Meg Perry's Blog, page 18

Photographs and Memories, part 9

Col. George K. Roberts

Department of the Army

March 27, 1919

Col. Roberts:

All is quiet at the Mountain Air mine for the present. There are the usual grumblings but no increased discussion of strikes. Per your request, I expressed interest in reading any progressive literature that might be available, but at present none seems to exist.

I agree, the news from the south of the state is troubling. I pray that we can avoid violence.

I do not want to sound presumptuous, but I believe it would be enlightening for your supervisors to tour the area. The conditions in the coal camps must be seen to be understood. It is similar to the European front – there is the constant fear of attack from the other side. The difference is that there are women and children here.

Sincerely,

E.R. Jarrell

Privies along alley in coal company housing project. Russell Lee [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Sunday, June 19

Sunday dawned hot, with the promise of thunderstorms later. Dennis and Toni went to church – a regular occurrence for them, apparently. Toni asked if any of us wanted to accompany them; we all politely declined. After the hubbub of the previous day, all the dads wished for a quiet day for Father’s Day.

Everyone was headed in the direction of the back porch when I stopped Jeff and Kevin. “I want to talk to you about Dad.”

Kevin and Jeff looked at each other. Jeff said, “Maybe we should go back to the family room.”

I led the way and sat, propping my foot on an ottoman. “I’m worried about him.”

Kevin said, “It’s always hard for him to come here. To go to the cemetery.”

Jeff sighed. “I hoped Barb would be good for him. She wasn’t.”

Kevin said, “You know – they were together for three years. I know their problems didn’t develop over night, but it still seemed like he dismissed her awfully easily.”

I said, “It’s been a tough year for him, with the Barkley family back in the forefront thanks to the inheritance, and then Belinda Marcus’s trial for killing Gavin Barkley. Mom has been on his mind a lot.”

Jeff said, “She’s been on all our minds.”

I said, “I think someone should talk to him about it.”

Kevin said, “We’re his kids. I don’t know if he’ll listen to us.”

“Maybe not.” But an idea struck me. “Maybe he’ll listen to his own dad.”

 

Dennis and Toni came back with fish and chips for everyone – not entirely up to British standards, but the best I’d ever had in the US. Finally the rain arrived and most of us ended up napping through the afternoon. At dinnertime Pete and Linda cleaned out the fridge and presented a wide array of leftovers.

After dinner Toni set out fixings for ice cream sundaes. I was pouring chocolate syrup over mine when the doorbell rang.

It was Tyler again, tears streaming down his face. Linda pulled him into the kitchen and hugged him while he cried. Finally he calmed down and Toni handed him a bowl of ice cream. He sagged into a seat at the table and began to eat.

Everyone else had drifted into the family room to provide some privacy, leaving Toni, Linda, Val and me in the kitchen with Tyler. I said, “What’s going on?”

He swallowed a spoonful of ice cream and shook his head disconsolately. “Blair’s relatives are the most horrible people I’ve ever met. I can’t believe I’ll be related to these cretins.”

Val said, “Just because you’re related to them doesn’t mean you have to spend time with them.”

“I’d better not have to. I never want to see any of them for as long as I live.”

I said, “Um – you’ll have to see them at least twice more.”

Linda shot me a glare that said, Not helpful. “Was Blair’s New York aunt there?”

“Yeah.” He sniffed and ate more ice cream. “She got into a vicious argument with his dad. They’re brother and sister and haven’t spoken to each other for years.”

Toni murmured, “Oh, dear.”

Val said, “What about the rest of them?”

“They’re blobs. Human blobs. Blair’s dad is an asshole, but at least he’s got a personality. His mother’s relatives all just sit there chewing. Even the ones who are younger.”

I said, “Where is Blair now?”

“At home. We had an argument. We got in the car and I said something about his family, and he said, ‘I don’t like your family any more than you like mine. I’m stuck with yours, you’re stuck with mine.’”

Val and I looked at each other in dismay. Toni was outraged. “How dare he. After everything your dad and mother have done for him. His family isn’t contributing to this rehearsal or wedding at all. They haven’t even offered. They haven’t even contacted us.”

Linda said gently, “Ty, honey, it’s not too late to back out.”

Ack. Should we be encouraging that line of thinking? I said, “Um…”

Tyler had been staring miserably at his empty bowl; now his head shot up. “It is too late. Everything’s arranged and paid for.”

Practical Val said, “That’s a sunk cost. It’s paid for whether you get married or not.”

Tyler shook his head. I said, “Ty, I think you need to talk to your mom. And you seriously need to talk to Blair.”

“I know.” Tyler wiped his eyes with a paper napkin. “I shouldn’t have told you all that. Now you’ll hate Blair.”

Linda said, “No, sweetheart, we won’t hate him. But he is not our concern. You are. We want what’s best for you, not necessarily for you and Blair together.”

Tyler nodded weakly and picked up his phone. “I’m gonna call Mom.”

 

Tyler left for his mother’s house not long after. Marilyn and Cliff lived in Front Royal, Virginia, a little over an hour away. Toni made him promise to call when he arrived.

Once he was out the door, Linda, Toni, Val and I joined the others in the family room. Dennis said, “What the hell was that about?”

Toni related what Tyler had said, including what Blair had said about us – which I personally would have left out. When she repeated that, there was a stunned silence.

Doug said mildly, “Well. Good to know.”

Sarge made a “pah” sound. “All the grandkids so far have ended up with keepers. Bound to get a lemon in the bunch.”

Kevin and Will, the two cousins with divorces behind them, looked at each other. Will said, “Maybe Ty will end up with a keeper too, eventually.”

I said, “He may end up with a keeper this time. Yes, Blair is weird and doesn’t fit in, but he might be right for Ty. Let’s not write him off until they’ve had a chance to talk, for God’s sake. He’s not an axe murderer, he just doesn’t like us.”

Pete added, “He may not have even meant it. Those two are so stressed out they’re barely functioning.”

Val said, “The sane gays have spoken. We shall reserve judgment.”

I threw a pillow at her while everyone else laughed.

Photographs and Memories, part 8

Saturday, June 18, cont.

Grampa and I talked until noon, by which time we were all hungry. Pete went to the kitchen to make sandwiches, and returned with Jeff and Val. I asked, “Is Dad back?”

Jeff said, “No. We were just talking about that. Did he say how long he’d be gone?”

“He only said a while. Let me text him.” I took out my phone. Hey, just wondering where you were.

He responded quickly. Walking around cemetery. Headed back soon.

But “soon” turned into two more hours. Dad didn’t get back until 2:00. I wanted to ask him about his visit, but he immediately headed to the kitchen to help out and I didn’t get a chance to talk to him.

By 4:00 Tyler and Blair had arrived, and the cooking began. If I stayed indoors any longer I’d be the only one in the house, so I hobbled to the back yard. Carly installed me at her table, my foot propped on a chair. Pete was already there, deep in conversation with Stefan.

By Takeaway (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

I looked around for Tyler and Blair. Tyler was hanging out with his brothers; Blair was at the same table but might as well have been on a separate planet. I figured he was put off by the noise and convivality. As I watched for a while, several people approached and tried to engage him in conversation. He seemed to rebuff them all.

Not for the first time, I wondered what the hell Tyler saw in him.

Once we all had plates full of food I asked Carly, “Do you know how Blair and Tyler met?”

“They were set up by mutual friends. Why?”

“I know it’s too late to point this out now, but they don’t seem well suited.”

Stefan said, “This is the first time I have met him. I am not impressed.”

Pete said, “I’ve only met him once, at our wedding. I wasn’t impressed either.”

I said, “Tyler thinks Blair’s family is terrible. I wonder if they really are, or if that’s just Tyler?”

Shana said, “I guess we’ll find out.”

Mike asked, “How many events do we have to attend this week?”

