Final Rights (18 page)

THIRTY

2004

Tate
greeted the next morning cheerfully, bouncing out of bed and into the kitchen
to put food out for Pocket, who appeared moments later, stretching from paw to
tip-of-tail and yawning deeply.

“You look like a little yoga cat,
Babycakes,” Tate cooed. “You know what they call that move you just made? A
downward dog! Maybe we should get a dog. Whadda ya think?”

Pocket ignored Tate’s chatter, choosing
instead to sit in the patch of sunlight on the kitchen table and clean behind
her ears.

“Okay, so maybe that’s not such a great idea
afterall. How about another cat instead?” No response from Pocket, who
methodically licked between each toe of her left paw. Once that side was clean,
Pocket yawned and started on the right paw.

“So it’s the silent treatment, is it? Guess
we’re on our own then, just you and me.” Tate put a small dish of fishy
smelling cat food on the floor near the table and headed for the bathroom. She
heard a soft thump as Pocket jumped off the table to gobble down her morning
meal.

Thirty minutes later,
Tate headed downtown to meet Cally. They had laid out their plans the night
before as they sat drinking wine in Sally’s backyard. First, they would have
breakfast at Over Easy, a popular café on Broadway, then head to the library
for more research and finally on to Forest Glen to see Leland Howard.

Hope the place isn’t
too busy. I’d love to get the little table in the back corner so we aren’t
squished in.
Tate visualized herself and Cally sitting exactly where she wanted, with
plenty of room around them and a friendly, attentive waitress. She reviewed her
preferences in her mind several times as she walked the half-block from where
she had parked. Just as she entered the small restaurant, she saw the party at
the favored table paying their bill. She felt a familiar rush of glee, looked
around and realized she was first in line, having arrived only seconds before
the folks behind her. The waitress swiped the table clean and motioned to Tate
just as Cally arrived.

“Thank you!” Tate glanced skyward as she
uttered the gratitude under her breath.

“Hi, Tate!” Cally sang out. “I’m so happy to
see you again.” She threw her arms around Tate and squeezed tightly. Cally wore
tight jeans, a waist-length leather jacket and a handwoven teal and purple
scarf.

“Hey, Cally.” Tate
pulled away quickly. “We have a table.”

“Wow, I thought we’d have to wait. Sally
said this place is always packed.”

“Well, I called in some help.”

“Oh, they take reservations?”

“No, not really . . .” Tate pondered how
much to share. “. . . a different kind of help.”

“That sounds mysterious,” Cally commented as
they took their seats. She looked around at the clustered tables. “This looks
like the best seat in the house. You must be really lucky.”

“You could say that.” Tate hesitated
momentarily, then blurted out, “It’s actually my runners.”

“Runners? What do you mean?”

“Damn! I didn’t mean to say that. You’ll
think I’m crazy!”

“Too late! It’s out. So what, or who, are
runners?”

“Well . . . here goes. Runners are spirit
guides of sorts. Whenever I’m wishing for some amenity, like a great parking
space, a perfect table, an empty cashier’s line—you know, the things that make
life feel magical—I call on my runners. They go ahead of me and get what I’ve
asked for. At least most of the time they do.”

“Okay . . . ?” Cally seemed skeptical. “. .
. I’m not sure I know what you mean. These runners are like fairy godmothers?”

“That’s another way to
look at it. I probably shouldn’t have told you about them. Like I said, you’ll
think I’m weird.”

“I wouldn’t say weird .
. . maybe ‘different’ is a better word.”

“I’ll accept different! And lucky.” But Tate
knew luck had little to do with it. She knew faith and gratitude created the
little miracles that showed up in her life frequently.

Over omelets, hash browns and strong coffee,
Tate filled Cally in on what she knew about Leland Howard.

“He’s been out at Forest Glen for several
years. I don’t know the details. You can’t say I told you this, but one of the
staff members there told me he had been in a state hospital before coming to
their facility.”

