge dates, schools attended, service vessels and assigned stations, ribbons and medals.
But no Purple Heart.
Annie spotted his discharge pay, a robust $47.78. How had he felt when he mustered out with that paycheck? She shook her head in wonder.
Though not exactly sure what to look for, Annie was quite sure she didn’t find it. She would have to examine the document more thoroughly, later.
Or maybe ask someone with sufficient military knowledge to translate the lingo.
Moving on, she found a short dental record, some certificates that indicated Grandpa’s specialized training onboard ship, and a series of evals: Navy evaluations. Glancing over them gave her a surge of pride: unparalleled expertise, excels under pressure, and willingly assumes all challenges with enthusiasm and determination. And her favorite phrase: already performing at the level of a CPO. Vintage Charles Holden.
All this, but no mention of a Purple Heart. Or the medal she couldn’t identify.
It seemed more and more unlikely that the medals belonged to Grandpa. But why would he take the time and trouble to carve all those intricate designs on the case, if it wasn’t his treasured possession?
Annie got up to view Grandpa’s medal display, the ones she knew belonged to him. Centered over the shadow box in a triangular case, the American flag folded into the symbolic, tri-cornered shape, featuring only the blue fabric with white stars. Gram had been proud to receive that flag when Grandpa had died, and Annie appreciated its exhibit on his wall of honor.
She remembered Gram giving her a history lesson about the folded flag, explaining its suggestion of a cocked hat. A reminder of the soldiers who once served under General George Washington and of the sailors and marines who served under Captain John Paul Jones. Patriots who paved the way for the U.S. Armed Forces: the men and women who have preserved the freedoms we cherish today.
As Annie focused on the flag, something jogged her memory. Something about the medals she’d found in the attic. One five-pointed star was attached to a blue ribbon. Could there be a connection beyond the obvious Americana influence? She surveyed the room. Where were those medals, anyway?
Remembering that she had showed them to Alice earlier when they were having tea, Annie strode into the kitchen, deciding she’d take another look at the medals. And maybe she’d better make a cup of tea, as well. A cookie might be nice, but she didn’t want to ruin the lingering delight of her diner dessert. Besides, she was still fasting.
For a week.
Or at least until tomorrow.
Annie refreshed the water in the kettle and set it to boiling. She found a sturdy mug and plopped in a tea bag, thinking of all she had learned about her grandparents today. Things she mostly knew, but things worth pondering again. Did her daughter LeeAnn realize her great-gram had kept every newspaper clipping mentioning her name? Every school program? Every card made by childish hands? Annie intended to do the same with her grandchildren.
She sighed and poured hot water into the mug. Taking down a pen and writing tablet, she sat at the kitchen table, pushing the medals away. She could look at them later. Now she wanted to create a new memory for the twins. And for herself.
Dear John & Joanna …
In the late afternoon, Annie sat out on the porch to enjoy the air as she continued her crocheting. Leaning forward, she could see the outline of Alice’s roof amid the trees nearby. Most likely she wasn’t home; she had another home party tonight, this one for Princessa Jewelry. Annie had been invited to come, but she’d replied with an apologetic no. She had all her own jewelry, much of it gifts from her generous husband over the years. And she had inherited all of Gram’s jewelry. Annie drew the line at adding any Princessa pretties to her collection.
Gazing at the ocean view, Annie told herself there was nothing like this in Texas. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she felt a kind of disloyalty. She remembered her house in Brookfield, the wildflowers and wide spaces, and her family that waited there. My goodness. She had talked herself into being lonely again. Annie crocheted a few more stitches.
The faraway sounds of gulls soothed her uneasy spirit, calling her to stay in Stony Point for a while longer, anyway. After all, Grey Gables depended on her to restore the beauty it once boasted. That was important. A tribute to her grandmother’s memory. Gram had left the house to Annie, and she, in turn, would keep it for those who remained behind.
