Chapter 4
He decided to stay for a while, discover what he could, see things, talk to people and dig up whatever history about his family he could find.
The night of the funeral he’d asked his dad if that was all right. He got a resounding, “Yes.” Before they’d gone to bed that night his dad had said to him, “It’s so good to have you here, son, please stay as long as you want.” Jonathan figured he’d start in his own house. He knew they had photo albums and family stuff in the cellar. What better place to start exploring?
The cellar had always doubled as a tornado shelter, which they had fortunately never needed, but he knew it held some intriguing history.
His dad had left for work, so down to the cellar he went. It ran under about half the house with an outside entrance down some old wooden stairs, with a hatch cover door. There was light in the cellar, but he took a flashlight anyway. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been down here, but it looked exactly as he remembered it. Surprisingly, there was his old shotgun, covered in dust and cobwebs, standing back in the corner, where he’d put it after the cow incident. Matt’s gun was gone. There were old bikes, pots and pans piled in old wooden crates, a couple of mattresses, an old black and white television set, and there sitting on an old wooden table, the treasure he was looking for. Cardboard boxes neatly wrapped in tape - the photo albums. He decided to take them upstairs to his room where he could sort through them in better light. There were four fairly large boxes, which took a couple of trips.
He picked the first box off the pile and cut it neatly open. There were some old newspaper clippings, and the photo albums he sought. The pages were brittle, and as he turned them, the pictures began to slide and fall out. They’d been glued in and the adhesive had turned to powder. Sadly, most of the pictures hadn’t been labeled. He recognized some of the people in them, and some he didn’t. He thought he’d sort them out in those two categories, recognized and unrecognized. He could then sit down with his dad and go through them.
It took him several hours, but he loved every minute of it. It was remarkable to see his dad when he was young, Fran and Sam when they were younger and there, possibly the most treasured of all, his mom. His dad was right, she was beautiful. Regrettably, there were so few of her. She was only twenty-one years old when she died. It suddenly hit him, how as he and Matt had come into the world…she had departed.
It took his breath away for a moment. He’d been right there when she died. Surprisingly, in all these years he’d never really thought about it, now it seemed overwhelming. He set the pictures down and lay back on his bed. He was suddenly tired and depressed. All he could think about was that thirty-one years ago next month, his mom died in the same room he was born in. He drifted off to sleep and dreamt of angels.
He awoke to a rapping noise. It sounded like it was coming from Matt’s room. He sat up on the bed and listened more carefully. No, not Matt’s room but on the backside of the house. He looked out the back window, and there sitting in Bertha was a large woodpecker. He raised the window and yelled out, “Hey, get out of our tree.” The woodpecker jerked his head around, stared at Jonathan for a second then flew away. He laughed out loud, closed the window and sat down to finish sorting the pictures. It took him several more hours and he finished up just about the time his dad got home from work. He heard him come in the door and ran downstairs to meet him. After dinner his dad agreed to sit down and go over some of the pictures with him.
Jonathan had put all the pictures of his mom in a separate pile. He figured his dad didn’t need to see those. It would be too painful. They started with all the people he didn’t know. They were mostly great grandparents, uncles, aunts, nieces, and nephews. His dad knew some things about some of them and very little about others. Still in all, Jonathan found it fascinating. They went at it for over an hour and Jonathan could see his dad was getting tired and needed to take a break. “Hey, is Sorenson’s malt shop still open?” Jonathan asked. “My treat, I’ll take you for a malt.”
“Sure, but I’ll buy,” his dad said eagerly. After a brief skirmish about who was going to pay, Jonathan won and off they went. He used to ride his bike down to the shop and it seemed like a very long way. Now, in the car they were there in a few minutes. The shop had changed some, but the malts hadn’t. There was a certain comfort in that. His dad got his usual chocolate, and Jonathan his all time favorite, cherry-vanilla. They sat and chatted at the counter, just like old times. He was starting to see his dad in a new light; more open, able to talk about things that had been uncomfortable in the past. They finished off their flavorsome malts and drove back to the house. As they parted ways at the top of the stairs Jonathan turned to his dad, “Dad I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying being here with you, and having you help me discover my past.”