Carly said, “There’s a party on Tuesday, at Tyler’s house, that all the cousins are invited to. Thursday evening is the rehearsal dinner and Friday evening is the bachelor party.”

I said, “Dennis told us they have twelve groomsmen apiece. Does Blair have twelve friends?”

Carly said, “I think Blair’s groomsmen are mostly couple friends of both Tyler and Blair. Tyler had a dozen people he wanted to ask, so they had to come up with a dozen for Blair. It took some doing.”

Shana sighed. “I hope this isn’t an epic disaster.”

After we ate everyone milled around for a while, talking and laughing. Pete made a point of cornering Blair and had a brief conversation. I was thinking about going into the house when Tyler drifted over. I said, “Hey. Having fun?”

“Sure.” He plopped down at the table. “Jamie, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Is married life – different?”

“Different how?”

He bit his lip. “Blair and I are sniping at each other all the time. We have been for months. I’m hoping that once we’re married we’ll be…” He shrugged. “Happier.”

Uh oh. Unrealistic expectations were about to raise their ugly heads. Pete chose that moment to join us, bringing me a beer. I said, “Ty, I can only tell you how it is for us. Our best time, in terms of not sniping at each other, was between our engagement and the wedding. For those seven months we agreed on everything. Since our honeymoon, it’s about the same as before we were engaged.” I decided Tyler deserved complete honesty. “I thought it would be different. Jeff said it was different, although he couldn’t explain how. But we haven’t felt it.” We’d discussed it last spring.

Pete said, “Our legal status has changed but it hasn’t altered the rest of our life together.”

Tyler looked hopeful. “It hasn’t affected your sex life?”

Pete and I looked at each other and said at the same time, “Weeeeell…”

Tyler smiled at that. I said, “Our frequency has dropped off a little. Just a tad.” It sounded as if I was trying to convince myself as much as Tyler.

His hopeful expression faded. I said, “Since you two have been arguing before the wedding, maybe you won’t after. I mean, come on, Ty, this wedding is insane.”

Pete said, “And it’s probably driven the two of you temporarily insane.”

“Maybe.” He sighed deeply. “Ever since Massachusetts made marriage equality legal, I’ve been dreaming of my wedding, you know? I’ve kept notebooks and clipped pictures from magazines and read every website created about gay weddings. I’m having the wedding I’ve always dreamed of – but now I’m worried about what comes after. Neither Blair nor I have good models for any marriage, much less gay marriage.”

I said, “I’m not sure there are good models for gay marriage. We haven’t been at it long enough.”

Pete said, “And it’s not really an issue of gay marriage. It’s all marriages or partnerships. At its heart, it’s a matter of two people learning to live together.”

I said, “And – Ty, every time you have a problem, you run to one of your parents rather than talk to Blair. You have to talk to Blair. It’s not fair to him otherwise.”

“You’re right.” Tyler squirmed. “Talking’s not our best thing.”

Pete said, “Jamie and I saw a counselor together for over two years. It helped us work out stuff that would have tripped us up otherwise. You and Blair should consider that.”

“I’ll try to talk him into it.” Tyler looked back and forth between Pete and me. “Maybe Blair and I need to spend more time with the two of you. Y’all finish each other’s thoughts. You give each other looks and you know what they mean. You’re touching arms, right now.”

I hadn’t even noticed, and I didn’t think Pete had either – we both glanced at our arms at the same time. He and I both had rested our forearms on the table; my left and his right were indeed touching. Tyler said, “Blair and I don’t do any of those things.”

Pete said, “You shouldn’t compare our experience to yours. We’re in a different place than you. We knew each other for nearly nine years before we got engaged. How long did you two know each other?”

Tyler looked glum. “A year and a half. Maybe we got engaged too soon.”

Pete said, “Maybe you just need to give yourselves more time.”

I asked, “Have you had any more interaction with his family?”

“No. They’ve been sightseeing. But we’re having brunch with them tomorrow.” He grimaced. “I’m dreading it.”

Pete said, “You know what I do when I have to spend time with a lot of people that I’m afraid I won’t like? I think of it as an anthropological expedition, observing and taking notes on a foreign tribe. It works.”

He laughed. “I like that idea.”

I said, “Try to sit beside the normal aunt from Manhattan. Maybe everyone else will leave you alone.”

“I will.” He stood. “I’d better get back to Blair. He gets nervous in crowds if he can’t see me.”

I watched Tyler go, thinking, Ai yi yi.

Aunt Linda stood by the back door and clapped her hands. “Come to the front porch, everyone. Time for pictures.”

Every summer in Beaufort, all the kids had lined up on the front porch for a group picture. The last time we’d all been together was eight years ago, for Doug’s 60th birthday party. I had that picture framed in my office.

We went onto Dennis’s front porch and lined up. The tallest – Jeff, Kevin and I – took the top step. Will, Henry and Tyler took the middle; Henry was in front of me and successfully hid my crutches. Shana, Lindsey and Carly stood in front. Linda tweaked everyone’s positions, and “the grownups” each took a couple of pictures.

It seemed weird for Tanner to be missing. I didn’t want to say anything about him for fear of upsetting Tyler, but I was sure that others were feeling the same thing.

 

The party wound down around nine. Sarge pleaded exhaustion and went to bed; the cousins headed for the Metro and their hotel. Pete and I ended up in the kitchen eating ice cream by ourselves. I said, “I saw you talk to Blair earlier.”

“Yeah. I got him to open up a little bit.” Pete sighed. “He’s completely overwhelmed. He kept functioning because he could escape to work. Now he’s off for the coming week and he’s shutting down.”

“That’s bad. I’m sure that Tyler is counting on Blair to handle his own family.”

“That’s a realistic expectation, but I don’t think Blair is up to the task.”

“Did he talk about the wedding?”

“A little. He wanted to elope, but he never mentioned it. He does love Tyler, so he wanted to let him have his dream wedding.”

“Is Blair close to his family at all?”

“Only the aunt from Manhattan. His mother’s an overprotective control freak and his stepfather blends into the woodwork. His father, as we’ve already learned, is totally obnoxious, and he described his stepmother as a cow. He says his relatives are mostly coming for the food.”

I groaned. “Wonderful. Where do they all live?”

“Ottumwa, Iowa.”

“Oh.”

Pete grinned. “Don’t be a California snob.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

He carried our empty bowls to the sink and rinsed them. “They’re an odd couple.”

“They seem like total opposites.”

“I read a statistic once. The more lavish the wedding, the higher the chance of divorce.”

I sighed. “God, I’d hate that for Ty.”

“Does Tyler’s brother know when and where the wedding is?”

“Probably.”

“Do you think he’ll show up?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“I think Kev and I are going to have our hands full with Blair’s father.”

“Will, Henry and I can handle Tanner. I’ve handled him before.” I laughed. “Didn’t work out so well for him.”

“What happened?”

“We were all in Beaufort for our yearly reunion. I was ten, so Tanner was eight and Tyler was just five. Henry was twelve and Will was fourteen. Tanner wanted to follow his older brothers around and act like he was equal to them, trying to get their approval, and Tyler tagged along after Tanner.”

Pete chuckled. “Yeah, I used to dog Steve’s steps everywhere he went.”

“So did I, with Kevin. I guess all little brothers do it. Anyway, we were playing baseball in the back yard. Tanner was being a shit to everyone, but especially Tyler. Ty was so little, he couldn’t keep up. We were letting Ty run the bases even though he couldn’t hit, and Tanner picked up the ball and hit Ty in the back of the head with it.”

“Shit. Was he hurt?”

“Yeah. He went down like he’d been shot. Split his head open. He was lying in the dirt, screaming. All the grownups ran out. Doug, Dennis and Linda took Ty to the hospital, which left Dad and Sarge to deal with Tanner. Dad said, ‘What happened?’ and Jeff told. Tanner said he did not, and I said yes, he did. Tanner charged me, and Dad snatched him right up into the air by the back of his pants.”

“Wow. Smooth move.”