Besides, there were questions to be answered.
No new insights had been gained from inspecting the medals one more time. They were still spectacular. And still mysterious. She didn’t think they belonged to Grandpa, not after scanning his file. So who, then? Annie needed help. But not just from anyone, from someone she could trust.
Her crochet hook looped around the bulky brick red yarn with precision, and the strip grew another half inch. Slow going, but if she stuck with it, the afghan might be finished in time for the auction. She stopped and assessed the rows of even stitches, smiling at the results of her applied skill. What was it about her needlework that filled her with such satisfaction? Annie considered her own question and decided there were too many answers. Perhaps she should return to the real puzzle at hand.
Whom could she call on for help? Alice was already on board. And the Hook and Needle Club was only too eager. But shouldn’t Annie find someone with military experience? Mayor Ian Butler might know something about the owner of the medals. He loved Stony Point, making it his business to know the town’s history. Even its very recent history. She didn’t know if he’d been in the service. That was another question to be answered. But he had become a good friend. Annie trusted him.
Ian could be a great resource.
Annie decided that tomorrow, after paying her charge account at Malone’s, she would seek out Ian and enlist his aid.
Right now it was time to put aside her crochet project and go inside.
She had a fast to break.
6
“Look at this Jersey Cream.” Annie sorted through scattered paint samples, selecting a multicolored card. “The color’s scrumptious!”
Malone’s Hardware Store had been the first stop of the day and already much had been accomplished. She had chosen a pattern for the new backsplash, though she wasn’t sure about the color. Annie liked the antiqued copper look with its depth and earthy tones. But she leaned toward the stainless, as well. The vintage pattern paid tribute to the Victorian style of the house while the silver brought it into the new millennium. She’d have to decide soon.
But she had made a definite decision on appliances. The outdated machines that now occupied the kitchen would be replaced with shiny new reproductions in the fashion of the late 1800s--the look of the old with the technology of the new. Grandpa and Gram had bought Grey Gables in the late 1940s, choosing it because of the turn-of-the-century architecture. The antique repros complemented the feel of the Victorian style. Annie had chosen the appliances from one of Mike’s many catalogs and had only to wait for Wally to take needed measurements to place her order. She would probably get white or black, safe choices that would always be in style. But her inner designer was considering a deep red. What would Gram think of that?
If she went for the red, the stainless backsplash would look amazing. Annie could crochet all new dishcloths to match, some striped, some solid. She might even add crocheted edgings to some store-bought dish towels and give them that vintage feel. Or use some of Gram’s cross-stitched towels from the attic.
But the copper was lovely too.
Oh, what to do … what to do.
Annie returned her attention to the Jersey Cream.
“What do you think?” She asked the store owner, holding the
paint sample in the light reflected through the store windows.
Mike Malone drummed his fingers against the counter with a let-me-see-now attitude. “You want the truth?”
“Of course.” Annie gave him a frank look.
“I don’t know what to think,” Mike said, suppressing a grin. “Just ask my Fiona. I can be pretty thoughtless sometimes. The important thing is what do you think?”
“I think it looks yellow.” A voice emanating from the front of Malone’s inserted itself into the conversation. Ian Butler, Stony Point mayor, strode a few steps forward and tipped an imaginary hat to Annie who smiled a greeting.
Mike reached out to shake Ian’s hand. “Morning, Mr Mayor. How do? You’re not here to levy a tax on paint are you? Because, if you are …” He gave a good-natured nod toward Annie. “I might have to pass that little hike on to Ms. Dawson here. Not very neighborly of me either.”
“What? And bankrupt my constituency?” Ian raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Well, I’m glad of that!” Annie laughed. “But all teasing aside, gentlemen, I do need to make a decision on this paint. Wally will be ready to paint Gram’s kitchen later this week. He started priming the walls before I left the house.”
