by R D Hathaway
Angie slipped forward on the couch. “Professor, we wondered if you could share any information about Miss Shefford or Professor Justus. There are some gaps in the story about him, and we hoped you might be able to help us fill them in.”
He listened intently and smiled warmly. “I will do what I can, ladies. I’m not sure how to ask this, but I wonder what lies beneath your interest. You have come a very long distance to check an employment record.”
“Professor,” Angie continued, “I don’t know if we can tell you why we’re here. It’s not a secret. I think we’ve become so involved in the story of this man we need to learn more. Anything you can tell us will help.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
He became quiet for a few moments and tugged lightly on his beard. His eyes focused on a distant point across the room. “Before we proceed, can you tell me something of this professor you mentioned. What sort of chap was he?”
With a slight motion of her hand, Angie indicated to Rennie that she should respond.
“My research and my interpretation of what he wrote in his journals, demonstrated that he was a respected scholar, skilled in ancient languages. He had an innocent, positive energy, and was a good man, as well as a man of faith. He had a very strong faith at the end.”
“I see,” Matthew said. “How is it that you see him as a good man? People see good in many ways. Some men are good at what they do but their acts are abhorrent in the perspective of others. What made this man good, at least as you see him?’
Rennie grinned. “I have a feeling we’re not going to leave here without a few lessons.”
“That’s not my intention. I am simply inquisitive. When one studies other people, whether it is an entire culture or just one person, it’s important to know of the culture from which they arose.”
Rennie studied the old man. He appeared weary on the exterior, but he thought quickly and deeply. She liked him. “Professor, I believe Professor Justus was a man who tried to do the right thing. He loved from his heart, he worked with diligence, and he died far too soon.”
“You mentioned something about journals. Were these personal diaries or records of his work?”
“The ones I came across were like personal diaries from his work at the British Museum. He used some books that were apparently intended for documenting archeological work. His entries said little about his work and were mostly devoted to commentary on the people he worked with.”
“What did he say about them?” Professor MacDonald asked.
Rennie felt a sudden chill spread through her shoulders. She blinked for a moment and then swallowed. She realized she was sitting with Priscilla’s son, talking about Matthias.
“There were a few key people: his boss, a Mr. Warrington, his co-worker Miss Shefford, Lady Jane Sotterfeld-Gris, and a church official, Reverend Worthy. Of these, Priscilla, or Miss Shefford was most important.”
Rennie swallowed again. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I must be tired.” She took a deep breath. “I can simply say, Professor Justus was deeply in love with Miss Shefford. He wrote wonderful things about her. There is no question how he felt. Then he died. It’s quite sad. I guess that’s why I feel some emotion about it all.”
Professor MacDonald smiled with loving compassion. “And what happened, according to your information?”
“He was nearing the end of his work here and was about to return to Iowa. He came across something in his work that was profoundly important, and it distracted him. He wanted Priscilla to return to Iowa with him, but he died before he could ask her. I guess she then left the museum and got married. That’s all we know and why we are here with you this evening.”
“Miss Haran, did he indicate in these journals whether she was so inclined to go with him? I also heard you say something about him discovering something. Can you tell me about that?”
Rennie looked at Angie, but she offered no help. “Well, based on what he wrote, her feelings were similar to his. She was quite a remarkable woman. He was very impressed with her strength and her values.”
A wide smile became visible in Professor MacDonald’s whiskers.
Rennie cleared her throat again. “Professor, one of our early questions and why we are here with you this evening relates to Priscilla. Our research suggests she may have been your mother. Forgive me for being so direct. I guess that’s the reporter in me.”
“I’m certain you’re a very good reporter Miss Haran, and on that point, you are quite correct. I am her first born.”
Rennie stared at him without breathing, then realized what she was doing and looked at Angie.
“Was Mary her second, and your sister?” Angie eagerly asked.
A full smile grew in the old man’s face. “You have done your research well, ladies.”
Rennie sat back and took a breath. “Professor, this is one of the points where we are confused. Priscilla was clearly in love with Professor Justus, and shortly after his death, she left the museum and married your father. I mean no disrespect sir, but it doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Professor MacDonald nodded slowly. His expression became serious.
Angie spoke up. “Professor, we visited with Mary yesterday. We went to her care facility and talked with her for a few minutes. She’s led a life that’s, uh, interesting. She told us life was hard for you in those early years. Your father did not sound like a supportive or even kind person. That’s Mary’s perspective of course. This is all a little off the topic, but it relates to Priscilla.”
Professor MacDonald breathed what looked like a sad sigh. He slowly rose from his chair and walked around to its back. Placing both hands on top of the chair he said, “Ladies, this might last longer than we expected. Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, thank you,” they replied.
He casually walked out of the room and could be heard in the kitchen, running water and placing a pot on the stove.
Rennie’s thoughts drifted through Matthias’s journals as she surveyed the room.
Angie whispered, “Is that opera playing in the background?”
