He crossed his heart. “All right, I promise not to get too excited. So show me what you’ve got.”
As she turned on the screen, the photograph of Rachel popped into view.
“This picture of Rachel Jameson is the most recent one of her I’ve found. Just so you know, the photograph is well over a decade old.” She tapped on the screen. “As you can see from the caption, she’s the woman in the center. She is also, I might add, the heiress of the vast Jameson fortune. What do you think about that little morsel?”
William studied the picture. “The Jameson fortune?”
“Yep. That’s the reason I found as much as I did as quickly as I did. According to all the historical records I plowed through last night—and all day today, I might add—the Jameson family settled in Brazoria County in the early eighteen-hundreds. They accumulated a great deal of wealth and social standing by operating a very successful sugar cane plantation. Each generation that followed the first, kept the plantation going as well as growing. They did this by branching off into other businesses. Some related, some not. However, no one did that with the same gusto as Rachel’s father, Gustavus Jameson. I swear that man had his fingers in everything but the local gas station.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen that type before.”
“I suppose every county in the union has at least one. The thing I found interesting though, is that Gustavus didn’t marry until he reached the ripe old age of forty-eight. I thought perhaps he put off marriage so he could build his empire unhampered by the needs of a high-maintenance wife that nagged. On the other hand, Rachel’s mother, Thalia Matilda Clark, was just nineteen when the couple said ‘I do.’ The newspaper dubbed their wedding the social event of the year. Every person of importance for miles around attended—or so the article claimed.”
“No surprise there.”
“Right, but you know what? I couldn’t help but wonder if he married such a young woman so he could produce an heir, or if he married her because given his wealth, he knew he could.”
“I expect either one is a possibility. But here’s another one for you, and hang on to your hat because it might be a shocker.”
She laughed. “All right, I’m hanging on tight with both hands.”
“Despite the age difference, perhaps they actually loved each other.” He winked.
“That’s a possibility, I suppose. Whatever their reasons, I hope all throughout their marriage Thalia lived a happy life.”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“Because in every single picture I’ve seen of Gustavus he looks cold and stern—even in family portraits. Here—let me bring one up for you.” She brought up a family photo and put it side-by-side with the first. “His son is just a baby in this picture. You’d think that having a boy would’ve made him ecstatic, but look at those eyes.”
“I see what you mean.”
“And the older he got the more cold and stern he appeared. All that aside though, the death of his son left Rachel the only surviving member of the family.” Katie put the second photograph away.
“What happened to him?”
“The article in the newspaper said he somehow fell from the barn loft and landed on the sugarcane harvester parked just below it. Some blame the wind, some put it down to pure clumsiness. Either way, they said the force of the fall broke his neck. He had just turned seventeen when the accident occurred.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yes, it is. As a result—and as recorded by the most recent records I could find—Rachel owns all the properties connected to the family. That includes the beautiful historic mansion her ancestors built in West Columbia.”
“Hmm.”
“That’s it? All you have to say after I’ve slaved over my computer for hours on end is ‘hmm’?”
“Well, no, it’s just that the information surprises me a bit.”
“Why?”
“Because in most cases, wealthy heiresses don’t associate with the—um—poorer working class, if you get my drift. Don fits in that group. Well, at least he did. Back in my day, the rich hung out with the rich, and the poor hung out with everyone else. I suppose that could’ve changed with time though.”
“Like I said, I want far more proof myself. Particularly now that you’ve suggested Donnie might not have been part of her social circle. So far though, I haven’t found any other Rachel Jameson in the area and in the time frame you’ve given me. That’s not to say I won’t. There could be one out there that isn’t as well known as this one. She’ll just be harder to find.” She paused as she gazed at the woman’s image. “Still, this Rachel is lovely, don’t you think?”
William gave the photo a cursory glance. “Yeah, I suppose she is. Do you know if this woman ever married?”
“No, I don’t. The fact she’s identified by her maiden name in the picture doesn’t mean she didn’t. Some women don’t take on their husband’s name for one reason or another. If she did, and then divorced him, she could’ve petitioned the courts to reinstate her maiden name as well. As you can see, her right hand is covering her left, so I don’t know if she’s wearing a ring or not.”
“How do we find the missing information?”
“By a lot more snooping into other people’s business, of course. I’ve already gone through all of the local cemetery records available online. In them I’ve found this particular Rachel’s parents alongside her brother and a great many of her ancestors. They’re all buried in or near an ornate and very expensive looking mausoleum in the center of their church cemetery. No surprise there. However, she’s not buried among them. This gives credibility—alongside the property records—to the belief she’s alive and well. I’ve also looked through the available marriage records for Texas. There’s an index online spanning 1837 to 1977, but according to the site, it isn’t complete. I didn’t find her there. Perhaps her record is one that’s missing. On the other hand, she could’ve married someone in a different state or in a different time frame. Given her wealth, she could easily have married in another country altogether. If she did that, it would be like looking for that teeny tiny needle in the great big haystack.”
