“Do you mind if share a few things first? They might help fill in some backdrop.” Jillian opened her folder and handed the old press release to Tucker. “Have you ever seen this?”
He scanned it. “Never! Judd retired and appointed Grandpa Matt president of the company. I knew that, but I never realized he was so young. He never wanted to talk about Judd. But considering the letter he left me, it’s starting to make sense.”
“Your grandfather’s favorite Bible verse was John 8:32, right?”
Tucker shrugged. “He never said. How did you know that?”
Jillian handed Tucker the copy of the business journal interview. “You were only a little boy when this came out. I do a lot of reading between the lines in my work. He seemed to struggle to say—or not say—something in this interview about your family. He was wrestling with some piece of truth about your family history right at the core of his being.”
Tucker covered his eyes. “If only you knew.”
“It had something to do with your great-grandmother Alyce’s mental health?”
He moved his hand away from his face. “Why would you say that?”
“Does it?”
He exhaled heavily. “If she knew what my grandfather told me, it could explain a lot. She was already ancient when I knew her as a little boy, but my mother always described her as fragile. She said Grandpa Matt treated her like glass.”
“But you don’t know why?”
“I’m sure my mother never did. Something happened when Grandpa Matt was young that he never wanted to talk about. He always told my mother that Great-grandma Alyce was entitled to her privacy and not to ask questions.”
“Something about a lock and a bricked wall?”
“Wow.” Tucker’s jaw dropped.
“Talk to Jackson when you get home.”
“I told you she was good,” Nolan said.
“I haven’t figured out what the brick wall has to do with anything—yet,” Jillian said, “but maybe between us we have enough pieces to put the picture together.”
“Read the letter,” Laurie Beth said.
Tucker took a deep breath and began.
Dear Tucker,
I could write many sentimental things about how I feel about you, but I believe I’ve told you those things often enough while I was still with you. These words are much harder to say.
I have failed in courage every day for seventy years and now bequeath my cowardice to you to redeem. That’s not fair. I know that. But I have no choice. You are my only hope for expiation. I will write words here that I have never spoken aloud to anyone, not even your grandmother, whom I loved more than my own breath.
I was not born a Ryder. I know little of where I came from. I do know that my adoption was not a voluntary surrender. And I do know that Judd Ryder was involved with untold numbers of involuntary adoptions—children coerced or outright stolen from parents who loved them and placed for profit in homes that could pay considerable sums. These payments funded the early days of Ryder Manufacturing, until I could ensure they stopped. At least I had the courage to do that much. However, I lacked the fortitude to set right what was so egregiously wrong because of what the man who called himself my father had done on the very premises of the company he founded.
So many children, Tucker. So many families. Yet I did nothing. Am I not complicit in this cruel brokenness across generations? Was I entitled to the sweet life I had with your grandma Jane and your mother and aunt and uncle and grandchildren in my old age when so many others lived out their lives with heartbreak and I might have done something to ease their sorrow?
I could tell you that the reasons are complicated, but in the end, I made the choices I did for benefit that only I will appreciate. It was done for love. I will assure you of that. But it was also at the sacrifice of so many. Hundreds? Thousands? I do not even know. It’s all in the room. To get rid of that room would be to erase the lives of all those people, and I just couldn’t do it.
I cannot tell you what to do, Tucker. I will only tell you that I have left a sealed packet in the safe at my attorney’s office. They will not seek you out. You must go to them. Opening the packet will require great courage. Living with what you see will require even more—and acting on it most of all.
Please, Tucker. Pick up the envelope. You will see for yourself what I am talking about. Then you can decide. May God forgive me.
Your loving grandfather,
Matthew Ryder
Tucker folded the creased and tattered letter.
“A baby-snatching ring?” The wheels of Jillian’s mind chugged, trying to make sense of what she had heard. Stolen babies were not entirely unheard of in genealogical circles, and of course everyone in the business knew of figures like Georgia Tann in Memphis, who used a network of social workers, nurses, and judges for a lucrative baby-selling business for decades, including to Hollywood celebrities, or of the networks in Spain or Mexico that took children from unmarried mothers against their will. Even in the United States, every now and then a newspaper article surfaced about a mother and child reunited after decades apart, inevitably replete with quotes from other mothers who believed their children were out there somewhere even though they were told they were dead. But Jillian had never known anyone personally affected by the nefarious activity.
“I think your great-grandma Alyce did know what Judd was doing,” Jillian said. “And where Matthew came from. That’s what made her fragile and why she needed protecting. And Matthew chose to protect her.”
“But did she help?” Tucker asked. “Was she in on it?”
“We may never know.”
“The room,” Nolan said, “do you know what he’s talking about?”
Tucker shook his head. “It sounds like he’s saying it’s in the company building, but I honestly don’t know where it could be.”
“It’s what he argued with Jackson about,” Jillian said. “I’d stake my reputation on it.”
“Before today I didn’t know they ever argued,” Tucker said.
“What about the sealed packet? Did you open that last night?”