Rennie listened for a moment. “I think so.” She smiled. “In his journal, Matthias spoke of how he and Priscilla enjoyed opera and a particular composer. The coincidences just don’t stop.”
Professor MacDonald returned with a wicker tray holding a teapot, three cups on saucers, milk, sugar, spoons, and napkins.
“I hope you don’t mind. I selected a brew for us. I picked it up in Beirut on a recent trip through there to Turkey.”
“What’s of interest in Turkey, Professor?” Rennie asked. “It sounds terribly dangerous.”
“Well, one of the great mysteries of Christendom and of archeologists is what happened to one of the earliest of churches, the one in Antioch. I have joined with others to make inquiries about continuing the efforts to pursue that sort of expedition.”
He set the tray on the coffee table and asked them to partake in a refreshment.
Rennie poured tea into two cups and handed one to Angie. “I was just thinking about what you said about Antioch. What has been discovered from there? Are there any relics or documents of any kind?”
Matthew eased back into his chair with a cup of tea. “Well, I am impressed with your interest. Unfortunately, nothing has ever been found from that early church period. The city was ultimately devastated in 713. All we have are a few early maps or renderings from educated guesses. That is why getting another dig started there would be so beneficial to history, to the church, and to our understanding of the era. Some excavations were begun in 1979, but hardly 10 percent of the area has been worked. Although the site is in Turkey, it is very close to Syria, and working near borders in this part of the world can cause unnecessary tensions. The recent events in Syria and Iraq have raised new problems with the finding of antiquities. Frankl
y, it’s rather dangerous and our visit had to be brief.” He sipped his tea.
Angie and Rennie tried their tea. Angie added some milk to hers and said, “This is yummy.”
Rennie was deep in thought about the box from Antioch that Matthias had found. He found the letters from Jesus in it. “Professor, could there be items from Antioch in museums that haven’t been identified?”
“There certainly are. Over the last one hundred years or so, there have been many expeditions by the French, the Italians, the Germans, and of course, us Brits. Those who led the efforts were originally indifferent to and ignorant of the modern concerns that archeologists have now. They simply dug things up and took them away. In the twenties, the craft took on a much more technical approach, to the benefit of our understanding of those items that were found. If one considers the millions of items held in museums and libraries all over the world, and if we consider the fact that only a small portion them have been examined, it is likely that a treasure from Antioch or elsewhere is sitting on a shelf.” He sipped more tea.
Rennie’s tea remained untouched since her first taste. She felt weak, knowing that finding the letters from Jesus is reasonable if not probable. “Professor, what would happen if some treasure was found in a collection? Would it be announced?”
He leaned his head back against the leather. “It would depend upon how it is found and what it was. In this discipline, it is important for new discoveries to be related to the context in which they were found. For example, if a sealed jar is found within some ruins, it must be evaluated in that environment, amidst other things or simply in the strata of the ruins. That context tells of the nature and authenticity of the find. If one were to have happened upon what are called the Dead Sea Scrolls on a shelf in the Israel Antiquities Authority without knowing how they got there, the full understanding of their origins would be less than finding them in the cave. Their intrinsic truth would not change but whether the world recognizes that truth is an open question.”
He set down his teacup and used a remote control to turn off the background music. “Ladies, I appreciate your interest in this topic. There is an ongoing and sometimes rather bitter debate in the field regarding items that seemingly pop up from the collector world. The recent controversies over the James ossuary are a fine example. What is disappointing is the lack of civil discussion and review on these matters.”
As the professor refreshed his tea, Angie set her cup down. “From my work with library archival material, I understand what you’re saying. That work involves documents rather than jars. Wouldn’t the legitimacy of a document stand on its own, regardless of how it’s found? It would seem that one could date it and read it and discern some reasonable truths about it.”
“You are quite right. For example, the ‘Damascus Rule Document’ was found in this way, in a synagogue storeroom in Cairo. That was fifty years prior to the Qumran discoveries. Finding those synagogue scrolls was a watershed in scroll research. While the documents themselves can be fairly well placed in history, one dilemma that is difficult to establish is their authorship. For example, did a priest, some lowly scribe, or someone with historical weight write them? This returns us to the issue of context. The more surrounding evidence of a find, the better it will be regarded. I’ve gotten a bit off track, haven’t I?”
Rennie chuckled. “You won’t believe how on target we are right now regarding our agenda. I’ve just realized how big our agenda really is!”
They all laughed. When quiet returned, Rennie continued. “Would you share with us some insights about your parents and yourself. We have a sincere interest in you as a result of reading the journals of Professor Justus.”
Professor MacDonald set down his cup and saucer. His eyes flickered and he stroked his beard. He appeared to sigh. “Ladies, I’m an old man, and maybe with age I’m less concerned with the details of the life I’ve lived than I am with its truth. As an arrow is sent from the bow, we begin a course in life that we can do little about. How one sees that path will vary depending upon one’s perspective. I think your coming here affords me an opportunity to look at that perspective in a fresh and honest way.”