“He had lots of practice doing it to Kevin. So Dad held Tanner out at arm’s length and asked Sarge what he recommended. Sarge said he’d take Tanner to help move bricks out front.”

“Bricks?”

“I think Sarge was repairing a garden wall. So Dad set Tanner down, and he came after me again. I tripped him and he went sprawling, but he jumped right back up. I looked at Dad and Sarge and they’re like, ‘Don’t let us stop you.’ So Tanner charged again and I punched him out.”

“Did you knock him cold?”

“No, he was only stunned. Sarge and Dad took him inside to clean up his bloody nose. When Dennis got back from the hospital with Tyler, he packed Tanner up and took him home to Aunt Marilyn that night.”

“Was Tyler okay?”

“Yeah. He had to have about a dozen stitches. Doug carried him around the whole rest of the week and Linda let him eat ice cream every meal.” I grinned, remembering. “Dennis came back in a couple of days and Ty was already spoiled rotten.”

“So you and Tanner have history.”

“Yep. And I don’t mind repeating it.”

Photographs and Memories, part 7

Col. George K. Roberts

Department of the Army

Washington, D.C.

December 30, 1918

Col. Roberts:

An update – I signed my union card last Friday, and will begin work on Thursday. I have been meeting friends and coworkers in the town and have not heard any more than the usual grumblings about safety concerns.

The union is holding its first meeting of the new year one week from tonight.

I think it best if the government withholds any extra compensation for this assignment. I have not told my wife, as it would upset her greatly. Any indication that I was prospering beyond my wage would instantly draw suspicion to myself; I have even taken the precaution of mailing this letter from a nearby town.

If your supervisors wish to reward me in some way, they might see that my daughter receives a college education when the time comes.

Sincerely,

E. R. Jarrell

Racine, West Virginia

 

Saturday, June 18

The rest of the family arrived Friday evening – Dennis’s oldest son, Will, and his girlfriend Hannah; Dennis’s second son, Henry, and his wife Betsy; and Doug’s daughters Shana, Lindsey and Carly and their spouses. They stopped at the house before going to their hotel in town, and we stayed up late, talking and catching up with each other.

I woke to find sunlight streaming through the slats of the blinds in the family room and heard voices outside. Pete was already gone, his pillow and blanket neatly stacked on the corner of the sectional by my head. I crutched to the bathroom then the kitchen, where I could see Henry, Will, Jeff, and Kevin setting up tables in the back yard under Toni’s direction.

Pete was in the kitchen, talking to Val and Kristen. When he saw me he said, “You’re getting pretty good at using those.”

“Gee, thanks. Will you bring some clothes downstairs for me?”

“You bet.” He gave me a salacious look. “I’ll assist in the shower, too.”

Van and Kristen laughed. I said, “Yeah, I bet you will.”

He grinned and headed for the stairs.

Once we were in the shower, Pete didn’t waste any time. He backed me against the wall opposite the spray and started kissing me. I kissed back then broke away. “I hate to spoil this potentially romantic moment, but I can’t stand on one foot for ten minutes.”

He sighed and stepped back. “Yeah, okay. It’s just – we haven’t had a minute alone together since we’ve been here. And we’ve been here for a week.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s that old woman’s fault for stepping on you.”

“She couldn’t help it.”

“I know. I’m just grousing.” Pete began to lather up. “Want me to wash your hair?”

“Nah, I’ll do it.” I dunked my head under the spray and poured a dollop of shampoo, balancing myself on my left foot with the sole of my right foot lightly resting on the shower wall.

Pete said, “You used to have family reunions like this every year?”

“When we were kids, yeah.”

“Wow.”

There was something in Pete’s tone… I said, “Are you feeling overwhelmed?”

“Nah. Well, a little.”

I patted his cheek. “I know we’re a big, noisy group. I’m sorry. And I haven’t seen Shana for eight years. We had some catching up to do.”

“Oh, I know. It’s not that, exactly.” Pete slipped behind me and held my hips for balance while I rinsed my hair.

“What is it, then?”

“Everyone’s been fussing over you. Your aunts have been waiting on you hand and foot. That’s my job.”

I pushed my wet hair out of my face, carefully turned, and kissed Pete. “Aw, Sweet Pete. Toni and Linda are Southern women. You’re gonna have to assert your rights.”

He chuckled. “Okay. I will.”

 

Family Reunion. By Otis M. Mather (Six Generations of Allied Familes (1921)) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Showered, dressed, and my ankle re-wrapped, Pete and I returned to the kitchen. Val, Kristen, and my girl cousins were all at the table, talking to Dad. The conversation stopped when we entered the room. Dad asked, “Do you guys want French toast? Or I can pour you a bowl of cereal.”

I looked around; the kitchen was scrupulously clean. “Cereal’s fine.”

Pete said, “Dave, sit still. I’ll get it.”

I smiled to myself and maneuvered into a seat at the table. “What are y’all talking about?”

Lindsey looked guilty. Carly said innocently, “Nothing. Just catching up with Uncle Dave.”

“Right. Why don’t I believe you?”

Shana said, “Because you know Carly well.”

Everyone laughed. Val said, “We’d better see if Toni needs any help.”

The women scattered. Pete sat down beside me and began to eat. I gave Dad the stink eye. “What were you talking about?”

He grimaced. “My love life. Or lack thereof, to be precise.”

“And?”

He stood up and pushed his chair in. “And I’m going to the cemetery this morning while Toni has all hands on deck. I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Okay.” I watched him go, thinking, Hm.

 

Toni was clearly experienced at entertaining. She handled the preparations for the Lowcountry boil like a drill sergeant. Even Sarge, the career drill sergeant, was impressed. After the tables were set up she chased the males out of the kitchen. She put Linda, Carly, and Val in charge of food, and sent Kevin and Jeff to procure alcoholic beverages.

Pete and I ended up in the family room with my grandfather. He laid aside the newspaper. “Ready for another round of reminiscing?”

“Yes, sir. But can I ask you about something else today?”

“What’s that?”

“My other grandparents. The Colemans. What do you know about them?”

“Mm.” Sarge looked at the ceiling. “Your granddad’s name was Harold, but he went by Hal. He was an accountant.”

“Was he in World War Two?”

“No. He worked for a chemical company which was considered necessary to the war effort, so he kept his job. Besides, he was nearly thirty when the war started, and already married.”

“Did you and he get along?”

“Eventually. At first he didn’t care much for Dave, and I didn’t care much for that.” Sarge grinned. “But he came around. Your grandmother never did.”

“Caroline.”

“Yeah. She was a snotty so and so. Ridiculous for someone from a hick coal town.”

Pete muttered, “Sounds familiar.” His own mother had been a nasty bitch from a hick desert town.

I asked, “How did she raise an awesome person like Mom?”

“Thanks to the Colemans, mostly. Hal grew up on a farm, on the Ohio side of the Ohio River, near a town called Gallipolis. A couple of his brothers still had the farm, and Julie spent a lot of time up there, summers and weekends.” Sarge nodded, reminiscing. “The Colemans were okay. Hal wasn’t a bad guy, but Caroline ran the show.”

“Dad said Mom looked like her.”

“Yeah, Julie favored Caroline. Hal was blond and blue-eyed. Julie had more of his personality, although not entirely. She was her own person.” He smiled. “If your mom had been around, she and Kevin would have butted heads when y’all were teenagers. He is so much like her.”

Pete chuckled at that. I said, “Was she not close to her parents?”

“She and her dad got along fine. Her mother – no. I remember Julie saying once that she loved her mother, but she didn’t like her.”

“Mom wouldn’t have wanted her parents to raise us.”

“That would have been the last thing she wanted.”

“Was there ever a chance of that?”

“Hell, no. No judge would take two toddlers and a baby away from their dad and give them to folks who were nearly seventy.”

Pete asked, “What happened?”