Laurie Beth spoke up. “I wanted to. Tucker wanted to wait and do it now.” She pulled the packet from her bag.
“The answer may be in there.” Jillian slid to the edge of her ottoman perch. “Are you ready now, Tucker?”
“It’s time.” Tucker took the envelope from Laurie Beth and tugged at its seal. He reached inside. “It’s like Russian nesting dolls. More envelopes.”
Nolan shifted a stack of magazines on the coffee table, and Tucker set down three envelopes in the cleared space. One obviously was another letter in a plain white envelope. The second was larger with more definition. Jillian speculated a stack of five-by-seven photographs. The third was small and clunked slightly when it hit the table.
Tucker picked up the letter. “I guess we start here.” He broke the seal with one swipe of a finger.
Dear Tucker,
Thank you. Thank you for being curious or brave enough to come at least this far. The road ahead is rocky, but I know how strong and fearless you are, and I have never seen you shrink from a challenge in your life.
There is a reason why I was stubborn about maintaining a figurehead office even after I passed the reins to your mother and she to you. I was aware of all the mutterings about the waste of space and how shabby the furnishings had become. I hope you are reading this letter because you chose to pick up the packet from the attorney and not because you tried to remodel the office and found the note I taped behind the bookcase imploring you to reconsider my wishes.
Move the large bookcase on the right end of the shelving wall and you will find a door. Go through that door into the small hallway behind it, and you’ll see another door. I long ago sealed the direct access to this room from the outside. There were many questions at the time, which I refused to answer. I paid for the work with my personal funds, including bricking over the back of the building, so few people even
remember the door was ever there. Jackson will remember, but even he never knew what was in the room. He pestered me about it constantly when we were young, only stopping after I bricked off the outside entrance so he couldn’t pick the lock behind my back.
This is the room Judd used. Old man that I am, I emptied that bookcase, moved it, and went through that door to take the photos you’ll find with this letter. The keys you need are also here.
Everything is there, Tucker. Judd was nothing if not fastidious. He was not about to be short-changed for his share of this horrid affair. He knew where the children came from and how much money was due him for the service he was providing. Names. Places. It’s all there. If anyone had ever tried to cheat him, he had leverage for revenge. And after I ensured he stopped, I’m certain others knew he had what he needed to make sure no one would punish him for quitting. You are far more resourceful than I ever was. I beg God to show you what to do and give you the courage to do it.
I do love you, Tucker. I’m sorry that my final legacy to you is unresolved guilt, a cry for help. But it is not for myself that I cry. When you see the room, you will understand that.
Your grandfather,
Matthew Ryder
Born Dennis Mullins, 1932, St. Louis, Missouri, to Alfred and Rebecca Mullins, wearing a blue knit one-piece gown and matching hat when taken.
“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” (John 8:32)
Jillian gasped.
Tucker’s eyes lifted to hers. “He knew who his birth parents were!”
Jillian nodded. “And where. That information opens up all sorts of possibilities.”
There would be an original birth certificate, even in the absence of a legal amended document. If Matthew was stolen and not abandoned or otherwise legally surrendered, someone would have had to go to great lengths to also steal and destroy evidence of a signed birth certificate. Perhaps it would have been just as easy to manufacture a second one without destroying the first. It could still exist. A year. A city. Names of parents. It was a lot to go on.
Tucker pulled the smallest envelope toward him and dumped out a set of keys. “I found these in my grandfather’s desk once when I was very little. I was just playing, pretending I was the boss, like I sometimes did. He came in from a meeting and yelled at me. Yelled at me. He never did that.”
“I guess now you understand his reaction.”
Tucker nodded and blew out his breath. “That just leaves looking at the pictures.” He broke the final seal.
An old wooden four-drawer file cabinet filled with files. Handwritten financial records. Bunks. Clothing. Bedding. Twin sinks. Cracked tile.
“It’s like looking at a museum exhibit.” Laurie Beth’s blue eyes were wide, unblinking.
“I can’t believe Grandpa Matt went in there to take these photos,” Tucker said. “My mother would have had his head if she knew he was moving furniture on his own when he was so sick. Or even at his age.”
“He knew he was out of time,” Jillian said.
Laurie Beth reached for Tucker’s hand. “Jillian, can you help find Matthew’s birth family?”
“Please,” Tucker said.
“He did leave some good leads,” Jillian said. Between social media and ancestry search sites, along with public records, it could be fast, but Jillian didn’t want to get Tucker’s hopes up.
Nolan set down the last of the photos. “And the rest of it?”
Tucker wiped one hand across his eyes. “It’s so much to absorb. I have to think.”
“All the money you’ve been spending and leaving around town,” Nolan said, “it was because of your grandfather’s letter?”
“It’s filthy.” Tucker clenched his fists. “How my great-grandfather got it and used it to build Ryder Manufacturing in the first place—how was I supposed to want to have anything to do with that money?”
Jillian picked up a photo of a bunk with a child’s blanket still neatly folded at the foot. “And now that you know more about what your grandfather wanted?”
Tucker shook his head and could only repeat, “I have to think.”
