Gram’s Arrival

I couldn’t believe how fast the week had gone by and the time for Gram’s visit had arrived.
I glanced at my watch; it was almost midnight. In a matter of seconds it would be the first Saturday in May. I sat down on one of the terminal’s benches and waited for my grandmother’s train to arrive. The Blessing Train, as Gram called it, had brought her home for the last three years for a 48 hours stay. Within that time, she enjoyed a reunion with the closest members of the family. It always seemed to me like hardly enough time, but in retrospect of the fact that everyone was not as fortunate, two days each year was more than a blessing.
The large clock sitting in the park across the way struck midnight when Gram’s train came into view. After what seemed like forever for the train to stop, she descended the steps, looking around for a familiar face. I waved to her, and she smiled the same smile I’d grown to love and cherish. Oh, how I had missed that smile!
The rose brocade dress she wore, once vibrant and rich looking, was faded and wrinkled, the veil of her pillbox hat frayed, and although alert, she appeared fragile and pale.
I strode over to her, giving her a big hug and kissing her forehead. This isn’t hard to do, since I’m 5’5” and Gram’s only 4’11”. “I’ve missed you so much this past year, and I have tons to tell you,” I opened the conversation.
Her thin lips, void of the usual magenta lipstick, curved into a broad smile. “And I’m anxious to hear it all, but first . . .” she looked down at her crumpled dress and frowned, “I need to freshen up a bit. I’ve been wearing this old thing for ages.”
My grandmother has impeccable taste in style. Sunday’s church outfit was a lesson in fashion. The jewels, hat, purse, and shoes all had to complement the attire. At the end of the service, Gram stood in the church foyer with a few lady friends, chatting and posing, and showing off her ensemble.
“I knew you’d say that, so I took the liberty of buying you a new dress. It’s a soft, pale-blue dress with shoes to match.”
Gram’s voice rose with her excitement. “Oh, Nela, what a thoughtful gesture.” But her joy was subdued when she took in the poor condition of her nails and touched the snarled curls falling from beneath her hat. “All gussied up in a new dress, and still I’ll look a fright.”
I believe my grandmother’s sense of style influenced my career choice as a cosmetologist and eventually in opening my own beauty salon. As a child, I watched her meticulously give herself a manicure every Saturday night. She’d file the almond shaped nails to just beyond her finger tips, push back the cuticles, and then apply the bright red polish. When she played the piano, her fingers were a striking contrast against the white keys. Her toe nails were not to be neglected, either. They’d be adorned with the same shade, peeking out from her sandals, squared and properly formed to avoid becoming ingrown.
I took her arm and escorted her to where I parked the mini-van, but she stopped short at the terminal window to read a flyer posted there. “The woman making this announcement—this Dana Clair—has recently opened a music school.” She turned to look at me. “She was one of my pupils, Nela.” Gram smiled. “Nice to know she followed up on what I taught her.”
I nodded in agreement. “It must make you very proud.”
“I’m more pleased than proud,” Gram said.
“Would you like me to open the shop, give you a manicure, new hair-do . . . the works,” I asked, assisting her into the passenger’s seat.
Gram’s face brightened. “That sounds perfect; you’re just too good to me, sweetie.”
“It’s the least I can do, Gram. I remember all the times you were there for me, helping out with tuition and all.”
She shrugged. “It’s what family does for each other, Nela.” Then she frowned. “Wait, aren’t you usually open on Saturdays?”
“Not this Saturday. This weekend all I want to do is spend time with you.” I ran around to the driver’s side of the car and after making sure both our seat belts were fastened, I started the ignition.
Gram smiled and turned to look at me. “You know, Nela, I miss the times when you and your two younger sisters were small and would come to visit. All the cookies we made and the Christmas trees we decorated throughout the years…” She sighed. “I wish I could make it back here more than once a year, but I should be grateful: some aren’t as lucky to do even that.”
“I know, Gram . . . I know,” I sympathized. “Even to see you for just the two days that we do, we’re happy. Each year we look forward to this reunion, and next year we’ll be able to see Gramps, too.”
Her face brightened. “That’s true—next year will be Henry’s five year anniversary, and from then on he’ll be allowed to join me each year on the first Saturday in May. That is such a blessing.” She giggled like a school girl. “I am so excited for that time to come. He’s promised to take me dancing at the Hallston Lodge.”
I smiled. “That’s where you two met, right?”
She nodded. “Can’t believe it’s been over sixty years.” She sighed again. “Ooh, that dear man still makes my head spin.”
“What’s the secret to a happy marriage?” I asked, blushing a bit at the thought of what my grandfather did to make Gram’s head spin. I knew they were wholeheartedly in love, but picturing their intimacy was mortifying.
“Trust, love, and a sense of humor,” Gram admitted, and then her voice saddened. “There were times that weren’t so happy . . . like when my mother-in-law came for a visit. My mother and my father’s mother had their differences, but they initially got along, even loved one another. My grandmother knew when to mind her own business.” She narrowed her eyes. “But Henry’s mother was notorious for butting her nose where it didn’t belong. I truly believe that woman could scare the devil himself.”