“Gampa was definitely not crazy. Why did
they put him in a . . . a mental institution?” Distress contorted Cally’s face.

“I’m sorry to tell you these things, Cally.
I wish I could answer all your questions, but I can’t.”

“I know. I just hate to think of him alone
in a place like that.”

“He’s being well cared for now. You’ll see.
The staff at Forest Glen loves him.”

“Okay. What else do you know?”

“Well, he was a great craftsman—much sought
after here in town apparently, but quite private. I found references to him in
a few public records—not much really, other than the notice of your
grandmother’s death. He seems to just disappear right after that. I want to
check further through Ancestry.com. Maybe we can find out what happened to
him.”

“But you said you met him. Didn’t you ask
him?”

“My first visit didn’t
go well. I mentioned his work and the house on Chestnut and he shut down
completely. I thought he’d never speak to me again. So on my second visit, I
just let him talk.”

Cally listened but said nothing, so Tate
continued. “A man named Richard Price seems to be the one pulling the strings.
How that happened isn’t clear. But he’s the one who got Leland to Forest Glen,
and he and his family continue to be involved.”

“There was a Mr. Price who lived not far
from us. A rich man with a big house in Montford.”

“I think that’s the guy. I met him recently.
He’s quite old now and has trouble getting around. He showed me a desk your
grandfather made—one with a secret compartment!”

Cally closed her eyes and struggled to pull
up a memory, the mental effort written all over her face. Tate waited.

“Secret compartments . . . that sounds
familiar for some reason. I can’t seem to . . . it’s right there, at the edge
of my memory . . . oh, I don’t know! Tell me more. Why did you start looking
for him?”

Tate sighed deeply. “This is feeling like an
old story to me. I’ve told it so many times in the past week.”

“Once more, please,” Cally pleaded.

“Well, there’s a huge
old house not far from where Sally lives. I meant to ask her about it last
night but never got around to it. It’s abandoned and they’re going to tear it
down and build little cottages instead. Little cottages would be nice, I think.
I’d probably even like to live in one of them myself. But ever since first
laying eyes on the place, I’ve felt compelled to save it. So I started hunting
for information, and I found out . . .” Tate stopped abruptly and her fidgeting
put Cally on alert.

“What? What did you find out?”

Tate stalled.
I don’t want to cause her any more pain. I want to take
care of her, not hurt her.

“Tate, please. Is it bad? Why won’t you tell
me?”

“Cally, I don’t know what it means. I just
have this feeling . . . I found out the house belongs to your grandfather.”

“Gampa owns a falling down house in
Montford! Why?” Cally struggled to make sense of it all.

“I wish I knew, Cally. Truly I do.”

They sat quietly for a
moment, Cally apparently lost in thought, Tate watching her for signs of what
to do next.

“More coffee?” The waitress brought their
attention back to the meal.

Tate waited for Cally to answer.

“No, thanks. I think we’ll go now.”

“Okay. Separate checks?”

“One check. I’ll take it,” Cally said before
Tate had a chance to answer.

“Cally, please don’t do that.” Cally’s
gesture made Tate uncomfortable.

“Don’t be silly, Tate. You can treat the
next time.”

“So, there’s a next time, then?”

“I certainly hope so,” Cally answered
brightly. She dropped twenty dollars on the table and got up before the
waitress returned with the check. As they walked out the door, Cally looped her
arm around Tate’s elbow and they headed for the library.

An hour and a half later, they had learned a
few tantalizing details. A search of Ancestry.com produced two references to
Leland Howard in the United States Census data. In 1920, he was ten years old
and lived with his parents at 8 Cumberland Avenue. A decade later, the
household had grown to include Ellie and Clayton. Because of a seventy-two-year
rule, no more specific census data could be located. They found records showing
birth and death dates for Ellie and Clayton. Most interesting was the marriage
certificate for Ellie and Leland.