CHAPTER THIRTY–TWO
Normally Nolan was the one pulling Jillian away from slaving at her computer on Saturdays, but the unexpected events had chewed up so much of the week that he could see the virtue of trying at least to organize the wreckage of his work schedule and find a reset point for when Monday rolled in. His email inbox was out of control, and the pile of reading he’d brought home from his office in Denver languished untouched. In sweatpants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and his gray-and-red plaid flannel robe, he was doing triage in his home office before the wintry dawn cast pink and golden hues over the mountains.
He liked the placid time, the only sounds the muffled depressions his fingers made on keys, the rustle of papers he flipped, the slurp of black coffee between his lips, the squeak of his desk chair as he rotated or leaned back, the furnace as it cycled on to warm the house to a daytime temperature. Even as he worked, it was good to feel present to the task before him. Nolan drained his coffee mug about the time he had his inbox down to the last two dozen unread messages.
What was that noise? It wasn’t a house sound or anything he was doing. He held still, his head cocked to one side to listen.
There it was again. Knocking. Softly.
It was crazy early in the morning though. A few diehards might be out for a run, even before sunrise and even in the cold, but it would still be a couple of hours before Canyon Mines would come to life.
Yet the sound was there. A branch perhaps? The wind had kicked up overnight. Something might have broken and could be rubbing a window downstairs. Nolan would have a look once daylight was on his side.
The knocking subsided. He clicked open another email. Then a second and a third. The end was in sight. He could have some more coffee, maybe a bit of breakfast, settle in for a reading session, and still have most of the day free.
And the crash came.
Nolan jumped out of his chair.
In the hall, Jillian was rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “What in the world?”
“I’ll investigate,” Nolan said. “Let me get something on my feet.”
Jillian followed him to his bedroom. “An animal?”
“Maybe.” Nolan slid his feet into comfortable Saturday loafers and tied his robe closed. “Sounded like it was on the porch.”
“Could be gone by now.” Jillian followed him down the stairs.
“Stay right there,” Nolan said when they reached the bottom.
“I’m not afraid of an animal, Dad.”
This is what he got for raising such an independent child. She never obeyed anymore.
“I don’t hear anything,” Jillian said.
Nolan flipped the light switch beside the front door, and the porch outside lit up.
Something rustled.
With one knee in the sofa, Jillian leaned over it and pushed a curtain aside to peer out. “It’s Tucker!”
Nolan turned the dead bolt and opened the door.
Tucker stopped midmotion and stared up at him, one of the porch wicker chairs in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” Tucker said. “I was trying to wait for daylight, but I got impatient and knocked lightly just in case you were up. Then I accidentally tipped over the metal end table and tripped over a chair in the process.”
Jillian’s hand was on Nolan’s shoulder. “You’ve been sitting out here in the dark? For how long?”
“Long time.”
“Come in,” Nolan said. “We’re up now, and you must be half frozen. Jillian, make him something hot to drink.”
“Finally, somebody appreciates my talents.” Jillian went through the kitchen door. Nolan was fairly certain she would take the opportunity to dash up the back stairs and change into something slightly more socially presentable than the old high school track sweats she slept in.
“You don’t have to worry.” Tucker shirked out of his jacket
. “Today I’m going to pack up my skis to ship home. I won’t be doing anything else ludicrous while I’m in Canyon Mines.”
“I’ll be honest and say I’m glad to hear that,” Nolan said.
“Laurie Beth and I talked all day after we left here, and I was up all night—even before I acted like a prowler on your porch. I guess I should be glad none of the neighbors called the police.”
“Sound sleepers. But it doesn’t sound like you’ve slept much the past couple of nights.”
“I can’t get those pictures out of my head. I think I have every detail memorized.”
“It’s a lot to take in.”
“Great-grandma Alyce. I was nine when she died. So I have some memories of her. She was always really old, but I thought she was sweet. How could she have anything to do with stealing babies? With stealing Grandpa Matt?”
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions you wish you could ask,” Nolan said. “Maybe your grandfather had some answers, but I suspect he lived with many unanswered questions as well.”
“I wish I could know what he meant by making choices for benefit that only he would appreciate,” Tucker said. “But in the end, it comes down to whether I trust who my grandfather was, even if I don’t know all the answers.”
“And do you?”
Tucker nodded.
Jillian returned, wearing a pair of jeans and a hoodie and carrying a tray with coffee for all three of them.
“Thanks, Jillian.” Tucker gripped the large mug she handed him. “Have I mentioned I think you make fantastic coffee? Just the right amount of steamed milk. I’ve never seen the point of putting cold milk into a hot beverage.”
Jillian laughed. “We are entirely simpatico on that point. Now what have I missed?”
“I think Tucker has come to some decisions,” Nolan said. “Am I right?”
“You are,” Tucker said. “But I need your help. Both of you.”
“That’s all we’ve wanted to do.”
“What happened to all those families is terrible. My great-grandparents are gone. Anybody of their age bracket would be as well. There’s probably no one left to bring to justice legally.”
In the Cradle Lies Page 24