“Oh, I think I know. You see I’m enjoying it as much as you are.” He smiled, turned and went into his room.
It must have been the sugar in the malt, because Jonathan found himself wired, wanting to stay up and continue on his quest. He’d gotten through one and a half boxes and had about two and a half to go. Some of these people were looking a little more familiar. He recognized them, but really didn’t know much about them. He began to sort according to; ‘thought he knew,’ ‘sort of knew,’ ‘didn’t have a clue.’ He was halfway through the last box when he looked up and saw it was three in the morning. He needed to sleep. He rolled over and was out in an instant. Tomorrow he was going scouting.
He heard his dad downstairs making breakfast. He could smell the pancakes and bacon. It was too much. He was out of bed and in the kitchen in seconds. "Morning dad. How’d you sleep?”
“Good son, how about you?”
“Pretty good. I stayed up till around three going through those pictures. They really are interesting. Maybe, if you have some time tonight we can go through some of them…again.”
“You bet. I have to work till around five, then we can have some dinner and get back at it.” His dad put some cakes and bacon down in front of him and sat down at the table. “You know Jonathan, I find this very interesting.”
“What?”
“Your new-found fascination with your family. What prompted this?”
“I don’t know, maybe Fran’s death, maybe the realization of how precious life is, or maybe it was just time. I don’t know dad, but I’ll tell you one thing, I’m glad I have a chance to do this.”
“Me too, son, because I think it’s going to be healing for both of us." He glanced at his watch. "Well, I’d better get going, but I’ll see you tonight.” As he left, Jonathan watched him walk out the door. He’d always taken his dad for granted – never again.
He finished up his breakfast and decided he’d go over to Fran’s house. There were still some relatives staying there for a few days, to clean up personal matters, and he was hoping to spend a little time talking to them. He figured he might not have this chance again. Fran’s old house was just off of Sixth and Cedar. It was a great old two-story brick house with an enclosed front and back porch, and a big yard that went up in the back and had tiered flowerbeds surrounded by thick bushes. He and Matt used to have great war games up there. When they were little and spent the night they could always hear Fannie coming up the stairs. The floors would squeak and creek, which gave them time to act like they were asleep. She’d tiptoe in, check them and always make sure they were covered up and warm! Looking back, Jonathan could see how much she loved them. Sweet memories, left longing.
As he climbed the porch steps he could hear laughing and talking from inside. It was a warm fall day and for some strange reason the world seemed so… serene.
He opened the screen door, it screeched just like his dad’s, it must be a family thing, he thought. They were all glad to see him, Aunt Tilley, Uncle Chuck, and several local townspeople who knew Fran. They were all having don
uts and coffee. Aunt Tilley ran up, gave him a big hug and asked him to come sit and talk for a while. This was just what he hoped would happen. They were very content to talk about all the old times, old friends, the good old days. The more he listened, the more he thought, maybe they're right. The one person he really wanted to talk to was Uncle Chuck. Chuck had made an impression on him at the service with his honesty and sincerity. After several cups of coffee, and a few trips to the restroom, he got him cornered in the dining room. It was just the two of them.
“Uncle Chuck…”
“Jonathan, why don’t you call me what everyone else does, C.G.?”
“Okay, I guess I didn’t know that’s what everybody called you.”
“Yep, C.G., I always liked it better than, Chuck.”
“Well, okay…C.G. I don’t know exactly how to approach this so I guess I’ll just come right out with it. I’m trying to find out as much as I can about my family…and I figured you could probably help me, assuming of course you want to.”