“She was that bad?”
“Worse than anything you could imagine. She was very possessive and bossy.” Gram folded her arms over her ample bosom. “She wouldn’t let Henry go about his life. She always had to have the last word, and her word was always right.” Gram chuckled sardonically. “And I tried to like her, Nela, really, I did.”
Guylan’s parents passed away when he was a small boy, so I wouldn’t have to cope with in-laws, though I was sorry for him not having a family. “What made her act so domineering?”
“I think her actions stemmed from the fact that she was widowed at a young age and left with five boys to raise—your grandfather being the eldest. He was several years older than his brothers and helped his mother with their rearing. He kept them all in line. I believe Henry’s position in the family contributed to her acting more like a jealous wife toward him than a mother.”
“Then you came along and took Gramps from her; it was just too much for her to bear,” I concluded.
“Yes, I believe so.” Gram agreed. She shrugged, using both shoulders and briefly closing her eyes as elder Italian women do. “Your grandfather, thank heavens, stuck by me. Henry made everyone, especially his over bearing mother, know I came first and foremost in his life, and that meant a lot. Marriage is hard, but with the right partner it all seems to work.” Gram smiled. “You’ll see what I mean when it’s your time.”
“My time has come, Gram.” I felt the excitement bubble up inside of me when I thought of Guylan’s compelling blue eyes, his firm features, and the confident set of his shoulders. “His name is Guylan Quinn, and he’s asked me to marry him.” I raised my left hand and wiggled my finger to show her the ring: a beautiful emerald cut set on a thick, gold shank with diamond accents adorning each side.
Gram clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh Nela, my little Nela, how exciting for you.” Her plump face melted into a buttery smile. “And he’s swept you off your feet?”
I giggled at her exuberance. “Yeah, he’s certainly done that.” The lovemaking we shared entered my mind, and this time the unwelcome blush that heated my face was because I replayed my intimacy with Guylan.
Gram frowned. “Has he got a good job, Nela—one that will support a family?”
“He has a very good job, Gram. He’s a veterinarian.”
“A man who has a heart for animals will have a heart for other things as well.” She nodded satisfied. “Yes . . . yes, that’s a good profession, lucrative and constant. Almost everyone has at least one pet in the family.”
I laughed again. “You sound like a financial planner.”
She shook a finger at me. “A good relationship tends to stay good when the finances aren’t strapped. Always remember that, Nela.”
“I’ll remember, Gram,” I agreed.
“And when is the big day?” she probed.
“Next year! May 4th, 2008 at St. Michael’s Church, to be exact. We really want you and Gramps to attend. And I’ve chosen the Hallston Lodge for the reception, so I guess you’ll be dancing at my wedding, too.”
Gram’s soothing voice probed further. “Does he know about the family blessing?”
I shook my head.
“Well, you’ve got to tell him, Nela,” her tone changing to one of calm authority (the same tone she used to admonish me when I was a child.) “If he can’t cope, if it will disturb him, he’s not the fellow for you.”
I frowned. “You don’t have to chastise me, Gram. I know what I have to do.”
“I don’t like the annoyance in your voice, Nela. No matter how big you get, I’m still your grandmother, and you need to respect that.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s been almost a year. I met him last June when my cat, Mrs. Beasley, developed a urinary tract infection.” I smiled. “He gave me the ring at Christmas.”
Gram gasped. “I can’t believe you’d accept his proposal without telling him about the family blessing.”
My fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I tried many times, believe me, Gram.” I sighed again. “But it’s just not an easy thing to explain. I mean, it’s a blessing for our family, but an outsider might think the whole situation is rather creepy.”
“I’m ashamed of you, Nela. How could you let it go this far without telling him what to expect,” Gram scolded further. “And if you’re afraid he won’t want to marry you after he learns the truth, then you don’t trust his love. Without trust, you have nothing.”
“How did you explain things to Gramps?” I asked, taking her focus off me for a time.
“I just told him, that as a first daughter, I was blessed with something beyond imagination. Then I preceded to tell him how it happened—the whole wonderful experience—-and it is wonderful, Nela.” She added, “Truly it is.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself, Gram?”
She puckered her lips. “That doesn’t even justify an answer.”
I cleared my throat and asked the question that didn’t seem to matter to me before I met Guylan but was my main concern now. “What did Gramps do when he learned it would also extend to him if he married you, and stayed married to you?”
Gram shifted in her seat. “At first he laughed. He thought I was joshing him. Then he realized I was serious and thought I was crazy…we argued about that. I remember kicking him out of my parent’s home, telling him ‘this was how it was and if he couldn’t handle it, then he wasn’t the beau for me.’ I then slammed the door in his face, went up to my room and sobbed my heart out.”
My interest mounted. “Obviously you two worked things out.”
“True, we certainly did. He came back the next day and apologized, and he told me that he didn’t want to go through life without me. We talked and talked,” she smiled, “and kissed and hugged. Eventually your grandfather learned to take the whole situation in stride, and in time he actually began to see it as a stroke of luck for him as well.”
“How’d my dad take it?”
“Your mother’s never told you?”
I shook my head.
“Ah, well, Brian O’Riley, the stubborn Irishman that he was, walked out when he learned the truth and didn’t come back after the first night.” She shook her head. “Nope, he let your poor mother suffer for at least two weeks.”
My eyes widened. “Two weeks! Poor Mom, she must have been a wreck.”
“Oh, she was a real mess. She cried day and night; whe wouldn’t even eat. And finally, when I got her to eat a bowl of soup, she threw it right back up.”
“No wonder she’s never talked about it,” I reflected aloud. “But clearly they worked things out as well.”
“Yes, ultimately, but the two tormented themselves in the process: your mother made herself sick and weak, and your father got himself drunk every night.”
I frowned. “There wasn’t caller ID service back then, so how’d you know it was him making the prank calls?”
“He admitted to it later, after he and your mother made up. In the end, it was your grandfather who really straightened things out.”
I giggled, knowing Gramps as I did. He certainly wasn’t the type of person who dealt with nonsense. He was slight in stature but big in persona. “What’d he do?”
“Well, he found out from one of the neighborhood boys, who happened to hang around in the same crowd as your father, that Brian was getting himself drunk at a place called Lofty’s Bar and Grill. After receiving yet another prank call, your grandfather high-tailed himself over to the bar and confronted Brian.”
“Why haven’t I heard any of this?” I said annoyed. After all, my parents knew I was going through the same dilemma with Guylan.
“Ah, well, like I said, your mother probably doesn’t want to rehash a sorrowful time, and your father would like to forget the embarrassment,” she said in there defense.
I frowned again. “Why would my father be embarrassed?”
Gram rearranged the disheveled looking hat she was wearing. “Well, your grandfather did a little more then just confront Brian.”
My curiosity got the best of me by this time. “Don’t stop now, Gram.”
She screwed her face up. “Nela, I’m not sure your father would appreciate you knowing what happened.”
“I promise, Gram, I won’t say a word, really! I cross my heart and hope to die,” I vowed, sounding like I did at thirteen when I pried from Julie Claymore what she’d seen her older sister and Bobby Miller doing on the couch one night when their parents weren’t home.
“Your grandfather, as I said, having reared his younger brothers, taught your father a lesson . . . sort of . . . well, sobered him up with a bit of discipline so he’d listen to reason.”
I was almost afraid to ask but too curious not to. “What do you mean by a bit of discipline?”
“Well, Henry went to Lofty’s and found your father drunk as a skunk. He took Brian by the arm and escorted him to the car.”
I had a feeling escorted wasn’t really the word for how Gramps got my father to the car, but I remained silent.
“Henry drove Brian to the abandoned barn out on Route 10,” Gram paused. “How your grandfather explained the goings on to me was simply that he knocked some sense into Brian, as any father would an unruly son.”
“Define knock some sense.”
There was a long silence.
“Your grandfather gave Brian a licking,” Gram finally admitted.
I frowned. “A licking?” Then the meaning dawned on me. “You mean he beat my father?”
“Well, no . . . not beat . . . more like spanked,” Gram muttered.
“What? my father had to be at least twenty-two years old.”
“Yes, well, your grandfather told him that if he was going to act like a child, then he’d be dealt with like a child, and then Henry proceeded to remove his belt and give Brian’s bared behind a good thrashing.”
“Holy shit,” I blurted out. “Bare-assed to boot?”
“Now, Nela, there’s no cause for profanity,” Gram scolded. “Con-duct yourself accordingly, young lady.”
“Sorry Gram, but are you saying my father decided to marry my mother because Gramps worked him over?”
“No, of course not,” Gram snapped. “The spanking was only to sober your father up enough to listen to reason. Henry then explained to Brian his own initial reaction when he learned of the family blessing and how he dealt with it.”
“Well, I guess all my problems are solved,” I said sardonically. “All I’ve got to do is have Dad beat up Guylan.”
Gram crossed her arms over her chest. “Not beat up–spanked. And I shouldn’t have told you that story.”
I softened my tone. “I’m sorry, Gram, but I’m really glad I learned all this tonight.”
“Truth be told, Nela, if Henry could have thrashed Brian from here to East Missouri, and if he wasn’t a keeper, it wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“What’s a keeper?”
“A keeper is a man who will eventually understand a situation and go through life beside you in spite of it. They’re the ones worth the effort because they make an effort in return. And they’re out there, otherwise none of the first daughters in the family would have married. I guess that’s how you can tell if you’ve got the right one or not,” she added softly.
“Well, I guess I’ll soon see if Guylan’s a keeper.” I sighed. “I’ve invited him to the reunion. I thought I’d let him meet you and see how wonderful you are. Maybe he will fall in love with you as everyone else does. If he does, then I’ll spring it on him.”
Gram clicked her tongue. “Good luck with that strategy, Nela.”
“It’s far better than a spanking.”
“I just hope your young man doesn’t feel betrayed or tricked.”
I bit my bottom lip and turned into the salon parking lot. “So do I, Gram . . . so do I.”

