Out of Splinters and Ashes

by Colleen L. Donnelly

  Soldiers. Court martial. Mr. Williams rambled on. Dietrich continued to scribble, pretending more notes. Marvin Shanks was probably a no one, but he had been in the US Armed Services, maybe? He wanted to interrupt Williams and ask about the girl—her name, her hair color. Did she write? He wouldn’t interrupt and ask. He knew better. He let Williams ramble on, saving leading questions for when Williams was spent and distracted, when his reactions would be candid.

  “Mr. Williams, can I see your medals? All of them? Not just from the ’36 Olympics.” Shanks, soldiers, Hindenburghaus, and the young woman were swept away from Williams, but not from Dietrich. The past Olympian stood, wobbled as he straightened, then led Dietrich to another room so Dietrich could lead him to the answers he really wanted. Or didn’t.

  When this interview was done, Dietrich would fly back to Washington and find Carl at the Library of Congress. Carl had his ways. And if his resources turned up nothing, there were other military history institutions in the Capital. If there hadn’t been a girl, if Shanks hadn’t whittled or carved… Dietrich stared at his pad as Williams rambled on. If Amabile had a lover, he could be Marvin Shanks.

  Chapter 8

  Non Bookends was dark after Emerson’s dinner. I stretched an arm halfway across the car seat toward him as he slowed in front of Grandma’s store. Our reflection idled in her window, the black interior of Non Bookends framing Emerson’s car, my face a tiny light spot in its passenger window. If my reflection was closer, I’d see the smile on my face—Grandma wasn’t in her store.

  “It went well tonight.” Emerson talked from behind me. He’d begun the moment we left his dinner, a rehashing of what everyone had said or done and what he’d said and done in return. I’d slipped in a request to drive here, rehashing Grandma’s words during his third rendition of his dinner, whether she had truly said she’d go to Grandpa’s house when we were gone. No lights in Non Bookends told me that she had.

  “I was so proud of you tonight.” I turned his way, stretched farther across the seat, and took the hand he offered.

  “It was a success. I know it was. Even Miles was relieved how well it went. Thanks to you.” He squeezed my hand while success effervesced in his eyes. “We should share my victory. I mean, our victory, with your grandparents. And we should call your parents.”

  I glanced back at the store’s window, tried to see past our reflection for any tiny glow inside. She wasn’t there. “Grandparents first.” My mother, like Emerson’s campaign, would be a breeze now that Grandma’s storm was subdued.

  “Grandma and Grandpa, here we come then.” Emerson resumed his drive, and his monologue, tapping my hand with each happy mention that I was there.

  I looked his way. I’d never taken these two blocks so slowly before. This was Emerson’s candidate pace, not my old pace, and certainly not our new “soon” pace.

  “That’s quite a grip you have there, Catharine.” Emerson tugged his hand from mine.

  “Oh. Sorry. I guess I was excited…for you, I mean. You did so well. I could see how pleased they all were.” I looked down the street at the pencil line glow framing the heavy drapes in my grandparents’ front window.

  “Looks like they’re up. Or one of them still is.” Emerson eased the car into the driveway. “I have another dinner on Saturday. We need to get you a new dress before then.”

  The draperies were too heavy to see through. I stared at the curtains; the two of them should be sitting together behind them, talking civilly for the first time. Emerson tugged at my finger.

  “Yes. Of course, a new dress for me. I can get one before Saturday.”

  “I’ll buy it, since it’s for me, ultimately. How about tomorrow?”

  I wrapped my fingers around the door’s handle. “I have to get a run in tomorrow, and I have a camera shoot lined up. I can get my dress in between. You don’t have to do that with me.”

  “For you, not just with you, and I insist. You’ll either have to squeeze me in or give something up. I know what’s best for you to wear, so let me choose it.”

  For me, like the for my wife Grandpa’d professed earlier today. The dark store, Emerson’s offer, and the glow coming from my grandparents’ living room proved it was finally happening—for all of us.

  I let go of the door’s handle and looked across the seat at Emerson. “Shopping together is perfect, and we can decide when after we leave here.” Everything was changing. I glanced back at the house, imagining different photos I could include of my grandparents now.

  “After we leave here it is, then.” Emerson shut off the engine. “You know, you did well tonight, Catharine. Proving yourself with everyone, but especially with Miles. It was silly, but when I told him I was asking you to marry me and inviting you to the dinner, he wouldn’t let me invite them too.” Emerson nodded toward my grandparents’ house. “He was adamant, but I promise you they’ll be at the next one. In any case, it looks like they’re still up. Let’s go in and tell them about my dinner.”

  I looked at the draperies and the light behind them. The bad and the ugly finally gone.

  Emerson slid out and came around the car, swinging my door open. “My lady. The beautiful soon-to-be Mrs. Cosnik.” He stepped close and extended a hand.

  I took his hand, took my place near the man I was to marry. Soon. Emerson was happy and relaxed, and he smelled heavenly, the cool night air keeping his fragrance close. I laid my fingertips on the chest of his black tuxedo, dark, like a hole in the night. “I’m so glad tonight went well for you. And…and I understand about Miles and my grandparents.”

  Emerson’s fingers laced around mine, and he led me to the sidewalk and up the porch steps. He buzzed the doorbell with one hand while his other never let go of me. I listened to the irregular rhythm of footsteps coming to the door. Grandpa. The porch light came on, a cone of luminescence capturing us as the heavy inner door drew open.

  “Cate?” Grandpa squinted through the screen. It was the same as earlier today, his face close to the mesh, his body hunched, the tiny squares of wire dulling the sparkle he should have had. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hi, Grandpa.” The room behind him was quiet, the way it always was. I held Emerson where we were. The whole house was too quiet.

  Grandpa leaned into the screen door, one arm stretching and swinging it our way. “Come on in.” He bent more and took a half-hobble backwards.

  Emerson let go of my hand and took hold of the screen. “We don’t want to disturb you.”

  The same light that turned Grandpa into a skeleton cast just the right shadows on Emerson. It would have made a harrowing photo, the good and the bad, the ugly and fetching, the contrast of Emerson’s anticipation for the future and Grandpa’s shackles to the past.

  “You’re not disturbing me. Come on in.” The day showed on Grandpa. I glanced into the living room, past the man, to where nothing had changed since I’d left.

  “We won’t stay long.” Emerson nodded me inside, then stepped in behind me.

  Grandpa hobbled out of our way. “Like I said, you’re not disturbing me. Come on in. Happy to see the both of you.”

  Me. He said me. I made a hurried scan for us.

  “Actually, I’m more tired than I thought, Grandpa. You must be too. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

  “Come sit, Catharine. We’ll just stay a minute.” Emerson latched on, nearly dragging me to the sofa where the three military men had sat earlier. I glanced at Grandpa. He surely wouldn’t talk about them in front of Emerson.

  “Have a seat.” Grandpa dropped into his chair, leaned back, and studied the ceiling. “Been a long day, that’s for sure. You two been out somewhere?” He lifted his head and looked at me. “You didn’t tell me you had plans, earlier.”

  “I didn’t know at the time.” I watched for a spark in Grandpa’s eyes that said the army was gone and Grandma back, that he’d been told I was engaged. The emptiness of the chair next to him and in his gaze said she wasn’t and he hadn’t. She
hadn’t even been here yet. “We can’t stay, but Emerson’s political dinner went wonderfully. That’s where we were,” I said as I stood.

  “Catharine, sit back down here. Anyway, that’s not all the news, sir, but you’ve probably already heard the biggest.” Emerson turned from me to Grandpa.

  “News? No, I haven’t heard any.”

  “You don’t know?” Emerson’s smile became a frown, one he passed from Grandpa to Grandma’s empty chair.

  “Well, then…” I shot my left hand into the air, waved it until I caught the low light with my ring. “Right before Emerson whisked me off to his dinner, he gave me this.”

  Grandpa squinted from the ring to me. “You’re engaged?” He hadn’t expected this, not like he’d expected those three men earlier today.

  I dropped my hand. “Yes.” It was the store voice Grandma taught me to use. “I know it’s sudden, but we…”

  “But we intend to marry soon. You really didn’t know?” Emerson frowned more.

  “No…” Grandpa shook his head.

  Emerson stood, he walked across the room to my grandfather’s chair. “I’m sorry, sir,” Emerson spoke softly. “I’ve behaved unconventionally. Disrespectful of her parents, as well as you and your wife. I should have asked them, and certainly you, first, but when I knew Catharine was the woman for me, I couldn’t wait to sweep her into my world, starting tonight at my campaign dinner.” He turned and smiled at me. “She’s perfect, don’t you think? A perfect senator’s wife.”

  Grandpa stood then. He struggled to his feet, leaving his cane lying unused to the side. He glanced at me, an almost imperceptible flicker in his eyes. I studied the mouth that rarely spoke yet had spoken of love today, and eyes that had always lacked any sort of luster glinting with a phantom of that same love. “Hold on to her,” he said, looking to Emerson.

  Hold onto her…Grandpa’s heart, his desire, the one thing Grandma had never let him do. And apparently hadn’t come here tonight to let him do, either.

  I stood, walked to two of the most significant men in my life, and laid a hand on each of them. “And I’ll hold onto him, Grandpa.” I clasped a shoulder far too thin, conveying the promise Grandma would be holding onto him soon.

  “Mrs. Crawley didn’t tell you? Is she here? I’d love to do a toast.” Emerson glanced toward where their bedroom was.

  “No. She came and went.” Grandpa’s posture waned as mine stiffened. He slumped from my grasp.

  “I thought she was here. I assumed she was in another room.” Emerson looked at me.

  “Haven’t seen her since early this evening.” The handsomeness that must have been Grandpa’s in his younger years still showed through. Grandma surely saw it when she came for her love story. Saw what I did when she was near the man she’d married—the handsome young soldier coming home—still dashing, even in his losses.

  “She wasn’t at the store.” Emerson nodded toward the door. “It was dark when we drove by. Where would she be this late? Should we go look for her?”

  “She must have been reading in the back,” I said before Grandpa could say she might be sleeping back there.

  “This late?” Emerson’s frown deepened. “She shouldn’t walk here alone after dark. Let’s go get her and give her a ride.”

  I glanced toward the door and noticed Grandma’s bags at its side, the two she’d brought this morning before she changed her mind. They lay slouched and toppling over like they’d been tossed.

  “You can take those with you, if you go see her.” Grandpa nodded at the two bags. “She won’t be needing them here.”

  “No,” I said. “A lot of books came in to look over. We shouldn’t bother her. We should be going.”

  “Catharine, you’re being silly. Of course we should check on her, and we’ll be happy to take those with us, and then bring her home.” Emerson wagged his head at me. “Too much excitement for her tonight,” he said to my grandfather. “We haven’t had one minute alone to just sit down and breathe, catch up with ourselves. But we will.” He walked to the bags, fished the cloth handles from inside the tops, and lifted them. He stared at the contents as he walked my way, his frown growing at nightgowns and slippers—things that didn’t belong in a bookstore.

  “Are her books for the store in there?” It came out too loud, no longer my store voice. “She might want them, but probably nothing else.” I nodded at the bags. “Might just throw everything else out since she left those behind.”

  “This is just trash? Why are we bothering to take it to her?” Emerson lifted each arm, raising the bags in the air.

  “Just the books were trash,” Grandpa said. “I burned them. She knows. The rest of that stuff can go.”

  I turned to my grandfather. I stared at the man who got rid of everything pertaining to the military for his wife’s sake. Then burned three books pertaining to her store. He’d turned Amabile, the love story I thought would be theirs, to ashes. “Grandpa?”

  “Not the sort of book she would want.” Grandpa leaned into his good leg and took the bags from Emerson. “Mavis doesn’t need these things tonight. You two go on.” He held the bags in the wrong hand, tipping him farther toward his weak side. “Make the most of your engagement,” he said to me. “So you can make a good marriage. The right marriage.”

  “She will. I’ll make sure of it. And we’ll get your wife and bring her home. Then we’ll…” Emerson reached for my hand, his fingers fumbling for mine.

  “Mavis will be fine. We’ve been managing for years. You two go on.” Grandpa nodded toward the door.

  I followed Grandpa’s nod, my fingers connecting to Emerson’s, our arms stretching as I went and he stayed. “Just a minute, Catharine.” Emerson looked at my grandfather. “So, sir, I will ask Catharine’s parents also, but do I have your permission to marry your granddaughter?”

  A glow flickered again behind Grandpa’s years of no expression. He nodded from that place too far away. “Yes, son, you do. Just do it right.”

  “It’s going to be a small wedding, but it will certainly be done right. Would you please do the honor of walking Catharine down the aisle along with her father? That much we want in an otherwise simple ceremony.”

  I saw “when” extinguish the glow in Grandpa’s look. I saw “trial” and “investigation” in the way he let Grandma’s bags settle to the floor. He reached for his cane. He steadied himself, pivoted slightly, and stared at his feet. “That might not be…”

  “Don’t let your injuries stop you.” Emerson touched the shoulder of the man looking at the sofa where the officers had sat. “They are a tribute to you, as they’ll be to me. And to our state when I become our next senator. You’ll be our shining example. I promise.”

  Chapter 9

  He burned them for you. Grandpa had burned Grandma’s books for her, books she wouldn’t want anyway. I hammered my argument with my feet as I ran. He. Burned. Them. For. You. He. Burned. Them. For. You.

  He burned them because of me. Grandma’s retort sent my feet hammering even harder. Just like he burned his military things. Because of me, not for me. I was the reminder, not them. Especially those books. He burned them because of me.

  She’d known all along Grandpa’s military items were gone. Burned also, according to her—Because. Of. Me. Not. For. Me. Because. Of. Me. Not. For. Me.

  She was wrong. I’d heard Grandpa with the army officers, and I knew what he meant. For my wife. I’d suggested it as chivalry to Grandma, but she countered it was selfish. I’d claimed he did it for love, but she said it was from hate. I saw the sacrifice—she saw only the flames. I don’t know why the army came, she’d closed our argument. He expected them, I didn’t…I expected someone else. And she marched away from me.

  “Cate, you’re losing time. What’s wrong with you?” Frank pedaled alongside me, Jill’s husband, still coaching everyone except her, probably because she was already a winner. “You’re putting too much force down instead of forward. Keep that up and you’ll no
t only lose, you’ll be riding tandem with me when your knees wear out.”

  “There’s more to running than winning.” I knew Jill would laugh at that, and Emerson would disagree.

  “Uh-huh.” Frank grunted the way he always did through my “I don’t run to win” claims. I ran to run; I ran because I had to. Somehow, fast wasn’t fast enough and far wasn’t far enough when finish lines imposed unwanted goals.

  I slapped my shoes harder against the pavement to drown out anything that followed Frank’s grunt. My feet burned from the concrete and from crushing Grandma’s argument into it. Frank’s bicycle ground along beside me, too close, too sure he knew what was best.

  “Lean into your run, Cate. Stretch, pump, stretch, pump.” Frank stared at my feet and knees, his head bobbing as if they were his instead of the two tires he was on.

  I slowed. “Okay, maybe you’re right.” I let up. I focused on my feet instead of on Grandma and the fires my grandfather had set, forward instead of down.

  “That’s better. Now lean even more into your run.” Frank increased his speed and pulled ahead, dragging me with him.

  Stretch. Pump. Stretch. Pump. For. You. Not. Because. Of. You. I grew into my stride, my regular stride, the one that wanted to outrun everything that was supposed to be behind me. He. Burned. Them. For. You. Not. Because. Of. You.

  “That’s the way to do it.” Frank matched his bicycle to my speed, coming alongside me again. “By the way, Jill said to invite you over tonight. She’s making Greek salad. She thought you might need to talk.”

  “Talk?” I glanced to the side at Frank.

  He shrugged. “You know Jill, she’s always trying to be nice.”

  Stretch. Pump. Stretch. Pump. Because. Of. Me. Not. For. Me. “Tell Jill thanks, but Emerson is taking me shopping tonight for a new dress for his next dinner. And I have this photo shoot to do first. That’s why I called to tell you I was running extra early today if you wanted to join me.”