“Then allow me to make a suggestion,” the mayor said. “Go with the yellow. You usually aren’t sorry if you follow your first inclination.” He stopped, as if he’d thought of something significant. “Furthermore, it will accent your sunny disposition.”
Annie shook her head. These two were full of it. Whatever it was.
“Speaking of accents …” Malone pulled more paint samples, shades of white gloss, for Annie’s inspection. “One of these for trim?”
“This one,” Annie said, pointing to a Winsome White gloss. “And I’ll take the Jersey Cream too. Reminds me of fresh-churned butter.”
“Excellent choices, Ms. Dawson. That ought to brighten up your kitchen some. And regarding this paint?” Mike winked and pointed to the can containing the yellow. “Spreads just like butter too.”
Annie rolled her eyes. “I can see I’m not going to one-up either of you. You’re too quick for me. We like to take our time back home in Texas.”
“You’re a good sport, ma’am, and I’ll say that for sure.” Mike rifled through a drawer until he found an order form. He wrote Annie’s selections down, then tossed it back inside. “Tell Wally he can pick up the paint anytime. If he gives me a heads-up, I’ll have it mixed and ready to go.”
Ian stood by and watched the transaction with apparent interest. Now he made as if to leave, again reaching across to Mike, this time giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder.
“Good to see you, Mike. I have a meeting soon so I need to get back to the office. Give my best to Fiona and the children.”
Then, glancing first at his watch, he turned to Annie. “By the way, I wanted to ask you something. Would you mind if we stepped outside for a minute?”
What could the mayor have to ask her? She had a couple things to ask him, she knew that much. “Sure,” Annie said and walked ahead of him into the sunshine, sandals clacking against the sidewalk. She should have worn more than her sundress and lightweight sweater. The morning was still a bit chilly in spite of the sun.
Ian indicated a wooden bench with wrought iron arms and legs situated a bit south of Malone’s. Wine barrels full of vibrant heather decorated either side. The scene was inviting and Annie accepted.
She sat down, turning so she faced the mayor. Annie’s impression of Ian was that he seemed to embody the spirit of Stony Point. Rugged, kind, and with a heart for others. The mayor had made her feel welcome when she first arrived, and since then she had always enjoyed his informative talks about the town.
“Please accept my apology, Annie. I’ve barely time for even a short chat.” He checked his watch once more. “It may not surprise you that a rumor about a new discovery at Grey Gables has reached me.”
Annie’s heart sank. “No, not really,” she said. “But it’s bizarre, because I already planned to talk to you about it today.”
“Great. I’m eager to hear all about it.” Ian’s eyes sparked excitement. “But that wasn’t what I wanted to ask you.”
“Oh?”
It was like a mystery leading to the mystery.
“Would you have time to get together later this afternoon?” Ian started to rise. His mayoral duties called. “How about we meet in the Town Square?”
Annie thought about the day ahead. She might need to stop by A Stitch in Time and check out their cotton yarn, just in case she decided to make those red dishcloths. Or another color, if she chose the copper backsplash. Any visit to her very favorite shop could take hours, depending on who was present. Topping her list was a visit to the Stony Point Library to try and get information about Grandpa.
If she did discover new information, she would have it in hand to discuss with the mayor. He might be able to offer advice.
“How about three o’clock?” Annie asked, standing.
“Let’s synchronize our watches,” Ian said, checking his again. He laughed at his little joke. “All right, then. I’ll meet you at three over by Old Glory. I’ll bring coffee.”
They said their goodbyes, and Ian turned and walked rapidly toward the town hall. He took the time to wave or exchange a word with several Stony Point citizens, until he cut across the square’s lush lawns and disappeared.
Musing, Annie crossed Main Street and sauntered toward the yarn shop, enjoying the leisurely pace, returning the smiles of those she met along the way. She knew many of these folks now. And most of them knew her. Or of her. Gram had been integral to this community, and Annie loved claiming the heritage. An unexpected gift.