“After the funeral Caroline offered to raise the boys, and Dave sent her packing. A couple of months later she came back to town with a lawyer, who saw our situation and told Caroline he wouldn’t represent her. By the time she found someone who would take the case, it had been a year and a half since the accident, and we were making it work just fine. They called us to come to mediation, and they wanted us to bring you three. I’m carrying you, Dave’s carrying Kevin and has Jeff by the hand. We get into the conference room, and Caroline jumps to her feet and charges Jeff, saying, ‘Oh, you poor thing, come to Grandmother,’ or something like that, and Jeff screams bloody murder. She tries to pick him up and he won’t let go of Dave’s leg, and he won’t stop screaming. Then you start to cry.” Sarge chuckled. “Quite a scene.”

I asked, “Did Jeff ever calm down?”

“Not for a while. Caroline’s lawyer tells her, ‘You said you were close to these kids. This doesn’t look close to me.’ Caroline’s trying to BS the lawyer, Hal’s over in the corner looking miserable, and all the time Jeff’s screaming his head off and you’re crying. Finally Dave sets Kevin down and picks Jeff up and gets him to calm down. The mediator points at Caroline and asks Jeff, ‘Who’s this?’ Jeff was five by then, remember. He says, ‘I don’t know.’ The mediator says, ‘You don’t know this lady?’ Jeff says, ‘NO. And I don’t LIKE her.’”

I laughed. Pete said, “Good for Jeff.”

“Then while Caroline’s arguing with Hal and her lawyer, we hear a clattering sound. We look around, and Kevin’s gotten Caroline’s purse and dumped it upside down on the floor, and he’s sorting through it all. Caroline screeches and yanks Kevin by the arm, hard, and smacks his butt. Kev yells, ‘Ow!’ and hauls off and headbutts Caroline in the knees. Then she slaps him.” All these years later, Sarge was still outraged. “Kev didn’t know what to do. He’d never been treated like that. Dave and I would swat his butt occasionally, but we’d never jerked him around or slapped him.”

“Dad must have been furious at Caroline.”

“Beyond furious. He told her he was going to have her arrested for child abuse, for hitting Kev and nearly yanking his arm out of its socket. Then the mediator said there wasn’t any point in going on. Based on what he’d seen, Caroline wasn’t a fit parent for anyone, much less three active boys who didn’t even recognize her, and he was going to write a report that he would never recommend any level of custody or unsupervised visitation. He said, ‘We’re done here. Sgt. Brodie, you can take your children home.’ Then he left. We gathered you guys up and followed him out.”

“I wonder if Jeff remembers that?”

“He does. We’ve talked about it.”

“Wow. How did Mom come from someone like that?”

Pete said, “How did Tanner come from your aunt and uncle? Kids come with their own personalities. Some kids turn out for better or worse in spite of their parents, not because of them.”

“So how was it that they came to South Carolina to see us? I know that happened a couple of times.”

Sarge said, “First time, you guys were around six, seven and eight. Caroline had written to Dave, asking to see you. He and I talked about it, and decided it would be okay if they came to Beaufort while the whole family was there. They came down with another couple; they’d been on vacation to Myrtle Beach. When they got out of the car you kids were playing in the back yard – you three, Will and Henry, and Doug’s girls. Jeff saw Caroline and ran in the house. He locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out until they left.”

“He remembered, all right.”

“Hell yeah. You and Kevin ignored them. You didn’t have any idea who they were, of course.”

“Kevin didn’t remember getting slapped?”

“He’d forgotten it by then. We sat on the back porch and let them watch you guys play. I guess Caroline had been filling her friend’s ears with tales about how neglected you were. We’d been sitting there for a while and the friend said to Caroline, ‘What did you mean by what you said on the way down here? Because these boys look as healthy and happy as they come.’ Caroline got all red and said they had to go.”

I laughed. “Caroline was a piece of work.”

“Yep. You probably remember the next time you saw them. The last time.”

“I remember you throwing them off the property. I didn’t remember why, but Jeff told me.”

Sarge shook his head. “She was persistent, I’ll give her that.”

“Do you have any idea what they died from?”

“Hal had a stroke. He was a smoker, like your Gramma Brodie. We got a note and a clipping of his obituary from one of his brothers. He was 81. Caroline passed about a year later, from some kind of female cancer. We got another note from Hal’s brother, and he sent us a bunch of pictures that Hal and Caroline had left – some that we’d sent them over the years of you guys, and some of Julie as a kid. Your dad has all that somewhere, I reckon.”

“Thanks, Grampa. So far I’m not having much luck finding out anything about the Jarrells.”

He smiled sympathetically. “A family’s easier to trace when it’s got a castle to its name, I guess.”

Photographs and Memories, part 6

West Virginia in winter. http://www.ForestWander.com [CC BY-SA 3.0 us (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/us/deed.en)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

December 28, 1918

Racine, WV

Dear Wes,

It is wonderful to be home, back among friends and relatives and the snowy mountains. Empires rise and fall, wars are won or lost, but the mountains are eternal.

Caroline loves the little tractor that you sent. I have enclosed a thank-you note from her, in holiday red and green crayon! Yes, my little girl is writing sentences, counting to one hundred, and knows the names of every plant and insect in the woods. She is such a bright little thing. In the evenings we walk together through town and she tells me of her adventures.

I signed my union card yesterday, and will return to work on Thursday. I hear rumors of restlessness in the south of the state, where the union has not yet gained a foothold. All seems peaceful here, however.

Best to Louisa.

Yours,

Emory

 

Friday, June 17

Thursday passed much as Wednesday had, with everyone but Toni and I leaving the house for various destinations. The swelling in my ankle was diminishing slightly, but it still throbbed if I was on my feet for any length of time.

On Friday morning when I got up I crutched into the kitchen. Tyler was there, poring over a large sheet of posterboard with Toni, Kristen and Val. I said, “What are you all doing?”

“Revising the seating chart for the rehearsal dinner.” Tyler showed me. The posterboard had a diagram of a long rectangle – the head table, I supposed – and a large group of circles, representing the tables for the guests. “We were going to have our families seated near the head table, but that won’t work, and we can’t seat Blair’s parents anywhere near each other.”

Val said, “That problem is easily solved. Put the dads on one side and the moms on the other.”

Tyler frowned. “Oh. But that’s not traditional.”

I said, “Do you want tradition or bloodshed?”

Head Table Seating

Toni looked dismayed. Tyler said, “You have a point. Okay. Dad and Toni will be next to me, and Blair’s dad and stepmom will be on the end of my side of the table.”

Val said, “That way, if Blair’s dad misbehaves, Pete and Kevin can extract him more easily.”

Toni said, “My goodness. You make this sound like a military campaign.”

Kristen said, “Aren’t most weddings?”

I said, “Put Blair’s mother and stepfather next to Blair, and Marilyn and Cliff on the far end.”

“Okay.” Tyler wrote in the names. “What about the rest of the family? They were all going to be here.” He indicated the eight tables closest to the head table.

Val said, “How many seats at each table?”

“Eight.”

“And you have twelve groomsmen apiece?”

“Right.”

“So you need six tables for groomsmen and their guests.” Val pointed to the four circles closest to the head table, then two more in the center of the room. “Put the groomsmen at these tables. Will and Henry can be close to you, since they’re among your attendants, and the rest of the family will be separated from the head table by the rest of the groomsmen.”

Tyler brightened. “I like it.” He filled in names. “Okay. Blair is going to want his New York aunt close by.”

“Put her here.” Val pointed.

Finally, we had it sorted in a manner that we hoped would reduce conflict. The Brodies would flank the left side of the room, nearest Tyler. His brothers Will and Henry would be at a table with two other groomsmen and their dates. The next table would hold Sarge, Dad, Doug, Linda, and two sets of Dad’s first cousins who were coming up from South Carolina. Jeff, Val, Kevin, Kristen, Pete, and I would be at the next table, with my cousin Shana from Germany – Doug’s oldest daughter – and her husband Stefan. The next table would hold Doug’s other two daughters, Lindsey and Carly; their husbands, Jake and Mike; and two sets of third cousins, the offspring of Dad’s first cousins.