“I see. Do you know if this woman still lives in the same community now?”
“Sorry, I don’t have a clue. I haven’t found her name mentioned in any of the online newspapers for the past five years or so.” At the disheartened look in his eyes her hand drifted toward his face and taking the greatest of care, she traced her fingers down the side of it.
Her attempt made him smile.
“Don’t worry, I promise, one way or another, I will find out. I still have a lot of records to sort through.”
William shook his head even before she finished her sentence. “Not right now, you don’t.” He extended a hand as he cocked his head toward the front door. “There’s a full moon out tonight, and the stars are especially brilliant. Care to take a walk with me and see them for yourself?”
She glanced at the dirty pans on her stove. “I should do the dishes first. There aren’t many and it’ll only take me a minute.”
“They can wait, the full moon won’t.”
“Not even for ten minutes?”
“Nope. If we don’t leave right now, you’ll miss its most impressive display of the night. That will make the moon sad.”
His flirty grin was her undoing. She placed her hand in his. “William, I think you’re a very bad influence on me.”
“Yes, but only in the most positive way possible.”
Just as he said, the moon and stars were exceptionally beautiful. For a while, neither of them said anything as they strolled down the row of lush majestic trees leading away from the house. The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled the air. All the while, the lilting call of elf owls made for a lovely serenade. The silence between them in no way felt awkward. Rather it felt just as natural as it did comfortable.
She broke the silence first. “I’m so glad you asked me to do this. You know it’s been a while.”
“I do know.”
She turned to face him. “You do?”
“Um-hmm.” The lop-sided grin she’d come to love made an appearance. “I know a lot more about the things you do than you think I do.”
“Is that right? Like what, for instance?”
“Oh, that you stop and smell the flowers when others wouldn’t take the time. I know you can’t walk past any four-legged critter without giving it some attention. You kick your shoes off at the first sign of water just to dip your toes, and the last time you walked underneath the stars you were happy.”
“Well what do you know? Okay—I’ll have to admit you’re right on all accounts, even if I must do it grudgingly.” Katie remembered well the walk of which he spoke—that day the judge restored her maiden name and freed her. He freed her of the miserable life she had led for over four years and freed her of Chad McCrae. “What else?”
“I’ve been around when you’ve laughed and I’ve counted the tears when you cried. The one I took pleasure in, the other—not so much.”
She dropped her gaze for a moment and nodded. “I think those were the times I sensed your presence most.”
“I’m glad.” He paused. “What or who did you think I was—if you don’t mind my asking.”
“In truth, I didn’t put a whole lot of thought into that. I don’t know why. In my mind you were just my friend, and whatever else you were, didn’t really matter.”
He halted their walk and turned her around to face him. The look in his eyes right now reduced her to a tumultuous puddle of heated slush that her butterflies were drowning in.
“I hope it matters now.”
Her heart began a slow dance as the heated slush slithered through and filled every part of her body. Words fled her mind as he gathered her a bit closer.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to be here with you like this?”
Oh boy. She gulped in a breath as he leaned down, tipped her chin upward, and kissed her. At once Katie fell headlong into the depths of exquisite emotion and stayed there. One kiss turned into so many more. Electrifying. Magnificent. Soul-shattering. Kisses. Not until he finally released her from his arms and stepped back did a small drop of conscious thought return. She gazed up at him in wide-eyed wonder. All the while she sought to catch her breath.
“Wha…I mean, how?”
He chuckled. “You’ve done this many times before, Katie, and much to my dismay I might add. Therefore, I know you know the how of it.”
“But…but you’re…you’re a ghost…a…a spirit, I mean,” she sputtered. “How can you make me—”
“Works the same way, I assure you,” he cut in.
If it would’ve had any impact, she would’ve smacked him in the chest. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the intensity of it. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. Not ever. I didn’t know a feeling like that even existed.”
“Don’t over think it, Katie, just enjoy the gift.” Once again, he gave her that grin. Did he know how it affected her? His lips hovered just above hers. “I know I am.”
Throughout the remainder of the evening, and as she finally crawled into bed, his words played over and over again in her mind. William had stayed with her far longer than he intended, or so he said. He apologized when the clock chimed the three a.m. hour, despite all of her protests. A few minutes later he took his leave, but not before he gave her one final, incredible kiss.
Despite her fatigue, she couldn’t fall asleep. Her willful heart and mind insisted on reliving the way he looked at her tonight. The laughter they shared. Each kiss that stole away any attempt at rational thought. She recalled every word he said. Words that engraved themselves deep within her heart’s secret treasure chest where they would remain, forever safe.
William, as a friend and comforter, had always meant a great deal to her. No question about that. Now though, her feelings for the man had shifted in a much different direction. She knew that as well as she knew anything else. At the same time, she didn’t give those feelings a name. She couldn’t. Not right now anyway. The thought of naming them scared her half to death. For the time being, she wouldn’t scrutinize them too closely. Instead, she’d do as William advised—she would simply enjoy the gift.