I couldn’t believe how fast the week had gone by and the time for Gram’s visit had arrived.
I glanced at my watch; it was almost midnight. In a matter of seconds it would be the first Saturday in May. I sat down on one of the terminal’s benches and waited for my grandmother’s train to arrive. The Blessing Train, as Gram called it, had brought her home for the last three years for a 48 hours stay. Within that time, she enjoyed a reunion with the closest members of the family. It always seemed to me like hardly enough time, but in retrospect of the fact that everyone was not as fortunate, two days each year was more than a blessing.
The large clock sitting in the park across the way struck midnight when Gram’s train came into view. After what seemed like forever for the train to stop, she descended the steps, looking around for a familiar face. I waved to her, and she smiled the same smile I’d grown to love and cherish. Oh, how I had missed that smile!
The rose brocade dress she wore, once vibrant and rich looking, was faded and wrinkled, the veil of her pillbox hat frayed, and although alert, she appeared fragile and pale.
I strode over to her, giving her a big hug and kissing her forehead. This isn’t hard to do, since I’m 5’5” and Gram’s only 4’11”. “I’ve missed you so much this past year, and I have tons to tell you,” I opened the conversation.
Her thin lips, void of the usual magenta lipstick, curved into a broad smile. “And I’m anxious to hear it all, but first . . .” she looked down at her crumpled dress and frowned, “I need to freshen up a bit. I’ve been wearing this old thing for ages.”
My grandmother has impeccable taste in style. Sunday’s church outfit was a lesson in fashion. The jewels, hat, purse, and shoes all had to complement the attire. At the end of the service, Gram stood in the church foyer with a few lady friends, chatting and posing, and showing off her ensemble.
“I knew you’d say that, so I took the liberty of buying you a new dress. It’s a soft, pale-blue dress with shoes to match.”
Gram’s voice rose with her excitement. “Oh, Nela, what a thoughtful gesture.” But her joy was subdued when she took in the poor condition of her nails and touched the snarled curls falling from beneath her hat. “All gussied up in a new dress, and still I’ll look a fright.”
I believe my grandmother’s sense of style influenced my career choice as a cosmetologist and eventually in opening my own beauty salon. As a child, I watched her meticulously give herself a manicure every Saturday night. She’d file the almond shaped nails to just beyond her finger tips, push back the cuticles, and then apply the bright red polish. When she played the piano, her fingers were a striking contrast against the white keys. Her toe nails were not to be neglected, either. They’d be adorned with the same shade, peeking out from her sandals, squared and properly formed to avoid becoming ingrown.
I took her arm and escorted her to where I parked the mini-van, but she stopped short at the terminal window to read a flyer posted there. “The woman making this announcement—this Dana Clair—has recently opened a music school.” She turned to look at me. “She was one of my pupils, Nela.” Gram smiled. “Nice to know she followed up on what I taught her.”
I nodded in agreement. “It must make you very proud.”
“I’m more pleased than proud,” Gram said.
“Would you like me to open the shop, give you a manicure, new hair-do . . . the works,” I asked, assisting her into the passenger’s seat.
Gram’s face brightened. “That sounds perfect; you’re just too good to me, sweetie.”
“It’s the least I can do, Gram. I remember all the times you were there for me, helping out with tuition and all.”
She shrugged. “It’s what family does for each other, Nela.” Then she frowned. “Wait, aren’t you usually open on Saturdays?”
“Not this Saturday. This weekend all I want to do is spend time with you.” I ran around to the driver’s side of the car and after making sure both our seat belts were fastened, I started the ignition.
Gram smiled and turned to look at me. “You know, Nela, I miss the times when you and your two younger sisters were small and would come to visit. All the cookies we made and the Christmas trees we decorated throughout the years…” She sighed. “I wish I could make it back here more than once a year, but I should be grateful: some aren’t as lucky to do even that.”
“I know, Gram . . . I know,” I sympathized. “Even to see you for just the two days that we do, we’re happy. Each year we look forward to this reunion, and next year we’ll be able to see Gramps, too.”
Her face brightened. “That’s true—next year will be Henry’s five year anniversary, and from then on he’ll be allowed to join me each year on the first Saturday in May. That is such a blessing.” She giggled like a school girl. “I am so excited for that time to come. He’s promised to take me dancing at the Hallston Lodge.”
I smiled. “That’s where you two met, right?”
She nodded. “Can’t believe it’s been over sixty years.” She sighed again. “Ooh, that dear man still makes my head spin.”
“What’s the secret to a happy marriage?” I asked, blushing a bit at the thought of what my grandfather did to make Gram’s head spin. I knew they were wholeheartedly in love, but picturing their intimacy was mortifying.
“Trust, love, and a sense of humor,” Gram admitted, and then her voice saddened. “There were times that weren’t so happy . . . like when my mother-in-law came for a visit. My mother and my father’s mother had their differences, but they initially got along, even loved one another. My grandmother knew when to mind her own business.” She narrowed her eyes. “But Henry’s mother was notorious for butting her nose where it didn’t belong. I truly believe that woman could scare the devil himself.”
“She was that bad?”
“Worse than anything you could imagine. She was very possessive and bossy.” Gram folded her arms over her ample bosom. “She wouldn’t let Henry go about his life. She always had to have the last word, and her word was always right.” Gram chuckled sardonically. “And I tried to like her, Nela, really, I did.”
Guylan’s parents passed away when he was a small boy, so I wouldn’t have to cope with in-laws, though I was sorry for him not having a family. “What made her act so domineering?”
“I think her actions stemmed from the fact that she was widowed at a young age and left with five boys to raise—your grandfather being the eldest. He was several years older than his brothers and helped his mother with their rearing. He kept them all in line. I believe Henry’s position in the family contributed to her acting more like a jealous wife toward him than a mother.”
“Then you came along and took Gramps from her; it was just too much for her to bear,” I concluded.
“Yes, I believe so.” Gram agreed. She shrugged, using both shoulders and briefly closing her eyes as elder Italian women do. “Your grandfather, thank heavens, stuck by me. Henry made everyone, especially his over bearing mother, know I came first and foremost in his life, and that meant a lot. Marriage is hard, but with the right partner it all seems to work.” Gram smiled. “You’ll see what I mean when it’s your time.”
“My time has come, Gram.” I felt the excitement bubble up inside of me when I thought of Guylan’s compelling blue eyes, his firm features, and the confident set of his shoulders. “His name is Guylan Quinn, and he’s asked me to marry him.” I raised my left hand and wiggled my finger to show her the ring: a beautiful emerald cut set on a thick, gold shank with diamond accents adorning each side.
Gram clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh Nela, my little Nela, how exciting for you.” Her plump face melted into a buttery smile. “And he’s swept you off your feet?”
I giggled at her exuberance. “Yeah, he’s certainly done that.” The lovemaking we shared entered my mind, and this time the unwelcome blush that heated my face was because I replayed my intimacy with Guylan.
Gram frowned. “Has he got a good job, Nela—one that will support a family?”
“He has a very good job, Gram. He’s a veterinarian.”
“A man who has a heart for animals will have a heart for other things as well.” She nodded satisfied. “Yes . . . yes, that’s a good profession, lucrative and constant. Almost everyone has at least one pet in the family.”
I laughed again. “You sound like a financial planner.”
She shook a finger at me. “A good relationship tends to stay good when the finances aren’t strapped. Always remember that, Nela.”
“I’ll remember, Gram,” I agreed.