Blair’s other aunts, uncles and cousins would be arranged along the wall opposite from us, in the formation that Tyler thought would be the least dangerous.

Tyler was happy, chattering to Toni, Val and Kristen about his other groomsmen. I fervently hoped that Tanner wouldn’t show up and wreck Tyler’s happiness.

Rehearsal Dinner Seating

Photographs and Memories, part 5

December 16, 1918

Washington, D.C.

Dear Eula,

Yes, I shall be home well before Christmas. I have one more day of matters to attend to, then I shall be on my way, arriving on the 19th.

Don’t let Mother fret you. I certainly shall join the union when I return. Your friend Isabel is right; it is the only chance we have at a better life.

All my love to Caroline.

Emory

 

Wednesday, June 15 (cont.)

After dinner everyone gathered around me and my elevated ankle in the family room, adult beverages in our hands. Linda asked, “Denny, have you met Tyler’s in-laws yet?”

“No.” Dennis took a sip of his Jack Daniels. “Neither has Ty.”

I tried to picture the family that had produced Blair, and couldn’t. Doug said, “They’ll be at the rehearsal dinner, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” Denny shook his head. “The boys have twelve attendants each, if you can imagine that.”

There was a general murmur of disbelief. Dad said, “Are you paying for the dinner?”

“Half. Marilyn and Cliff paid the other half. Ty and Blair are paying for the entire wedding themselves. It must be costing them a fortune. Seems like a waste, all that money for one day.” He gestured at Pete and me with his glass. “They could have done it like you did. You’re just as married as they’ll be.”

Pete grinned. “Cheapest wedding ever.”

We all fell silent for a minute. I’d taken a pain pill and was starting to get dozy when the doorbell rang.

Dennis got up. “Who the hell’s that?”

Doug said, “Not expecting anyone?”

“No.” Dennis went to the door. I heard him speak to someone, then he returned. “Hey, everyone, it’s Groom One.”

Tyler flopped into a chair. “Hi, gang.” He looked unhappy.

Toni said, “Tyler, can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, God, yes. Wine, please. I don’t care what kind.”

Toni went to the kitchen. Dennis said, “What’s going on?”

“Blair’s family has descended. I had to get away from them.” Tyler shuddered. “They’re awful.”

I said, “Awful how?”

“Loud. Tacky. From Ohio or Iowa or one of those places. And his parents loathe each other, and both sets of parents showed up at the same time.”

Toni returned with a full wine glass and the bottle in a cooler. Tyler said, “Thanks, Toni.” He downed a healthy portion. “Blair didn’t think his father would come. He hasn’t even spoken to his father in over a year. We sent them an invitation just to be nice, and they didn’t RSVP. You can’t exactly say on an invitation, ‘Please don’t come,’ can you?”

Pete said mildly, “It’s not standard procedure, no.”

Dad asked, “Had you not met them before?”

“I’d met one of his aunts. She lives in Manhattan. She’s normal. The rest of them are -” Tyler shook his head. “There is no adequate word.”

Val said, “Did you just leave?“

“Of course not. I told Blair I had to get out. He asked if he could come too. I said yes, but of course he couldn’t.”

I said, “They’re not staying with you, are they?”

“No, thank God. They’re at the hotel where we’re holding the rehearsal dinner.” Tyler sighed deeply. “I told Blair to text me when they left.”

Jeff said, “The rehearsal dinner oughta be a blast.”

Tyler drained his glass and filled it again. “Don’t even remind me. We have to modify the seating charts. All we need now is Tanner.”

I groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t send him an invitation just to be nice.”

“No, duh.” Tyler slugged back another mouthful of wine. “I wouldn’t know where to send it.”

Dad looked concerned. “You don’t know where he is?”

Dennis said, “No. About ten months ago his roommates threw him out. Marilyn and Cliff said he could stay with them until he found a job. He stole one of Cliff’s vintage guitars to pawn, so they told him to leave. That was six months ago. We don’t know where he went. No one’s heard from him.”

Kevin said, “I’m sure he’s alive. They’d notify you otherwise.”

Toni made an expression of distaste. Linda saw it and raised an eyebrow at Kevin. “That’s a cheery thought.”

“Sorry.”

Dennis said, “Kevin’s right. I’m sure he’s fine. With any luck he’s in a nice warm jail somewhere.”

Kevin said, “I can find out, if you want.”

Tyler said, “Please do. I’d feel better, knowing that he couldn’t show up.”

“On it.” Kevin picked up his phone. When the other person answered he said, “Hey. You still at the shop?”

He must have called Jon, who must have said yes. “I need you to find out if someone is incarcerated anywhere in the country. Tanner Brodie. Yeah, the black sheep cousin. Date of birth…” He looked at Dennis.

“August 2, 1982.”

Kevin said to Jon, “8-2-82. I’ll wait. We’re at my uncle’s. Tanner’s brother is the groom and he’s afraid Tanner will show up. You been busy? Where? Jeez, what is wrong with people? Ugh. No? Okay, thanks, pard. Bye.” He hung up. “Tanner’s not in jail. Sorry.”

Tyler sighed. “Too much to hope for.” He’d slowed down his drinking pace; the wine must have been calming him. He swirled it in his glass, studying it. “I shouldn’t even tell you all this.”

Toni looked alarmed. Dennis said, “Tell us what?”

Draft card burning 1967. By Universal News (http://www.archive.org/details/CEP531) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

“Blair’s father was a draft dodger.”

Dad, Dennis and Sarge all shot looks at each other. Doug said, “Did he go to Canada?”

“Yeah. He’s proud of it.” Tyler looked at my dad, pleading. “Uncle Dave, I’m afraid he’s gonna make you mad.”

Dad said gently, “He can’t say anything worse than I heard when I got back from Vietnam. I won’t react.”

Kevin and Pete looked at each other, a look I recognized, a look I was certain they’d perfected during the years they were partners in the LAPD. The look said, We’ll handle this.

Jeff caught the look too. “Ty, I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“I don’t know. If Blair tries to make him be quiet by telling him that I’m from a military family – who knows what he’ll do?”

I said, “Ask Blair not to tell him that. What’s his father look like?”

Tyler made a face. “Short man syndrome. Little dick, big mouth.” He slapped his hand across his own mouth, eyes wide. “Oh, God, Toni, I’m sorry.”

Toni looked amused. “No need to apologize, Tyler. It’s a stressful time.”

Kevin asked, “Is he a scrawny little guy?”

“Yeah. Bald in front and a ponytail in back. Only wears Hawaiian shirts.” Ty scowled. “He was at Woodstock. He’s proud of that, too. You’d think he’d be a cool guy but he’s too obnoxious to be cool.”

Doug said, “Obnoxiousness is no respecter of ideology.”

Val said, “I’m gonna embroider that onto a pillow.”

That got everyone laughing. We were all still snickering when Tyler’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and said, “They’re gone. I can go home.”

Dennis said, “You can’t drive. I’ll take you.”

“Okay.” Tyler stood, a bit unsteadily. “G’night, everybody.”

Photographs and Memories, part 4

November 11, 1918

Near Lachalade, France

Dear Wes,

At last! Victory is ours. As you can imagine, the date of our departure from these shores is not yet firm, but I hope to be home by the end of the year. I must stop in Washington D.C. first, to receive my discharge and my instructions for my new assignment.

I am so anxious to see my little Caroline, and how she has grown in the past twenty months. Eula has been less than rigorous about sending photos. No matter; I shall soon see her in person.

I hope to see you soon as well! Perhaps we can resume our monthly lunch meetings in Huntington.

Best, as always, to Louisa.

Yours,

Emory

Brodie Village, Scotland. Richard Slessor [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Wednesday, June 15

My ankle was throbbing and kept waking me up during the night. I felt bad about it, but was forced to wake Pete up once to obtain fresh ice packs. He immediately fell back into sleep, but I didn’t.

I finally decided that if I was going to be awake, I might as well be productive. Pete had brought my computer bag downstairs with his pillow and blanket. I picked out a couple of books on the Picts – background for a book I was writing – and began to read and take notes, using my book clip light so I wouldn’t wake Pete.

At some point I must have fallen asleep, because I woke to the sound of the front door closing and approaching footsteps. The footsteps turned toward the kitchen; the fridge opened and closed, then whoever it was headed my way. My book light had turned itself off; I turned it back on so whoever it was would be alerted to my presence.

Dad walked through the door, a bottle of water in his hand, and stopped. He whispered, “Hey, sport. Couldn’t sleep?”

“No. I thought I’d get some work done. What’s going on?”

“I couldn’t sleep either. I went to the front porch and sat for a while. How are you feeling?”

“Meh. My ankle’s throbbing.”

“You need more ice?”

“Yes, please.”

I heard the coffee maker start. People would be getting up soon. Dad rubbed his face. “I’ll get your ice, then I’m gonna take a shower. Do you need anything else?”

“No, thanks.”

I watched Dad leave the room. I didn’t think insomnia was a usual occurrence for him.

I wondered what was on his mind.

 

The plan for the day had been to visit Rock Creek Park and the National Zoo. I’d been to both – I’d been almost everywhere in the area already – and didn’t mind missing the visit, but I wanted Pete to go.

I had some trouble convincing him, but finally won. Pete looked at me worriedly. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. I’ve already seen everything you’re going to see.”

“You haven’t seen the baby panda.”

“I’ll watch him on Panda Cam. I’m going to get a ton of research done today. Scram.”

He scrammed, trailing Jeff, Val, Kevin, Kristen, and Dad out the door.

 

As Toni and I had lunch together, I told her stories of Dennis’s sons as kids and she told me about the first time she met my grandfather, who initially terrified her. She glanced at the clock. “Speaking of your grandfather, Doug and Linda should be…”

Her sentence was cut off by the doorbell. I laughed. “Right on time.”

I followed Toni to the door on crutches. She opened the front door and was engulfed in a hug by Linda, who stepped back and looked at me in surprise. “Jamie? What on earth happened?”

“I got knocked off a curb and sprained my ankle yesterday. Hi, Grampa.”

My grandfather came in and Toni closed the door as Doug said, “You’re okay?”

“Yeah. It’s not broken. Just a bad sprain.”

Sarge put his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get off our feet, then.”

We went to the family room; Toni took requests for food and drink, and she and Linda disappeared into the kitchen then returned with sandwiches. After lunch Linda went outside with Toni to discuss the flower garden, and Doug went upstairs to unpack and take a nap. I was going to use the opportunity of having my grandfather to myself to glean some of his Brodie family knowledge. I set my phone to record and said to Sarge, “Grampa, you ready?”

“You bet.”

I turned on the recorder. “So you remember your grandfather? Alexander Brodie, right?”

“I remember him well.” My grandfather grinned. “He was a character.”

“And Gramma’s grandfather?”

“James Douglas. My grandpa Alex’s best friend.”

“Why did they come to the States?”

“They were both the youngest sons in their families. They had no prospects. You couldn’t buy a piece of farmland in Scotland in the late 1800s, it was all owned by titled landowners. They could either move to a city to work in a factory, join the British army, or go into the mines. They wanted to farm. So they came to a place where that was possible.”

“How old were they when they emigrated?”

“Nineteen.”

“Where did they go?”

“A distant Brodie cousin owned a small plantation in Franklin County, North Carolina. After the Civil War his slaves left and he needed help working his land. Once Alex and James landed on American shores, they made their way to Franklin County and worked for the cousin. They married local girls from Highland families and eventually earned enough to each buy their own small piece of property.”

I whistled softly. “A Brodie owned slaves?”

“A distant cousin. I’ve read about that on the computer.”

“Did Grandpa Alex talk about the Brodie family?”

Brodie Castle. By Topbanana at English Wikipedia [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

“Sure. He always said we came from a long line of younger sons. His great-grandfather was a younger brother of the 21st Brodie of Brodie, and a direct descendant on his mother’s side of the 14th clan chief. And -” Sarge grinned. “One one of the maternal sides, we’re descended from Robert the Bruce.”

I laughed. “Of course we are. But speaking of the Brodies of Brodie – I’ve seen the pictures in the castle. All of them were dark-haired. Where did our blond come from?”

“I don’t know, but my grandfather was blond. I always figured there was a Viking in the woodpile somewhere along the way.”

Sarge told the story of how Alex and James left the plantation and moved to South Carolina – they wanted to live by the sea – and about family traditions that had come down through the generations. He finished a story about how his parents met and gave me a sharp look. “You look tired. Bet you didn’t sleep well.”

“No, sir.”

He slapped my knee and stood. “I’m gonna hit the head.”

Linda had been in the kitchen discussing something with Toni; now she came in and sat down beside me. “How do you feel? You look tired.”

“Sarge just said that. I am tired.”

“You should take a nap before the others get back.”

“Good idea.” I crutched to the bathroom then back to my nest, turned off my phone and fell asleep.

 

Photographs and Memories, part 3

October 3, 1918

Near Lachalade, France

Dear Wes,

We are in an area called the Argonne Forest, and the fighting is fierce. I believe this may be the Germans’ last stand, but as yet they show no signs of believing that themselves.

I was approached last evening by my commanding officer. Apparently someone in the ranks, I cannot imagine who, has made several absurd and scurrilous accusations against me. I soundly refuted the ridiculous charges, of course; they are based on nothing. However, as a result, my commander has strongly urged me to accept a commission from Army Intelligence once I return to the mines, which will do away with the need for further investigation of these anonymous accusations and guarantee my honorable discharge. I feel compelled to accept.

I never doubted that you would succeed in the classroom! You are certainly deserving of your students’ respect, not only for your subject knowledge but for your war service.

Best to Louisa.

Yours,

Emory

Tuesday, June 14

Our plan for the day was to visit the war memorials on the National Mall, grab lunch, then wander up to the White House and the Ellipse. In spite of it being a weekday, the city was swarming with tourists. We’d left the Mall and were standing on a corner, waiting for a “walk” signal, when a tour group crowded in behind us.

An elderly lady was standing beside me. The tour group behind us began jockeying for position and, in doing so, knocked into her. She flailed, about to fall off the curb into traffic. I grabbed for her, stepping off the curb with my right foot as I did so, just as she stumbled off the curb. Her right foot caught mine just above the ankle, and she braced her entire weight against my leg to catch herself.

My right ankle rolled from the strain, and I began to fall.

Pete grabbed me. The old lady went down, fortunately landing on the curb rather than in the street. A couple of people cried out, and gathered around to help her. The light changed, and the tour group surged around us, a couple of other people treading on my foot and ankle as they passed.

Pete said, “Are you okay?”

“No.” I tried to put weight on my ankle. “Fuck.”

The old lady was helped up and brushed off. She seemed unharmed. She and her party scuttled across the street. Jeff, Val, Kevin, Kristen, and Dad had crossed the street, unaware of my injury. Pete and I were left on the corner, which was now relatively thinly populated.

He moved to my right side and braced me. “Let’s move back against a building.”

I hobbled and hopped across the sidewalk, my ankle screaming in pain every time I bore weight on it. Pete steadied me against a brick wall and knelt down to examine my ankle. He said, “Can you move it up and down?”

I tried. “Sort of.”

He stood up. “I’ll call 911.”

“No, no – can’t we just go to an urgent care?”

“In downtown D.C.? Do you know where one is?”

“Of course not.”

“I didn’t think so.” He dialed. As he was talking to the dispatcher, the rest of the family realized they’d lost us, and came back across the street.