“Look, Tate.” Cally pointed to the marriage
date. “May 15, 1927.”

“Yes?”

“May 1927. Remember Clayton’s birth date?
December 1927
!”

“Yeah . . .”

“Gamma must have been pregnant when they got
married!”

“Oh! You’re right, Cally. He was born barely
seven months later.”

Cally sank back into her chair, mouth agape,
staring at Tate. “Gamma always seemed so prim and proper. I’m having a hard
time imagining her doing something like that in 1927.”

“And let’s do more math, Cally. They were
both teenagers—only 16 and 17—when Clayton was born.”

“Okay. So, in 1927 they are both in high
school. They hook up and Ellie gets pregnant. They rush to the altar in May.
Maybe Leland graduated, but Ellie couldn’t have, could she? Not at 16.”

“Probably not. But it wasn’t important for
girls back then. They were all destined to get married and raise a family.”

“And the census shows them all living with
Gampa’s parents—my great-grandparents. They stayed in that house from the time
they got married until Gamma and Clayton died. Then Gampa goes somewhere else
for a while and finally ends up at Forest Glen. And the house somehow ends up
on Maplewood.”

“That sounds right. So, we know the whens
and wheres—at least most of them. I still want to know the whys. And how does
the house in Montford fit into all this? There’s no indication of any
connection between it and your family. Except, of course, that Leland owns it.
Why didn’t they live there? Why has it been vacant for decades?”

“Let’s take one thing at a time, Tate. Right
now, I’d like to see Gampa . . .” Cally stopped, a shocked look on her face.

“What? Cally, what is it?”

“What if he
wanted
us to leave? What if that’s why Mom took me away? Maybe he hated us. Maybe he
won’t want to see me! I never considered that before.” Huge tears formed in
Cally’s eyes, and Tate wrapped an arm around her shoulder for comfort.

“One thing at a time, like you said. Let’s
head out there and see what happens. Can we do that?”

“Yes . . . yes, okay. I just panicked for a
minute. I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

THIRTY-ONE

2004

You must think I’m a real wimp!” Cally turned to Tate as
they sat in the parking lot outside Forest Glen.

“Why would I think that?” Tate noticed the
effort Cally put into not crying, but small tears had formed in the corners of
her eyes.

“I’m not usually like this—so emotional!
What if Gampa doesn’t want to see me?”

So we’re back there, then—fear and
insecurity.
Tate reached
over and put her hand on Cally’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Cally, I’ve only met your grandfather
twice, but I can tell you for sure he’s a loving and gentle man. I can’t
imagine he would not want to see you.”

“But it’s been so long! I was a little kid
when Mom took me away. Maybe he’s forgotten about me . . .”

“His mind is sharp, Cally. He may have
buried his memories of you to protect himself, but I doubt he’s forgotten you.”

Cally sat staring at her hands in her lap,
her shallow breath clearly an attempt to control her emotions. Tate waited a
few moments before speaking again.

“So, my dear, I can pretty much guarantee
you’re never going to feel better by sitting here in the parking lot. We can
leave and come back another time, or we can go inside. What’s your preference?”

“I want to see him. I have to know.”

Tate summoned her cheeriest voice,
determined to do whatever she could to ease Cally’s concerns. “Okay then. Let’s
go!”

They walked the short distance to the
entrance and arrived in the lobby where Ruby stood ready to welcome them.

“Well,
Ms.
Marlowe. I never did think I’d be seein’
you again this soon! And who’s this with you?”

“And good afternoon to you, too, Ms. Ruby!”
Ruby acknowledged the formal greeting with a huge grin and a wink.

Cally noticed the playful tone of the conversation
and wondered what it meant. She’d have to ask Tate about it later.

“Ms. Ruby, I’m happier than I can say to
introduce you to Cally Thornton . . .” Ruby waited through Tate’s dramatic
pause. “. . . