Min and Michelle hadn’t moved from the corner of the dining room where Jillian had made sure to seat them over objections that they weren’t dressed up enough to be so conspicuous. She wanted them where she could make eye contact.
And where she could look over their heads and see Drew when he came out of the kitchen.
Where was he? Come on, Dad. Get him out here.
“Good evening.” Jillian smiled at the sated crowd, which a few moments ago had been buzzing about the elegant culinary offerings. Complicated as it was, Nolan’s menu was a dazzling success. “As your program indicates, my topic tonight is ‘Your Family’s Then and Your Now: Knotting the Threads Together.’ I’m sure you’ve noticed the wonderful decor Veronica O’Reilly has created with the cases and trunks in the various rooms. You might enjoy visiting some of the rooms other than the one you dined in to soak up even more of the ambiance of the evening. I want to tell you the story of one particular steamer trunk. I was not able to have it here with me tonight, but it could just as well have been any one of a number of the steamers you see around the Inn.”
For now she avoided Min’s eyes. It was Drew’s dark gray eyes she wanted to soak up, to see the spark in at the story she was about to share. She imagined Nolan and Drew putting the next round of casserole dishes and roasting pans in the ovens. Or was Nolan having trouble convincing Drew to leave the kitchen as long as his great-aunt was on the premises?
“This steamer trunk,” Jillian continued, “took a long journey not on the ocean but on several branches of the complex web of passenger railroads that sprang up, merged, and reshaped over several decades in the nineteenth century and early twentieth.”
The kitchen door eased open. There was Nolan. And then Drew.
Jillian relaxed and settled her eyes on Min for a moment. Min crossed her arms.
“The trunk traveled from Cleveland, Ohio, in 1909. The stickers on it tell us it came via the New York Central and the Union Pacific Railroads, arriving at Denver’s Union Station in the historic days when the iconic Welcome Arch was just a few years old. Most of you have probably seen pictures of the arch. This trunk, of course, did not travel alone. It belonged to a young woman, Lynnelle Bendeure.
“And here the plot thickens, because Lynnelle Bendeure of Cleveland, Ohio, never claimed her trunk when she arrived in Denver, Colorado. Now, more than a hundred and ten years later, her trunk has surfaced in pristine condition—and with Lynnelle’s secrets still locked inside.
“But what became of Lynnelle? I certainly wondered. Don’t you?” Jillian settled her eyes once again on Min. “Perhaps you’ve heard bits and pieces of your own family’s history and wondered what became of Great-Great-Grandma Betty or your mother’s cousin Fred. I’m here with you today, as Canyon Mines celebrates our heritage and history, because I am a genealogist and I have a passion for uncovering heritage and history. I believe that the mysteries of the past often answer the questions of the present. Sometimes we find the answers to questions we’ve been curious about, and sometimes we finally put to rest questions we were afraid to hear the answers to.”
She paused to catch Drew’s eyes for a few seconds before letting her gaze roam the assembly. “Lynnelle’s trunk didn’t arrive in Denver locked and empty. It arrived locked and full of clues that can help us know her, her desires, her challenges, who her family was a hundred years ago, and also—I believe—who her family is today. So let me tell you the story that Lynnelle’s trunk has told me over the last couple of weeks.”
Min’s gray eyes zoned in on Jillian now. Jillian didn’t have to glance at her notes to continue and instead spoke directly to Drew’s great-aunt and hoped he was listening as intently as Min seemed to be.
“It’s not unusual for families to have items that have come down through the generations. Your mother’s china. Your grandmother’s handmade quilt. A pipe that once belonged to your great-grandfather. An army blanket that reminds you of a loved one’s service when it seemed the whole nation was touched by a war in some way. Books you keep because they were your father’s when he was little and you hope someday your own grandchild will find them interesting.” Jillian took a breath and glanced at Nolan, who nodded encouragement. “A traditional white lace christening gown. An old wool overcoat your mother used to play dress-up in that had belonged to her grandfather. Old maps and correspondence and photos that still somehow make you feel connected to your family tree, even if you can’t name the people in the photos or read the language the letters are written in. The trunks around us tonight remind us we all come from somewhere, and our stories often are handed down in the physical items that have survived the journeys of the generations that have come before us.
“So what did Lynnelle’s trunk, and its journey from Ohio, tell me about her story? I learned she was a determined, trustworthy person on an important mission safeguarding the welfare of her family and their company. She was organized, thorough, businesslike, and prepared. But she also traveled with items that must have meant the world to her sentimentally—photos of her loved ones and the family Bible. Even the trunk had another person’s initials on it and perhaps first belonged to someone she wanted to feel close to. I believe our friend Lynnelle intended to accomplish her purpose and return to the bosom of her family, and something very unexpected happened in the course of her travels between Cleveland and Denver. But what?”
Jillian swept the intertwining dining room, wide hall, and parlor with her eyes before again settling on the last-minute guests who had caused the rushed alterations to her talk.
“Where did Lynnelle disappear to? Did she meet foul play on the Union Pacific? Did she mean to abandon her steamer trunk, with its precious personal belongings? Lynnelle’s trunk contained valuable tools for a genealogist to work with. I mentioned the family Bible. This one contained many entries of births, marriages, and deaths. It seems that someone had fallen behind on updating entries. We all know what that’s like! Yet it was a treasure trove of names going back many generations. The trunk also contained business records suggesting the nature of the challenge Lynnelle faced and the risks she may have faced aboard the trains. Finally, we have correspondence with the manager of the western region of the famous Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency, whose assistance Lynnelle had sought on behalf of her father’s business interests.
“In the earliest years of the twentieth century, Pinkerton’s was well known for assisting the American Bankers Association with minimizing financial fraud and identifying individuals running confidence schemes under a variety of false identities. They often had name variants that might have some thread that knotted them together or something less obvious, such as a ring of partners in various cities or even on the railroad lines themselves. A bit of flirting and flattery. Gaining trust. A promise of a quick return on an investment. A limited opportunity requiring a moment’s decision. Signing some papers. Moving money between banks. Then on to a fresh identity and a new con in a new place.”
Drew had tilted his head to one side, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. But he made no move to withdraw to the kitchen. Min had uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. Michelle looked lost, but Jillian could tell not all of this was new to Min.
“I hunt for people from the past,” Jillian said. “It’s what I do for a living, and let’s face it, I do it for a hobby as well. I wanted to know what happened to Lynnelle. At first, I thought she’d been the victim of foul play and identity theft. Even before Social Security numbers, the internet, and online shopping, people were stealing identities! If someone on the train had discerned that Lynnelle’s business connections were considerable, there would be substantial motivation to simply become Lynnelle Bendeure long enough to sign some papers, get access to the Bendeure & Company holdings in Denver, and move on to a new identity with a new name and a nicely padded bank account. And Lynnelle’s family would never know what happened to her. I’m afraid I made rather a fool of myself chasing down that theory! Thankfully,
I came to my senses.
“I did get a couple of things right, though—a new name and a financial scam. Lynnelle helped to intercept an ongoing financial scheme that was bigger than just her own family’s company, and for her own safety, until the trial to bring the perpetrators to justice, she had to stay under the radar. Lynnelle lived a long time before what we think of as the witness protection program, but she did have the help of Pinkerton’s, who very much wanted to see the case they helped to crack successfully prosecuted. In fact, she had the help of one particular Pinkerton’s detective who developed a personal interest—the man she married! They moved to a lovely ranch outside Pueblo, Colorado, where some of their descendants still live today. Lynnelle likely chose to peacefully live out her life under her new name, and for reasons I don’t know—yet—likely never returned to Ohio.”
Jillian shifted her eyes back to Drew. “Yet in this fabulous age of the internet and DNA and spitting in tubes, one of her descendants has discovered distant cousins in Ohio. And who knows? Perhaps we’ll still be able to reunite branches of the family tree for the first time in over a century and honor a heroic ancestor who made a great personal sacrifice to help not only her own family but many others who might have come to financial ruin if not for her actions.
“We will draw to a close soon, but I again invite you to have a look around at the trunks and cases and think about the journeys of your own family’s ‘then’ and how it connects to your own ‘now.’ When you go home, reconsider the heirlooms handed down in your family. They may tell you more of the story than you ever thought. Thank you.”
Jillian picked up her notes and stepped away from the podium on the landing as the applause began. No matter what kind of talk she gave, there were always listeners who wanted to speak with her afterward, and this was no different. She would have to be polite—and she knew Drew had to return to the kitchen. The food schedule awaited, the volunteer staff would be chafing to begin resetting the tables, and before she knew it, diners for the next seating of the meal would begin arriving. Across the dining room, Drew lifted one arm and waved a couple of fingers at her. Nolan gave a small nod, a grin sloping up one side of his face, before following Drew into the kitchen. She’d have to catch them later.
Min and Michelle hung back until finally the gathering thinned and Jillian had shaken as many hands as necessary.
“May we talk?” Michelle asked.
“Of course.” Jillian glanced into Nia’s office off the parlor, certain it would be all right to borrow a quiet corner there.
“Well, you’ve gone and done it anyway,” Min said. But the fury Jillian had heard in every interaction before now was gone. “I never knew her name.”
“But you knew it wasn’t Ela, didn’t you?” Jillian’s question was quiet.
Min nodded. “Once, when I was a little girl, I had a school project to do a family tree. I got marked off for not including my grandmother’s maiden name. It seems a small thing now, but I never did know it. She just said Ela Kyp was the only name that mattered.”
“I read the trial transcripts,” Jillian said. “After all she went through, I suppose it was.”
“Those cousins Drew found,” Min said. “My grandmother said her brother had died and his widow kept his children from her, which grieved her greatly. That’s all I knew. I figured somehow that was why she thought the old name didn’t matter. You’re right. If he has descendants, it would honor her to find them and reconnect the branches of the family tree. Surely whatever grudge happened is ancient history. Who would be alive to even know what it was? Please, finish your work.”
Jillian swallowed the knot in her throat. “Drew did the most important part. We’ll work on it together.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
This is Wilhelmina?” Jillian looked up from a black-and-white photo of a woman in her midsixties with a child in her lap. “With you?”
Min nodded. “I was seven or eight. I remember the day. My mother told me I was getting too big to sit in Aunt Willie’s lap. That was probably the last time I ever did.”
The girl in the photo had gangly limbs and a satisfied grin uninhibited by the permanent teeth that had not quite grown into proper position. In Jillian’s mind, Willie was a young woman, and Min was the older one. The photo, preserved with its corners held in place against a black page in a maroon vinyl-covered album for decades, flipped the time line. Underneath it, clear lettering said Helmi and Min.
“Who kept the album?” Nolan asked.
“My mother.” Min met Jillian’s eyes freely in her own living room at the big house on the ranch. “Ela’s—Lynnelle’s—daughter, Dottie. She didn’t leave a lot of details, and her albums are not in very good chronological order, but she tried to at least write down who was in some of the photos.”
Jillian flipped a page. “This one says Mina, but it can’t be you or Willie. It’s not the right age.”
“It’s not. It’s my mother’s older sister, the eldest sibling. She was named for Wilhelmina, but she died as a child in the Spanish influenza epidemic in 1918.”
“So you’re named for her and for Willie?” Jillian asked.
Min nodded. “I’ve always been proud to bear the name.”
“As you should be,” Nolan said.
Min leaned forward from her chair and turned a couple of pages. A photo stared up at Jillian, labeled Carrick, Ela, and Helmi.
“Wow.” Jillian ran her finger across the ragged edge of the old photo. “There they are. Brought together by events they didn’t know were going to change their lives.”
“I wish I’d known more about what my aunt and grandparents did back in 1909,” Min said. “As far as anyone knew, they were ranchers and that’s all there was to the story. They just told people they met on a train, which was true, I guess, but hardly the whole story. I knew Grandpa and his sister could be a goofy pair. I remember they had a way of looking at each other when the shenanigans were about to start, and that’s when he would call her Willie instead of Helmi.”
Around the room, heads bent forward, listening intently. Jillian could tell the family was hearing a more straightforward narrative than ever before. Michelle had stayed through the week, anticipating this visit from Jillian and Nolan, and Drew was there. His sister and her husband, Josie and Jake, had come for the afternoon from Pueblo proper with their two small children. His parents, Carol and Jason, were present as well. Jillian’s mind’s eye placed faces in the family tree where she had only seen names. From Carrick and Ela to Josie and Jake’s children were six generations.
“Why didn’t they ever tell anyone?” Drew asked. “The danger had passed. It would have been like talking about an old job, that’s all.”
“That’s impossible to say.” Jillian wished she had a better answer. “If it’s any help, it’s not uncommon in my work to discover that children and especially grandchildren don’t know much about family members’ lives when they were younger. We tend to identify them in the roles that we know them in as we grow up ourselves. And perhaps they felt that the ranch and the family were more significant than anything that came before.”
Min took the album from Jillian and stroked the open page.
“Mom?” Michelle said.
“There’s more to it.” Min flipped back to the photo of herself as a leggy child on her aunt Helmi’s lap. “Something else happened that day. It frightened me. I suppose I’ve been frightened all these years.”
“Mom, what was it?” Michelle said.
“An argument. I didn’t like what my mother said about being too old to sit in Aunt Helmi’s lap. She scolded me for doing it, as if I should have known better because Helmi was getting older and I was being rambunctious. So I stomped off and went to play in the little red house. It’s always been red. Aunt Helmi and Uncle Charles were the first ones to live there, and she always liked red. So we’ve always kept it that way. They moved off the ranch when they had their own family. But by this time their children were grow
n, and Charles was ill, and Helmi wanted to come back to the ranch. They were staying in the main house until the cabin was ready for them again, but some of their things were there, and I got into a shoebox of papers.”
“Aunt Min,” Drew said, “what did you find?”
“I’m not sure. I was a child—and a late reader, so I didn’t understand everything. Documents. My grandmother came looking for me to say supper was ready and saw the papers. She snatched them and stormed back to the main house to find Helmi. I was afraid I was in trouble for getting into Helmi’s things, but Aunt Helmi had never scolded me a day in my life. I wasn’t supposed to be listening, but I did. Grandma said that those papers should have been destroyed forty years ago, and Helmi had no right to keep them all this time, not after what they’d all been through. Not after what she—Grandma—had sacrificed, and did Helmi really not understand what it had cost her? How could she have kept evidence all those years that could have put her and Grandpa at risk?”
“Wow,” Drew said softly.
“Mom,” Michelle said, “you never told me.”
“My mother grabbed me then and dragged me away. Grandma and Aunt Helmi came to the supper table a few minutes later and didn’t say anything more about it. When I tried to ask my mother, she hushed me. But no one really called her Willie again after that except in family stories. Not even Grandpa. The games were over.” Min looked at Jillian. “And then you turned up at the ranch with some cockamamie story about foul play and how the family got the ranch and asking questions about that photo.”
When I Meet You Page 25