“And when is the big day?” she probed.
“Next year! May 4th, 2008 at St. Michael’s Church, to be exact. We really want you and Gramps to attend. And I’ve chosen the Hallston Lodge for the reception, so I guess you’ll be dancing at my wedding, too.”
Gram’s soothing voice probed further. “Does he know about the family blessing?”
I shook my head.
“Well, you’ve got to tell him, Nela,” her tone changing to one of calm authority (the same tone she used to admonish me when I was a child.) “If he can’t cope, if it will disturb him, he’s not the fellow for you.”
I frowned. “You don’t have to chastise me, Gram. I know what I have to do.”
“I don’t like the annoyance in your voice, Nela. No matter how big you get, I’m still your grandmother, and you need to respect that.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s been almost a year. I met him last June when my cat, Mrs. Beasley, developed a urinary tract infection.” I smiled. “He gave me the ring at Christmas.”
Gram gasped. “I can’t believe you’d accept his proposal without telling him about the family blessing.”
My fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I tried many times, believe me, Gram.” I sighed again. “But it’s just not an easy thing to explain. I mean, it’s a blessing for our family, but an outsider might think the whole situation is rather creepy.”
“I’m ashamed of you, Nela. How could you let it go this far without telling him what to expect,” Gram scolded further. “And if you’re afraid he won’t want to marry you after he learns the truth, then you don’t trust his love. Without trust, you have nothing.”
“How did you explain things to Gramps?” I asked, taking her focus off me for a time.
“I just told him, that as a first daughter, I was blessed with something beyond imagination. Then I preceded to tell him how it happened—the whole wonderful experience—-and it is wonderful, Nela.” She added, “Truly it is.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself, Gram?”
She puckered her lips. “That doesn’t even justify an answer.”
I cleared my throat and asked the question that didn’t seem to matter to me before I met Guylan but was my main concern now. “What did Gramps do when he learned it would also extend to him if he married you, and stayed married to you?”
Gram shifted in her seat. “At first he laughed. He thought I was joshing him. Then he realized I was serious and thought I was crazy…we argued about that. I remember kicking him out of my parent’s home, telling him ‘this was how it was and if he couldn’t handle it, then he wasn’t the beau for me.’ I then slammed the door in his face, went up to my room and sobbed my heart out.”
My interest mounted. “Obviously you two worked things out.”
“True, we certainly did. He came back the next day and apologized, and he told me that he didn’t want to go through life without me. We talked and talked,” she smiled, “and kissed and hugged. Eventually your grandfather learned to take the whole situation in stride, and in time he actually began to see it as a stroke of luck for him as well.”
“How’d my dad take it?”
“Your mother’s never told you?”
I shook my head.
“Ah, well, Brian O’Riley, the stubborn Irishman that he was, walked out when he learned the truth and didn’t come back after the first night.” She shook her head. “Nope, he let your poor mother suffer for at least two weeks.”
My eyes widened. “Two weeks! Poor Mom, she must have been a wreck.”
“Oh, she was a real mess. She cried day and night; whe wouldn’t even eat. And finally, when I got her to eat a bowl of soup, she threw it right back up.”
“No wonder she’s never talked about it,” I reflected aloud. “But clearly they worked things out as well.”
“Yes, ultimately, but the two tormented themselves in the process: your mother made herself sick and weak, and your father got himself drunk every night.”
I frowned. “There wasn’t caller ID service back then, so how’d you know it was him making the prank calls?”
“He admitted to it later, after he and your mother made up. In the end, it was your grandfather who really straightened things out.”
I giggled, knowing Gramps as I did. He certainly wasn’t the type of person who dealt with nonsense. He was slight in stature but big in persona. “What’d he do?”
“Well, he found out from one of the neighborhood boys, who happened to hang around in the same crowd as your father, that Brian was getting himself drunk at a place called Lofty’s Bar and Grill. After receiving yet another prank call, your grandfather high-tailed himself over to the bar and confronted Brian.”
“Why haven’t I heard any of this?” I said annoyed. After all, my parents knew I was going through the same dilemma with Guylan.
“Ah, well, like I said, your mother probably doesn’t want to rehash a sorrowful time, and your father would like to forget the embarrassment,” she said in there defense.
I frowned again. “Why would my father be embarrassed?”
Gram rearranged the disheveled looking hat she was wearing. “Well, your grandfather did a little more then just confront Brian.”
My curiosity got the best of me by this time. “Don’t stop now, Gram.”
She screwed her face up. “Nela, I’m not sure your father would appreciate you knowing what happened.”
“I promise, Gram, I won’t say a word, really! I cross my heart and hope to die,” I vowed, sounding like I did at thirteen when I pried from Julie Claymore what she’d seen her older sister and Bobby Miller doing on the couch one night when their parents weren’t home.
“Your grandfather, as I said, having reared his younger brothers, taught your father a lesson . . . sort of . . . well, sobered him up with a bit of discipline so he’d listen to reason.”
I was almost afraid to ask but too curious not to. “What do you mean by a bit of discipline?”
“Well, Henry went to Lofty’s and found your father drunk as a skunk. He took Brian by the arm and escorted him to the car.”
I had a feeling escorted wasn’t really the word for how Gramps got my father to the car, but I remained silent.
“Henry drove Brian to the abandoned barn out on Route 10,” Gram paused. “How your grandfather explained the goings on to me was simply that he knocked some sense into Brian, as any father would an unruly son.”
“Define knock some sense.”
There was a long silence.
“Your grandfather gave Brian a licking,” Gram finally admitted.
I frowned. “A licking?” Then the meaning dawned on me. “You mean he beat my father?”
“Well, no . . . not beat . . . more like spanked,” Gram muttered.
“What? my father had to be at least twenty-two years old.”
“Yes, well, your grandfather told him that if he was going to act like a child, then he’d be dealt with like a child, and then Henry proceeded to remove his belt and give Brian’s bared behind a good thrashing.”
“Holy shit,” I blurted out. “Bare-assed to boot?”
“Now, Nela, there’s no cause for profanity,” Gram scolded. “Con-duct yourself accordingly, young lady.”
“Sorry Gram, but are you saying my father decided to marry my mother because Gramps worked him over?”
“No, of course not,” Gram snapped. “The spanking was only to sober your father up enough to listen to reason. Henry then explained to Brian his own initial reaction when he learned of the family blessing and how he dealt with it.”
“Well, I guess all my problems are solved,” I said sardonically. “All I’ve got to do is have Dad beat up Guylan.”
Gram crossed her arms over her chest. “Not beat up–spanked. And I shouldn’t have told you that story.”
I softened my tone. “I’m sorry, Gram, but I’m really glad I learned all this tonight.”
“Truth be told, Nela, if Henry could have thrashed Brian from here to East Missouri, and if he wasn’t a keeper, it wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“What’s a keeper?”
“A keeper is a man who will eventually understand a situation and go through life beside you in spite of it. They’re the ones worth the effort because they make an effort in return. And they’re out there, otherwise none of the first daughters in the family would have married. I guess that’s how you can tell if you’ve got the right one or not,” she added softly.
“Well, I guess I’ll soon see if Guylan’s a keeper.” I sighed. “I’ve invited him to the reunion. I thought I’d let him meet you and see how wonderful you are. Maybe he will fall in love with you as everyone else does. If he does, then I’ll spring it on him.”
Gram clicked her tongue. “Good luck with that strategy, Nela.”
“It’s far better than a spanking.”
“I just hope your young man doesn’t feel betrayed or tricked.”
I bit my bottom lip and turned into the salon parking lot. “So do I, Gram . . . so do I.”

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Chapter 2-Sister Margaret’s Secret

Monday was usually the beginning of the workweek for most folks, but since I worked in the salon on Saturdays, it was actually the second day of my weekend. Guylan also worked on Saturdays, normally taking Sunday and Monday off. On Sunday nights, we ordered Chinese take-out, eating our shrimp egg rolls and beef chop suey while sitting on the couch and watching a rented movie. Mrs. Beasley, our cat, waited anxiously for one of us to drop a morsel of shrimp, walking off in a cat-huff when nothing fell her way.

Guylan was quiet and withdrawn, and again I worried, as I had done the night before, that he was having second thoughts about getting married. At this rate, my obsession with his frame of mind was going to cause my skin to break out as it so often did when I stressed. “A penny for your thoughts,” I said.

He swallowed his food and smiled. “You won’t get much for your money.”

“I think I will,” I said, setting the egg roll I’d been munching on down on my plate.

He frowned. “Why do you say that?”

I sighed and wiped my fingers on a napkin. “It seems you’ve been somewhere else as of lately, especially for the last few weeks.” I uncurled my leg from beneath me and set the plate down on the coffee table. “In fact, I’ve noticed the difference in you ever since our engagement dinner.” I looked down at my left hand. “Ever since . . . ever since . . . we announced our marriage plans.”

“Nela . . .”

I cut him short. “If you’re having second thoughts about marrying me, Guylan, you need to tell me.” There, I said it.” I cringed inside as I waited for his answer.

He leaned forward, placing his plate beside mine and reached for the remote control to pause the movie we were watching. “Is that what you think?”

I gave him a taut nod.

He took my hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Then what is it, Guylan? What’s wrong?”

He took an audible breath and sat back, keeping his hold on my hand. “Do you remember the other night when everything went quiet, and you woke to find me staring out the window?”

Yes, I remember that. Everything seemed to stand so still. So dreadfully still. Why was it that still? Or was it just me?

“It happens when he comes,” Guylan said softly.

I moved closer to him. “When who comes?”

“The man,” he hesitated, casting a quick glance out my living room window.

I followed his gaze.

“The man who has been following me,” he finished, his blue eyes returning to look deep into mine.

A chill traveled down my spine. “Someone’s been following you?”

He nodded. “Since the night of the engagement party.”

I slid closer to him on the couch. Whoever this man is and whatever he wants, he now knew where I lived. “I think we should call the police.”

“The thing is, Nela, I don’t really have an accurate description, since I’ve never really seen his face.  I’ve only seen him from a distance. After the dinner at your house, when I first spotted him, I called the police as soon as I got inside my apartment; but by the time they arrived, the man was gone. I did give them a statement, and they said if he continued to stalk me, I was to notify them again. But other than that, there’s not much more the cops can do.  I mean, other than creeping me out, the man’s really done nothing wrong.”

“Well, at least it will be down on record if he’s been following you and something should . . . should . . .”

“Should I turn up missing or murdered,” he interjected.

I shuddered. “Don’t say that.”

He sighed. “Okay, tomorrow I’ll go down to the 53^rd Precinct and give another statement to someone there.”

“Why do you suppose everything goes so still?” I asked, uneasy now in my own home.

He frowned. “If only I knew, Nela . . . if only I knew.” He brought my hand up to his lips again. “I’m at least relieved I’ve told you about it. We should never have secrets between us, Nela.”

“No, never, Guylan,” I agreed. I felt hypocritical, not telling him the secret that I’ve been holding back.

*****

After the trip to the police station, Guylan headed for the library to do some medical research. Patches, a brown and white, longhaired Dachshund, was nearing sixteen and needed her appendix removed—not an easy surgery for such an old dog to recover from. Concern about the animal coming out of his induced sleep was one of his main worries. While searching in the medical section for the volume he needed, the air filled with a subtle energy. Again, the stillness enveloped him, but it left as quickly as it came. A moment later, a library assistant approached and handed him a folded piece of paper.

Old roots before new ones, it read.

“Who gave you this note?” he questioned the assistant.

“The man sitting there,” the young man said, pointing to an empty chair at a table in the corner. “Well, he was there…”

His heart raced. “What did this man look like?”

“He wore a black top hat, shiny, black boots, and a cape,” the assistant said.

He looked down at the note and read the words again: old roots before the new. He blinked, baffled. Growing up as an orphan, he didn’t have old roots. There was nothing to link him to his past except the ring he wore on his right hand. He glanced at the ring and studied the raven mounted on the onyx—its bill heavy, the feathered wings long, and its tail graduated and wedge shaped. Engraved around the stone were the words Corbie Xnos. Gylan once looked up the word Xnos and discovered it is the Greek word meaning foreigner or stranger. He hadn’t a clue what Corbie meant; his attempts at finding the meaning had always proven useless.

And what of the new roots?

That could be in reference to his up and coming marriage to Nela, but how would the caped man know of Guylan’s plans? The blood drained from his face.

“Are you alright, sir?” the assistant inquired.

“Yes, thank you,” he lied, sitting down on a nearby chair. He forced a faint smile to reassure the assistant, who by now looked stricken with concern. “Really, I’m fine.”

The assistant nodded and returned to his duties.

He crumpled the paper and dropped it on the table beside him. For a moment, he stared at the crinkled message, his mind desperate to solve the riddle written upon it. When he was growing up in the orphanage, word games and riddles were a favorite pastime. Sister Margaret allowed crossword puzzle books to those who had earned excellent grades—an incentive, no doubt, for others to improve. He hadn’t thought of Sister Margaret in years. She had to be at least seventy-five or eighty by now. In her youth, her memory was as sharp as a knife and her wits quick as a bullet. The children could never con her into anything, and they had all tried, including Guylan. If Sister Margaret was still alive and as attentive, she just might be able to shed some light on this new riddle. She was always good at riddles. She had a reputation for being the smartest nun around. She’d gotten a college education before deciding to take up the nun cloak. All the other nuns had only graduated high school.

I guess there’s only one way to find out.

He looked at the ring, picked up the message, stuck it in his pocket, and headed for his car.

*****

The main foyer smelled as he remembered: like a mixture of lemon floor polish and spray disinfectant. The high ceiling that towered over him when he was a child had yellowed with age, and the paint was peeling from recent water damage. Making his way down the corridor, he rehashed the times he had walked the same path as a boy, fear gripping his heart all the while.

The elder nun, tall and ominous looking, would first make him explain in detail his offense . . . then she’d have him reflect on how he could improve his standard with Almighty God.

The day he broke Ronnie Fargus’s nose for destroying the robin’s egg he’d rescued from a fallen nest, Mother Superior’s wrath swelled to unbelievable proportions, and her discipline tactics took a new turn. Almighty God’s standards made room for Father Samuel and his board of education. The two were called upon by Mother Superior to deliver the punishment he deserved.

Father Samuel believed a sound beating was one enduring the test of time.  And Father Samuel demanded Guylan drop both his trousers and under shorts to the ankles. The painful paddling reddened his bared backside beyond comprehension, as well as humiliated his pride. To add to the mortification, Ronnie Fargus was allowed to watch. The enemy’s smug smile and satisfied delight peered from beneath the large bandage across the bridge of his nose, incensing him even further.

“Do you think you’ve had enough, young man?” Father Samuel bellowed.

He shook away the sobs of pain and embarrassment. “Yes, Father.” The lint eater, as the children had nick-named Ronnie, for the fact he picked lint from his navel and ate it, had no regard for animal and insect life. Many times, he caught Ronnie pulling apart ants, leaving their bodies all over the sidewalk, little insect legs twitching. When Ronnie deliberately smashed the bird’s egg Guylan had saved from a fallen nest, it was the last straw.

“Are you ready to apologize to Ronnie, Guylan?” Father Samuel snapped, giving him another swat, this one harder than the others.

“Yes,” he muttered, reaching to pull up his pants, his insides jiggling from the intense beating.

Father Samuel stilled his hands, making him stand naked from the waist down in front of Ronnie. “I didn’t hear your apology, my child.”

Weren’t they taught all things great and small were created by God? Shouldn’t Ronnie be apologizing? But that wasn’t about to happen, and Guylan’s face was as hot as his backside under Ronnie’s scrutiny. “I’m sorry,” he choked out hoarsely, once more reaching for his trousers.

Again Father Samuel stopped him. “And you will never use your hands as a weapon again?”

More hypocrisy . . . wasn’t his punishment dealt to him by the weapon held in the priest’s hands? “Never, Father,” he promised, pulling the hem of his shirt down to cover his nakedness.

“Dress yourself,” Father Samuel commanded.

But he and Ronnie didn’t stop fighting, and they’d both receive many such beatings throughout the years at St. Bernard’s. Guylan was sure the two of them wore out Father Samuel’s board of education and had a running tab going at the emergency room.

Ronnie needed someone to keep him in line, and that’s exactly what he did. Why he thought it was his duty, he would never know, but looking back, he believed Ronnie feared him enough to keep from running amok. The fights they got into stopped Ronnie from being more of a dill weed, for lack of a better word, than he already was.

How many years had passed since then . . . almost twenty-six? And yet, replaying the long-ago scene still brought tears of shame to his eyes. Instead of breaking Ronnie’s nose, he should have broken the little weasel’s neck. Ronnie turned out to be an elected official. His road to fame began in college when he married a councilman’s daughter. Guylan, unfortunately, spent the first two years of higher education at the same community college Ronnie chose, and he knew first hand the nightly escapades the dill weed had behind his then fiancé’s back. The poor woman, not at all attractive, was used by Ronnie strictly for his career gain. Had she known about the other women, she’d have had her father run Ronnie out of town on a rail instead of awarding him a prestigious position.

He shook his head to free his thoughts. Taking a cleansing breath, he turned the knob and entered the outer office.

The young woman at the reception desk smiled. “Can I help you?”

Looking around the room, he noticed that the walls were the same shade of green, and the linoleum was still checked with black and white squares. Even the same shades adorned the windows. Bringing his attention back to the young receptionist, who waited for an answer, he returned her smile. “Yes, please; is Sister Margaret still in residence here?”

“Yes, she is.” The young woman glanced at her watch. “She’d be in the staff lounge right about now, taking a coffee break.” She reached for the intercom’s receiver. “Should I page her for you?”

Staff lounges, paging systems, and coffee breaks instead of afternoon tea? St. Bernard’s had certainly changed with the times, even if the décor remained the same.

“Yes, thank you,” he agreed.

“And your name, sir?”

“Tell her Guylan’s here to see her: Guylan Quinn.”

*****

Sister Margaret had aged gracefully, her large, blue eyes were as vibrant and expressive as he had remembered. She wore a different habit—one that didn’t cover her hair and face as much as the previous style. Often, he wondered about the color of her hair. These days, gray strands streaked through her auburn curls.

Holding out her hands to welcome him, Sister Margaret smiled. “My heavens, what has it been, nearly twenty years since the last time I set eyes on you?”

He was pleased to see she was just as sharp. “Yes, exactly.”

She stepped back and surveyed him. “You left this place a gawky, eighteen year old boy and have returned a strapping man.”

She squeezed his hand. “Has life been good to you, Guylan?”

He shrugged. “I can’t complain.”

She giggled. “I’ve learned it does no good.”

Her mirth made him chuckle too. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Come,” she said, leading him into Mother Superior’s office. “Sit and tell me what you’ve been up to.”

This room hadn’t changed either. The large desk, the one he was bent over to receive his punishments, was still in the same corner. He made his way to the chair Sister Margaret offered, waiting for her to take the seat opposite him before he sat.

She crossed her legs and arranged the skirt over her knees. “I still have a bit of trouble feeling dressed in the new clothes.” She smiled again. “Guess I’m from the old school. Now . . .” she made a gesture with her hand for him to proceed.

“I co-run an animal clinic on Wattling Street,” he began.

Her eyes widened. “Then you’re a veterinarian?”

He nodded.

She slapped her knee with a hand. “I knew you’d go into a field that helped animals, the way you always cared for stray cats and injured birds.” She reached over and gave his arm an affectionate pat. “Good for you, Guylan.”

Like a young boy again, he was happy for her praise. “Thank you, Sister.”

“And why haven’t you come around to see me sooner?”

“I guess . . .” he hesitated. “Other than you, Sister, St. Bernard’s was a time I wished to forget.”

“Was it all that bad, Guylan?”