C.G., as he was now known, threw back his head and laughed. Jonathan thought, great, here I’m trying to be serious and he thinks this is funny. C.G. gathered himself, reached out and grabbed Jonathan’s shoulder, “Forgive me. I’m not laughing at you Jonathan; it’s just funny how as we get older, older like you, not me, that we get this new- found interest in our past. Believe me, I went through the same thing. I couldn't have cared less when I was young, then about the time I hit forty or so, it struck me…who were these people, where did I really come from, what skeletons were in the closet I didn’t know about, etc. etc? I know how you feel, and yes, I’ll be glad to help you, although I don’t know how much I can.”
Again, Jonathan was startled by Chuck’s, uh…C.G.’s, frankness. “Well, thanks, I guess."
Still laughing, he said, “No, I’m serious, I’ll do whatever I can to help you, and please forgive me. I wasn’t laughing at you. It just stirred old memories.”
They sat and talked for over an hour. Jonathan could see C.G. was getting tired. Most everyone else had either left or gone up for a nap and C.G. was getting anxious for his. Jonathan thanked him and asked if they could meet again. C.G. agreed, but said it would have to be in the next couple of days, because he was leaving for Toledo. Jonathan told him that would be fine, just to call him and let him know the best time to come by.
All the way home he thought about everything C.G. had told him. How Fran’s parents were adamant about her not marrying Sam. They never really gave her any good reasons, just that they didn’t approve. Apparently that wasn’t good enough for Fran and they married anyway. Once Kim came along their tune changed. Fran’s parents loved her and that seemed to change their attitude toward Sam. He was a good husband and father, and they grew to appreciate that.
Fran’s parents had a small farm outside Cherryvale, just northeast of Independence. It was about then that C.G. stopped and seemed reluctant to go on. Jonathan was afraid to press him, for fear he might not want to talk later, so he dropped it. Maybe when they met again he could pursue it.
When he got home he decided to take a break from genealogy and see just how far up Bertha he could climb. After all, she hadn’t changed all that much…he just hoped he hadn’t.
A bit sore and scratched from his aborted attempt to climb Bertha, he managed to make it downstairs for breakfast the next morning. He ate alone because his dad had gone into work early. He scanned the newspaper, intrigued with all the local gossip. That, absolutely had not changed. As he gingerly climbed the stairs, feeling every muscle in his body, he kept thinking back to C.G.’s abrupt stop when Fran’s parents' home came up. Well, maybe he could broach it with him today. They had agreed to meet for lunch. He took a long hot shower, popped a couple of aspirin, and truly felt he was moving near normally when he arrived at the café. C.G. was already there, sitting at a table and chewing the fat with a couple of guys. When he saw Jonathan hobble through the door he came over to see what was wrong. “My gosh, what’s wrong with you? You’re walking almost as bad as I do.”
“Is it really that noticeable?”
“Well, maybe not,” as he turned and winked at his buddies, who turned away laughing. “Anyway, come over and sit down, we’ll order some lunch.” They moved into a small booth in the corner.
“So, how are you C.G.?”
“Compared to you…I think pretty good.” He couldn’t contain himself and burst out laughing. “I’m sorry Jonathan, what happened?”
“Let’s just say Bertha got the best of me.”
“Bertha? Maybe I don’t want to know.”
“Bertha is the giant tree in our backyard Matt and I used to climb and live in most of the summer. I thought I’d climb her for, you know, old times sake.”
“Uh huh,” C.G. acknowledged trying to hold back his amusement.
“You know the tree doesn’t look any different, but I guess I’ve changed.”
“Changed? Well maybe, but aged, absolutely. Why is it youngsters look at the elderly and think they were always old? We were all young once, and you don’t have a corner on it just because you’re young right now. I actually enjoy watching people discover their aging process. At least you got up in the tree a ways. I couldn’t even do that now, and wouldn’t try. Someday you won’t either. But you know what? You won’t care.”
He smiled at Jonathan with this kind of insightful grin. Jonathan didn’t feel quite as sore.
“C.G. I don’t exactly know how to ask this…but I noticed yesterday when we were talking that you seemed reluctant to discuss Fran’s parents farm, and I was just wondering why?”