Professor MacDonald rose from the chair and ambled to the door. “Would you join me please? I would like to share with you something special I have shared with no one before. Please follow me.” He appeared more tired and frail than before.
Rennie and Angie followed him down the hallway to a small bedroom. He eased into a simple wooden chair next to the bed and gestured for his guests to sit in the chairs at a small table. He rested one hand on the bed and stroked the quilt.
“Ladies, this is the second of two bedrooms in our home. This room is where our children Sarah and John grew up. When they became six or eight years old, I renovated a room in the basement for John’s room. He became a fine fellow, gentle and smart. Sarah is simply wonderful.”
“Both brought grandchildren into our lives. David and Elizabeth are Sarah’s children and John has Dawn, Richard, and Christine. Sarah was the rock I needed when my wife, Ruth, passed on in 1983. How can it be so long ago when it seems like last week?”
He lifted a crystal-framed photo from a nightstand and dusted the glass with his sleeve. “Like the Ruth of the Bible, my wife was persevering and had a heart that God must have filled daily. She went to sleep forever, here in this bed.”
“Prior to my Ruth using this bed, another one as dear to me rested here and then slept forever. It was my mother. The woman you know as Priscilla ended her days here. She was an amazing woman, and I am proud to be her son.”
He put a handkerchief to his mouth and coughed lightly. Then, he smiled. “I could speak to you in praise of her for many days. She was a woman of beauty, strength, courage, and vision.”
A somber look hardened his face. “You wonder why she ended up with Reggie MacDonald. Many asked how that could happen. I struggled to understand it for most of my life. When she came here, we discussed many things. Now, I see her decision as one of courage and not foolishness.”
Rennie sensed his anguish. “I made decisions out of what I thought was love or passion that I later regretted. At the time I made them, I was doing the best I could do. They felt right at the time.”
“Thank you for that thought, dear. I do not think she ever loved Reggie. I doubt she could have loved a man who was a living testament to a world she despised. She thought he was strong, and that meant survival and possibly hope. In her heart, she knew she could not respect him. Ultimately, his death gave her the freedom to grow into a new life that was more fitting for her mind and heart. I am eternally grateful that she had that opportunity.”
“Professor, tell us more,” Angie said.
He leaned back in his chair. “My mother had only one true love in her life, except for her children, of course, and that was a young professor from America.”
Angie placed her hand over her eyes and took a deep breath.
“It is a sad love story. I was so appreciative of what you said about his feelings. Until that moment, I didn’t know his true feelings. I only knew my mother’s love for him and her belief in his love for her.”
“After he died on that tragic night, she had nowhere to turn. Her heart was in ruins. There was chaos at the museum, and rumors of all kinds. Reggie stepped in, and out of desperation, she accepted his rescue. When she was here with me, she revealed the story.”
Rennie struggled to set aside her confused emotions and her eagerness for the facts. “Please tell us what you know about the last days of Matthias.”
Matthew rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. He stared at a map on the wall. “A problem developed at the museum. My mother said Matthias seemed to be in a different, serene place. It bothered her. She thought it might be from his plans to return home and his hopes and expectations that she would join him. That was her plan as well.”
He grinned and sh
ook his head. “One day, a police matter occurred regarding some shipments of precious artifacts and possible thievery. A fellow named Mort was their chief suspect. The authorities needed Matthias’ assistance in prosecuting the case.”
Rennie interrupted him. “Did they suspect Matthias?”
“Goodness, no.”
“So, did Mort kill him?” Angie blurted out.
“I don’t think old Mort could have done that. He was quite smitten by my mother and felt protective of her. He would not have murdered the man whom he knew was my mother’s love. For an unknown reason, Matthias left the museum during an afternoon break in work, and he never returned. My mother learned later that Professor Justus went to his flat and from there, he went to the town home of a Lady.”
“Was that Lady Jane Sotterfeld-Gris?” Rennie asked in a dry, interview tone.
“Yes, it was. You ladies did a remarkable job with your research. He went to see Jane, as she preferred we speak of her. She related that Matthias had come to tell of a discovery he had made and he needed to entrust it to her. With her at that moment was a church official—”
“Reverend Worthy?” Rennie interrupted again.
“Yes, Worthy was there. According to Jane, the presence of Reverend Worthy chilled the revelations that Matthias wished to share with her. From there, we could only surmise how he ended up being murdered.”
“Professor,” Rennie said carefully, “how is it you came to know Lady Jane and had what seems to have been a familiar relationship?”
“That is another interesting story. Perhaps we may get to that. There is so much to tell, but it is getting late. Do you want to continue?”
Angie blurted out, “Yes!”
“Very well then, I will share with you the stories my mother told me in her last months here. I believe she told them to me with relief as well as joy. Hearing it all was a blessing to me beyond measure.”
“When I was a boy, Reggie regarded me as a project to turn into a man like himself. He took me to events that grown men should not see. He told me life was brutal and the sooner I saw it that way, the more likely I would survive. We saw men fight in the streets, men stealing and doing all forms of evil things.”