“There were some good times, I will admit, but they were few and far between. So when the time came for me to walk through the doors of this building and out to freedom, a surge of relief coursed through me, and I swore an oath to myself that I’d never come back.” Speaking of that day aroused old fears and uncertainties that he had endured. “Finding a job, a place to live, and paying for college became nearly impossible to do on my own,” he admitted for the first time in his life. “I was discouraged, hungry, tired, and I resented how unprepared living here left me for the outside world. I was alone, frightened, confused, and I had no one to turn to . . . no one who cared.”

“I’m so sorry you felt that way, Guylan.” Her voice softened. “I cared; I always did. Many times I wished I could tell you how much and what you meant to me.”

Thinking back, he realized she spoke the truth. Sister Margaret read him bedtime stories, mended his clothes, made pancakes on Saturday mornings because it was his favorite meal, and when he caught the measles, chicken pox, or the flu, she swabbed his feverish body down with alcohol, staying by his bedside throughout the night. She had been the closest thing to a mother he would ever have.

This time, he reached for her hand, giving it an appreciative squeeze. “I believe you would have, thank you.”

“And then there’s God, Guylan; He knew what you needed before you did.”

“Yeah, well, He sure let me get to the end of my wits at times.”

“But He did supply your daily needs, I’m sure,” Sister Margaret said.

He nodded.

“Well, then what more does one need than his daily bread?

“You have a point,” he agreed.

“Tomorrow is yet to arrive, Guylan. No need to worry until it gets here.” She searched his face. “Now suppose you tell me the real reason you’ve come here today.”

He drew a deep, ragged breath. “Do you know anything about my family, Sister?”

Sister Margaret’s brow shot up in surprise. “You’ve known right along your parents died in a car crash when you were a toddler.”

His gaze wavered before returning to her face. “I came to St. Bernard’s when I was three?”

Sister Margaret nodded in agreement, her features growing tense.

He steadied his voice. “But I couldn’t have come alone.”

“No, you didn’t come alone,” she replied.

“Then who was it that brought me here?”

Sister Margaret’s mouth twitched and then curved with tenderness. “A woman in her late forties brought you. Her soft, blue eyes were so full of sorrow and . . . and . . . fear.”

He leaned forward in his seat. “A name, Sister—did the woman have a name?”

Her brows set in a straight line. “There wasn’t a need for her to speak her name.”

He combed his fingers through his hair and stood, making his way to the window. Looking out at the sloping lawn, he envisioned making snowmen and sliding on his sled in the cold winters. In all actuality, this was home.  It was, after all, where he had grown up.

“Why is knowing so important now, Guylan?”

He turned to look at her, growing impatient. “Because I believe it’s my right.” He sidled closer, softening his tone. “I’m getting married a year from this May, Sister, and, considering that I’ll be starting my own family, I think it’s important to know my own roots.” It wasn’t entirely the truth, but not an outright lie either. “Didn’t you catch the engagement announcement in the paper?”

Sister Margaret looked around nervously. “It was in the paper?”

He nodded.

“No, I didn’t see it, but I hope that . . .” her voice trailed off, and she stared, lost in thought for a moment before forcing a smile. “Well, so you’re getting married?  How nice for you, Guylan. And your future wife, she’s of your faith?”

He nodded, his eyes locking with hers. “Nela’s from a big family.  They’re a loving bunch, and when Nela looks about the church, she’ll see their smiling faces..”

“I truly hope I’m included,” Sister Margaret said, “To be the one that smiles for you.”

He searched her face. “I’d like that, Sister.”

Sister Margaret became uneasy under his scrutiny. “I’m sorry things can’t be the way you want them, Guylan, but we should all be blessed for the things we do have.”

“And do I even have my real name, Sister?”

Sister Margaret sighed. “The woman who brought you only said to call you Guylan and to give you that ring you’re wearing,” she said, her eyes going to his hand, “when you turned eighteen.”

He swallowed the emptiness invading his heart. “Then how did I come by the last name of Quinn?”

Her tone softened. “Quinn is Mother Superior’s family name.” She smiled. “Most of you didn’t have a last name, and all of us nuns used our sir names so Social Security cards could be issued.” Sister Margaret tilted her head sideways. “Do you remember your best friend, Andy Beechum?”

I nodded. “We’re still very close to this day. In fact, I’ve asked him to be my best man.”

“Well, his last name came by way of Sister Catherine. Beechum was her family’s name.”

He held up his hand. “And there was nothing other than the ring?”

She looked away hastily. “It was a long time ago, Guylan.”

He grabbed both her hands. “There was something else, wasn’t there?”

She shifted in her chair. “Some things are best left alone.”

“Please, Sister, what can it hurt to tell me now?” he pleaded.

Her voice broke with emotion. “A lot, Guylan. I never wanted any part of it, and neither do you.”

His tone hardened. “Let me be the judge of that.”

Sister Margaret bit her bottom lip.  “There was something . . . a book.”

He frowned. “What kind of book?”

Her voice wavered. “One Mother Superior demanded I immediately burn.”

He glanced down at the nun’s hands folded in her lap. “Why would she ask you to do such a thing?”

“Because of its content.” Sister Margaret shivered. “But for a reason I can’t explain, I couldn’t burn it.” She made the Christian sign of the cross. “And I will speak no more about it.”

Guylan’s heart raced. “Where is this book now?”

“Let’s just say, for the good of all, it remains on holy ground,” she said.

He stood. “How long will it take for you to get it?”

Sister Margaret’s blue eyes darkened. I don’t want to get it.

“Sister!”

“Maybe about a week, maybe two weeks. I . . . but . . . I won’t . . .”

“I need that book, Sister,” he interrupted, reaching into his pocket and handing her a business card. “As soon as you have it in your possession, contact me.”

She stared for a moment at the card he held. “I won’t, I can’t. It’s much too dangerous. You don’t know what you are asking.”

“Please, Sister,” he begged again, softening his tone.

“Very well, Guylan,” she conceded after being asked for the fifth time, taking the card. She raised her gaze to meet his. “But whatever happens is on your head.  I won’t be responsible! I didn’t want to be then, and I don’t want to be now.”

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