In front of A Stitch in Time, she paused, taking in the picture-postcard feel of the village that was Stony Point. She touched the cool metal lamppost situated outside the shop and remembered swinging around and around one like it during her childhood. Probably every child in town had done the same. And she loved to see those lamp lights lit, lending enchantment to the night, beaming in rows, and marking a path through town. Like tiny replicas of Butler’s Lighthouse, showing strangers the way.
Only I am a stranger no more.
Annie hugged herself, just for a moment. Then, heart smiling with contentment, she stepped into the shop.
7
When Annie exited more than an hour later, she carted two bulky bags along with her purse. It was a blessing she didn’t have a charge account at A Stitch in Time, or she might have needed help to carry her riches to the car. She had bought plenty of red cotton yarn, along with white so she could have more options.
But that didn’t mean she’d decided for sure on the red appliances. Annie also purchased some soft skeins of butter yellow. In case of copper. The white would work with either scenario.
Heading around the corner toward her trusty old Malibua--gift from Wayne she still couldn’t bear to sell--Annie realized she was building another stash right here in Stony Point. Back in Brookfield, an entire bedroom was set aside and dedicated to conserving her collection of crochet yarn. And hooks. And patterns. And unfinished projects. Somehow the stash had grown beyond the bedroom, multiplying like rabbits on the Texas plain.
Maybe she’d just have two stashes. A Texas stash and then … her Maine stash.
Annie loaded her bags into the trunk and opened the passenger door to retrieve Grandpa’s military file tossed on the seat before she left Grey Gables that morning. It had taken more than a few weeks to relax and learn to leave her car doors unlocked like the rest of Stony Point. Now she reveled in trusting her neighbors and friends with her property.
A gentle breeze blew the scent of brine into the center of town, and Annie breathed deep, reminded of the town’s rich history. She pulled her sweater close and wandered past the shops, trying to visualize the first trading post back in 1665. Could those early settlers have known they were building a community that would still thrive more t
han three hundred years later?
As she rounded the corner onto Main Street, Annie peeked through the windows of Dress to Impress, the women’s clothing store. She could have used a few of those stunning outfits when she worked with Wayne at the dealership. What did she have to dress up for now?
As she passed near The Cup & Saucer, the aroma of culinary delights wafted her way, reminding her she had skipped lunch. A glance at her watch showed she had less time to research Grandpa’s file than planned.
She wouldn’t stop to eat. Instead, she picked up her pace and hiked over to the Stony Point Library. Stopping on the sidewalk allowed her to appreciate the Greek-revival-temple-style structure built in the 1840s, originally a private home. The library, with its stark white paint, stately columns, and black shutters, held its own among other prominent buildings on Main Street. A mix of dignified nobility and colonial charm. Very New England.
She climbed the steps to the pillared porch, hesitating in front of a multipaned glass door. What would she find out about Grandpa? About the medals? Did she really want to know?
Grasping the handle, she pulled the door open. As she stepped inside, the familiarity of the foyer flooded over her. How many times had she come here with Gram to check out a Nancy Drew mystery or Black Stallion book?
On the wall to the right hung a framed photograph of an older woman, smiling, against a backdrop of shelved books. Below her picture an engraved brass plate read: Josephine Booth, Library Volunteer of the Year. One might have expected to see the head librarian or some staff photos, but in Stony Point, it didn’t surprise her to see volunteers celebrated first.
Annie inhaled the smell of polished wood and old books while creeping into the Great Room. Two teenaged girls, seated in oak Windsor chairs surrounding an oval table, typed away on laptops. Then one stopped and showed something on her screen to the other, who giggled. An older man wearing a plaid shirt and suspendered jeans sat nearby, flipping through a magazine with a blue plastic cover. It all looked much the same as Annie remembered from her childhood visits. The sun streaming through tall windows, white shelving all around, and Currier & Ives prints of ancient sailing vessels grouped above the fireplace mantel.