Kevin said, unnecessarily in my opinion, “You need to get that elevated.”

“No shit. See a park bench anywhere?”

He looked around. “Uh -”

Pete had already given our location to the dispatcher, so there wasn’t any point in moving. I stood still and tried to refrain from swearing. I wasn’t successful.

The ambulance arrived in less than five minutes. I gratefully climbed onto the stretcher. One of the paramedics took my shoe and sock off, and whistled appreciatively at my eggplant-colored, spaghetti squash-sized ankle. “Let’s get some ice on that, then you need an X-ray.”

By U.S. Navy photo by Chief Warrant Officer 4 Seth Rossman. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

They took me to the George Washington University Hospital emergency room, only a few blocks away. The ER was bedlam. Fortunately, the staff were efficient. An X-ray showed that my ankle wasn’t broken. The doctor diagnosed a severe sprain. He prescribed rest, ice, compression and elevation, wrapped my ankle tightly, and gave me an extra Ace bandage, a pair of crutches and samples of painkillers. Dad called Denny, who came to pick us up.

Denny called ahead to alert Toni. When we got to the house I appreciated the full force of Toni’s Southern hospitality. She had built a nest for me on one of the sofas in the family room, with pillows and blankets, and was waiting with ice packs. “What else do you need? Something to eat?”

“Yes, please.” We’d missed lunch, thanks to my injury.

Toni bustled away. I took a pain pill and settled back against the pillows with a sigh. Jeff asked, “How are you?”

“Better.” I smiled weakly at him. “Sorry about the abrupt ending to our day out.”

Val waved that off. “Forget it. We’ve got all week.”

A few minutes later Toni appeared, bearing a tray with soup, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a glass of chocolate milk. “Your dad made the sandwich, so it’s just the way you like it.”

“Thank you, Toni. This is awesome.”

She patted my shoulder. “You relax, now, and if you want anything, send one of your minions here.”

We all laughed at that. Toni had just scored points with the Brodie gang.

 

At bedtime I hobbled into the guest bathroom to brush my teeth. Pete had brought my toothbrush and paste downstairs; now he hovered behind me. “You can’t get up the stairs, can you?”

“Not tonight.”

“Should we move into the downstairs bedroom?” There was one first-floor bedroom suite in the house.

“No. My grandfather needs to stay there. He shouldn’t be going up and down the stairs either. You’ll just have to shuttle my stuff up and down for me for a couple of days.”

Pete looked unhappy. “I don’t want to sleep without you for two weeks.”

“It won’t be two weeks. In a few days I should be able to get up and down the steps slowly.” I spit and rinsed. “You can sleep on the other end of the sectional, if you want. At least our heads would be together. We can have pillow talk.” The family room sectional sofa formed a large L against two of the walls.

“Do you think Toni would mind?”

“Why would she? As long as we clean up every morning.”

He laughed. “And by we, you mean me.”

“Until I can bear weight, yeah. Sorry.”

“I was just teasing.” He kissed the back of my neck. “I’ll go get my pillow and the blanket from our bed.”

Photographs and Memories, part 2

August 15, 1918    

Near Amiens, France

Dear Eula,

It pains me to hear of your difficulties. As you remember, I was drafted into the Army; staying behind to work in the mines was not an option.

In any case, I believe the war will be over by the end of this year. Whether that will improve our financial situation is uncertain. I rather think not, as the demand for coal will surely decrease and all of the other miners-turned-soldiers will be returning to the coal fields, looking for work. Wages will fall, including those of Joe White, and you will no longer have to be concerned with Mary White’s new hats.

All my love to Caroline.

Emory

 

Monday, June 13

On Sunday Dad, Denny, Jeff, Val and Kristen went to the Smithsonian. Pete and I stayed at the house, huddled together on the sofa, watching the news from Orlando. Kevin was beside us, texting back and forth with Jon – who was in uniform on the street as part of LAPD’s support for the LA Pride Parade – about the guy caught in Santa Monica with explosives, possibly intending to target the parade.

All of our friends would be at the Pride parade – Ali and Mel, Neil and Mark, Aaron and Paul, Lance and Justin, Elliott and Stewart, my mates on the rugby team, even Scott and Ethan. If we’d been at home, we’d have been there too.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

On Monday we had to get out of the house. All of us went back to the Smithsonian in the morning. After lunch we split up. Dad, Jeff, Kevin and I headed for the Library of Congress, and Pete, Val, and Kristen went to the Museum of American History. We’d meet back at the house.

My cousin Tyler’s fiancé, Blair Gorham, was a librarian at the LoC, working in the photo digitization department. I’d made an appointment with him for 2:30, to see what he could tell us about the coal miners’ photo. First, we stopped at the exhibition to see the picture itself.

The sign by the photo said, Mountain Air Coal Mine, Racine, West Virginia, 1921. It was enlarged to twice its size, and therefore easier to see the men’s faces. I checked my watch – it was late morning at home – and texted my coworker Sheila, who hadn’t seen the exhibit yet. At the LoC. Picture enlarged 2x. Your grandfather looks good.

Ha, thanks! Do you know if Jarrell is your relative yet?

Not yet.

Public domain photo from Library of Congress

Dad stood back several feet and studied the man labeled Jarrell. Kevin asked, “What do you think?”

“There is definitely resemblance.” Dad squinted at the picture. “Wish he wasn’t wearing that hard hat.”

When I’d seen the picture on my computer screen a few weeks ago, Jarrell’s stance had struck me as familiar. The other miners were standing stiffly posed for the picture; Jarrell was more relaxed, his hands in his pockets, his weight on one leg, the other leg turned at a slight angle.

My dad was standing with his arms crossed, both feet planted evenly on the floor, studying the picture. He glanced from the picture to me, and chuckled.

I said, “What?”

“You’re standing just like Mr. Jarrell in the picture.”

“I am?” I was. My hands were in my pockets, my weight on my left leg, my right foot pointed at an angle.

No wonder Jarrell’s stance had looked familiar.

Kevin looked back and forth between the picture and me. “Weird.”

Jeff said, “You’re subconsciously imitating what you see. Let’s go find Blair.”

 

I’d only encountered Blair a couple of times, and had formed the impression that he was a fussily neat person. I was wrong. His office was a mess. Stacks of books, folders and photos were everywhere. There wasn’t an inch of surface visible.

When I darkened his door he didn’t look up. “I told you I’d…” He did look up then. “Oh. It’s you.”

Typical Blair – Mr. Personality. I said, “Hi. Ready for next week?”

He snorted. “If Tyler had his way, I wouldn’t be here this week. He’s booked us solid with pre-wedding events. I told him he only had a week from me. I don’t get enough vacation time to take a month off before or after the wedding.”

That was the longest speech I’d ever heard from Blair. I said, “Do I sense a teensy bit of pre-wedding tension?”

“He’s your cousin. What do you think?”

Behind me, my dad chuckled. Blair said, “Anyway. You’re here about one of the exhibition photos.”

“Right. I have it here.” I held my phone out to him with the picture displayed.

He studied it then handed it back to me. “Do you know where this is?”

“Boone County, West Virginia. According to the exhibit it’s the Mountain Air Coal Mine.”

He typed then said, “Here it is. I’ll print the record.”

His machine whirred and spit out two pages. The record contained the exact date and the first and last names of the pictured men. The Jarrell man’s full name was Emory R. Jarrell.

Jeff said, “Emory Jarrell. Dad, does that sound familiar?”

“No. Julie didn’t know her grandfather’s first name.”

The name was unusual enough that I should at least be able to track down census information, and find out if my grandmother Caroline was Emory’s daughter – but I didn’t have much to go on. I knew that my Coleman grandparents were about ten years older than my dad’s father, who was born in 1924. The 1920 census might be a good place to start.

Dad said, “Thank you, Blair. We appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

We went back to the exhibit. Jeff said, “Can you look it up now? See if that’s him?”