Chapter Nine
Katie tugged back on the reins and swept her wind-blown hair away from her face. The morning sun had painted the clouds in spectacular colors of red, pink, and orange. The breathtaking sky against the green, rolling grasslands made for a wonderful view.
She grinned as she leaned forward and patted her mare on the neck. “So tell me. Are you tired of listening to me ramble on and on about William?”
Right on cue, Shahar nickered and that made her laugh.
“All right then, since you were so very patient with me, how about I let you run just as fast as you can, all the way home, hmm? Let’s see if you can beat that old record of yours. Are you ready?”
With just the slightest pressure from her heels, Shahar took off. The mare’s high spirits matched hers as they raced along the twists and turns of the trail heading home. At the end of the exhilarating ride, they were both out of breath, but quite content. Katie dismounted and removed the tack. She led Shahar into the pasture, brushed her until her coat glistened, and finished up with a handful of oats.
All throughout the routine tasks, her thoughts wandered away from William and over to Rachel Jameson. What records might she have missed that would give her more information than what she had? Where else could she search that she hadn’t already searched? Did any proof exist that the wealthy heiress, once upon a time, loved Donnie Martin?
As she stepped onto her porch and retrieved her mail from the mailbox, Rachel disappeared from her thoughts altogether. Instead, the IDPF file she ordered from the US Army resources concerning William’s death captured her full attention. Guilt swept over her as she gazed at the label. She never told him she ordered his personnel records. Right now, she didn’t have any desire to bring it to his attention, either. After all, they had already discussed his death. Why remind him of it again?
She carried the large packet to her computer and sat down. Yet now she had the envelope in hand, did she really want to know the details of William’s death that he had left out? When she ordered the file, she hadn’t fully convinced herself that her soldier truly existed outside her own delusions. But now—now she saw him as a man in every sense of the word. Her man.
Katie abandoned the packet and headed for the kitchen. While she ate lunch, her gaze wandered toward the envelope many times over. The contents promised a plethora of information concerning William’s two years in the military. The information might answer the questions she couldn’t bring herself to ask. On the other hand, it could also give information she didn’t want to know.
Don’t be such a baby. I can do this. They’re just words on a piece of a paper, after all.
Despite the pep talk, she did the dishes first. She put in a load of laundry and even vacuumed the floor before she made it back to the computer. Her heart raced as she ripped open the envelope and withdrew the hefty contents. She tossed her order receipt to the side and gazed at the first page of the file.
The official title read “War Department, the Adjutant General’s Office, Washington, Report of Death. The brief form didn’t say anything she didn’t already know. Next, she read the Inventory of Effects, all the letters that accompanied it, and notice of shipment. The short list included his wallet, some snapshots, a fountain pen, and a pocket comb. Did those few items really warrant the vast amount of paperwork involved in returning them to his parents? One form and one letter could’ve sufficed. That might’ve spared his family the heartache of losing William with constant reminders in the mail. Still, his parents probably treasured each item William carried into battle.
An autopsy report of sorts followed, complete with red markings on the paper drawing of a body. A shudder raced up and down he
r spine. She didn’t read what it said. Instead, she averted her eyes and put it through the paper shredder where it belonged. A page with his fingerprints followed that report. They even sent a copy of his dental records. If nothing else, the army was thorough.
The Request for Disposition of Remains came next. Although his parents had the option of returning his body to the United States, they chose to have him buried in a permanent American Military Cemetery overseas. The Report of Burial, and accompanying certificate, provided William’s burial location. A location she had visited. Did his parents ever get that chance? Katie skimmed over the various certificates that documented his awards and rank promotions. They also included documentation of William’s Purple Heart. She read the official Transmittal Sheets, personal letters to the family from his superior officers, and the heart-breaking telegram sent to his parents.
She closed her eyes as an uneven breath passed through her lips. How difficult this ordeal must’ve been for his family and his friends in knowing he would never come home. Not ever. Had she been there, she might never have recovered from the loss. Katie tucked the telegram underneath the stack of pages. As she did so, her gaze fell on a handwritten letter to the army, dated August 28, 1944.
Dear Sirs,
I am writing for and in behalf of Sergeant William Malloy Griffin’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Peter Griffin. I am a very close friend of this family and they have asked me to write this letter. We appreciate your efforts in collecting William’s personal things and returning them to us so quickly. I am sure such an effort isn’t easy as battles are still being fought on distant shores and our men are dying on a daily basis.
Regardless of the current conditions, please know that here at home, our hearts are broken. It wasn’t easy for any of us to receive the news of his death. William was beloved by all who knew him and he will be deeply missed. Besides our fond memories, and a few precious photos, all we have to remember him by is what you have sent us in that small box.
Love Letters from Heaven Page 10