He sat back and gazed out the café window. He seemed to be deep in thought. He finally turned back at Jonathan and said, “I guess you don’t know what happened out there?”
“No. No I don’t.”
“Well, I tell you what. Let’s finish up our lunch and take a spin out there. This is your family too, and I guess you have every right to know.”
Needless-to-say, Jonathan’s interest was piqued now. He wolfed down his sandwich and soda and was ready to go. C.G. however, was somewhat slower and wanted to talk some baseball. Finally after what seemed an eternity of talking fastballs, homers, and the hit and run they headed to Jonathan’s car. C.G. told him how to head out of town to the old farm. It was about twelve miles northeast of Independence with one farm after another. It really was pretty with all the golden tones and the old barns and fields. C.G. pointed to a dirt road heading east and told him to take it. Down about two miles there sat an abandoned farmhouse and barn. C.G. said, “Pull in here.”
The fences were broken down, windows boarded up and the barn a skeleton of what it once was.
“This is it?” Jonathan said incredulously.
“Yeah, this is it.”
They turned in the driveway and slowly crept up to the house. Jonathan jumped out and eagerly wanted to start looking around. He didn’t know what for, but he knew there was history here. C.G. sat in the car. He was thinking back to what had happened here, and knew he was now going to have to tell his fervent nephew. He watched Jonathan roam around the house, pulling on doors and boarded up windows. He went around the house and out to the barn. Hurriedly, he returned to the car, as if C.G. would have a magic way of getting in. He opened the door on C.G.’s side of the car “Don’t you feel like getting out?”
C.G. paused a moment looking up into excited eyes, “Oh sure, I’ll get out.” Jonathan helped him out of the car and they started walking slowly toward the house. There was an old wooden bench near the front stoop. C.G. motioned at it and said, “Come on, let’s sit down there for a spell.” Jonathan agreed and they sat down in the warm afternoon sun. It was so quiet and peaceful, only a gentle breeze rustling through the big trees.
“What do you think son, nice and quiet isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s wonderful. Why wouldn’t anyone w
ant to talk about this place, and why is it abandoned?”
“Well, the house is, but lots of the property is leased to other farmers who use it for crops or grazing land. I guess nobody wanted to live here after…”
“C’mon C.G. you can’t do this again. You didn’t bring me out here to just look around. What happened?”
C.G. started to tell Jonathan a terrifying tale of what had happened over 30 years ago, in this house.
“Every Sunday afternoon Fran and Kim would come out and bring Howard and Doris dinner. Howard and Doris Taylor were Fran’s and Tilley’s parents, and Kim’s grandparents.”
Well, anyway one Sunday, Fran was sick and couldn’t make it, so Kim came alone.” Again he stopped, unwilling to go on. “You know Jonathan, I’m not so sure your dad shouldn’t be telling you this,” he said almost tearfully.
Jonathan could see that whatever this was, C.G. was very uncomfortable with it. He didn’t want to press it so he said, “Well, if you think that’s best. I do appreciate you bringing me out here though,” hoping he’d respond with, “Oh well, since we’re here,” but he didn’t. Jonathan could see in those old eyes, sorrow that he’d done this.
“I tell you what C.G., let’s head back to town and I’ll buy you a malt.”
He just couldn’t bring himself to press it further, seeing how excruciating it was for him to talk about it. They drove back to town with C.G. not saying another word. Once at the malt shop he seemed a little better and even laughed about how long it took both of them to get out of the car. They sat at a table in the corner, and while waiting for their malts, C.G. reached over and grabbed Jonathan’s arm, “I’m sorry I put you through that, but…I really do think you should ask your dad about it. He could probably explain it better anyway.”
They finished up and Jonathan drove him back to Fran’s house. He would be leaving in the morning and Jonathan felt a deep sense of pride in having gotten to know him a little bit. They gave each other a hug on the front porch and C.G. went in for his afternoon nap.
Jonathan would never see him again.