“I can try.” I opened a browser on my phone and went to the Familysearch genealogy website. I looked first for a record for my grandmother, estimating that she was born in or around 1914, and after a few false starts, found it.

There wasn’t much information connected to Caroline’s record, but it did list her parents. Caroline Mae Jarrell was born July 17, 1914, to Emory Ralph Jarrell and Eula Mae Ball.

I said, “This might be her.”

Kevin took the phone from me and studied the screen, then handed it to Jeff. Jeff looked then passed it on to Dad, who said, “Her middle name was Mae and her birthday was in July. It must be her.”

I saved the record to my account and we studied the photo again. Having evidence that the man might be our great-grandfather put an entirely different spin on the picture.

Emory Jarrell was dressed similarly to all the other miners, most of whom stared grimly into the camera. Emory, though, had a faint smile on his face, like he’d been laughing just before the picture was taken.

He looked like someone I’d enjoy knowing.

I wondered how much longer he’d lived.

Photographs and Memories, part 1

August 15, 1918         

Near Amiens, France

Dear Wes,

There is good news on the war front! We continue to push the Germans back. Morale among the men is higher than I have yet seen. There is an unspoken sense that the end of this terrible conflict might be in sight.

Please do not worry about me. Having made it through until now, I feel confident that I will come home alive and well.

Congratulations on your appointment! “Professor of Agricultural Science, University of Kentucky.” It sounds quite grand.

Best to Louisa.

Yours,

Emory

The Navy Honor Guard fires a volley as part of a 21-gun salute at the Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Va. Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.

 

Saturday, June 11, 2016

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

The sound of a gun salute echoed through the morning fog that feathered the hills of Arlington National Cemetery. Somewhere on the grounds, some soldier – or sailor, Marine or airman – was being laid to rest.

I turned my attention back to the marker in front of me.

JULIE C

BRODIE

RN BSN

LCDR

US NAVY

VIETNAM

DEC 2 1949

NOV 17 1980

Beside me, Pete re-folded the map he’d been studying. “This is a gorgeous setting.”

It was a lovely site, with trees scattered around, deep enough in the cemetery to feel tranquil, separated enough from the tourist traffic to feel secluded. I said, “I wish it wasn’t so far from home.”

“Your dad didn’t consider one of California’s cemeteries?”

“Not at the time. Being buried at Arlington is an honor. Besides, my grandparents were still living, and this was much closer for them.”

Footsteps sounded behind us, and I turned to see Jeff, Val, Kevin, and Kristen approaching. Kristen had never been to Arlington before; Kevin had been showing her the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and other sites of interest. Now they stopped, Kevin and Kristen on my left and Jeff and Val to Pete’s right, and contemplated Mom’s headstone.

We stood quietly for a few moments, then Kristen said, “Pete? Val? Why don’t we see more of the cemetery?”

I smiled; Kristen was giving Jeff, Kevin and me some time alone. Val understood. “Good idea. We’ll be back soon.”

They wandered away, consulting Pete’s map. The three of us stood for a minute, then Jeff lowered himself next to the marker. “Hi, Mom.”

I bit my lip and sat down beside him. Jeff was the only one of us that had vague memories of Mom; he’d been nearly three when she was killed in a car accident.

Kevin sat on my other side. We said nothing for a few minutes. Eventually I asked, “Do you all ever dream about her?”

Jeff said, “Hardly ever.”

Kevin said, “Maybe once a year, I dream about the accident. I’m the first cop on the scene, and she’s reaching out to me, and I can’t get her out of the car.”

“Oh, Kev.” I wrapped my arm around his shoulders. “I had no idea.”

“I know that’s not the way it happened, that she was killed instantly – but you can’t help your dreams, right?”

“No.” I rested my chin on Kevin’s shoulder for a moment. “How long have you had them?”

“Since the academy.” He snuffled, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Jeff chuckled. “Sarge would have your hide if he saw you do that.”

Kevin smiled. “I know.” He took a long, shuddering breath and composed himself. “Do you dream about her?”

I said, “Yeah. But they’re good dreams. Usually I’m sitting on the beach, and she comes and sits beside me, and I tell her stuff.”

Kevin’s expression was bleak. “I’d like that.”

I gave him another one-armed hug and let go. “Do you remember our grandparents?”

He grunted. “I remember Sarge throwing them off his property.”

“I remember that argument, but I don’t remember why it happened.”

Jeff said, “I do. I had a broken arm. Remember when I fell out of the tree in the Fortners’ back yard? Kev was scuffed up from a collision at home plate in Little League, and you’d just started playing youth rugby and had bruises all over. Our grandmother saw that and went ballistic. She told Dad she was suing for custody again.”

“I know that was the last time we saw them.”

Jeff said, “I doubt we’d have seen much of them if Mom had lived. Remember the video I made, where Mom says her mother is full of shit?”

I chuckled. “Yeah. You think she wasn’t close to her parents?”

“I have that impression, though I’m not sure why.”

Kevin said, “If she had been, Dad would have made an effort to keep them in our lives. I bet she’d have been thoroughly pissed to know that they tried to take us away from Dad.”

Jeff smiled grimly. “You know it.”

We sat for a while longer. Kevin slowly traced the engravings on the marker with his finger. I looked around at the trees and flowers and felt at peace.

 

We were in Virginia for two purposes. First, we were going to the Library of Congress for an exhibit. In honor of the 95th anniversary of the Battle of Blair Mountain, a 1921 skirmish between coal miners and mine operators in Boone County, West Virginia, the library was displaying a collection of photos of people and places in the area from the time around the battle. I’d seen one of the pictures incidentally, in the office of my fellow UCLA librarian Sheila Meadows; Sheila’s grandfather was pictured. Each man’s name was handwritten on the picture at the man’s feet. One of the names was Jarrell.

I knew that my mom’s maternal grandfather was a Jarrell who’d been a coal miner in West Virginia. I knew nothing else except that he’d died young. I hoped to get more information about the picture and to learn Jarrell’s first name. If I had his first name and approximate age, I might be able to find records that would show whether or not he was a relative.

Our second purpose was a Brodie family reunion, culminating in my cousin Tyler’s big, fat, gay wedding at the Army-Navy Country Club in two weeks. All of my cousins were coming, even the one in Germany. No one was bringing their kids. Jeff and Val had left my nephews with Val’s parents. We were free to have all the adult fun we could stand.

We were staying at my Uncle Dennis’s house in McLean. Denny’s fourth wife, Toni, had only met my branch of the family once, at Pete’s and my wedding, but had graciously opened her home to the horde. Toni, a petite Southern belle, didn’t know quite what to make of Val or Kristen, both of whom towered over her and, without the dampening influence of my nephews, swore as much as any of us guys.

 

After about fifteen more minutes Kevin stood, grabbed my hand and hauled me to my feet. “It’s time to go.” We were meeting Dennis at the Pentagon Metro station. He was going to give us a personalized tour of the Pentagon, his workplace.

As if on cue, Pete, Val and Kristen materialized at the edge of the grass. We joined them and walked away; I cast one final glance at Mom’s grave.

We’d come back before we left town.

Coming tomorrow! Free serialized novella!

Remember that originally Jamie Brodie #13 was going to be a full-length book called Pictured to Death? Well, that book has undergone a metamorphosis into a novella called Photographs and Memories, and it will be FREE, here on the blog, in serialized format beginning tomorrow. There are 15 segments.

Jamie and his family go to Washington, D.C., for a family reunion and cousin Tyler’s wedding. While there, Jamie hopes to solve the mystery of the photo of coal miners he saw in his friend Sheila Meadows’s office. Is the miner named Jarrell a relative?

There will also be a few songs – not an entire soundtrack, but a few selections – that appear over at the Facebook page on the days with which they correspond. http://www.facebook.com/JamieBrodieMysteries

Enjoy!!

Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons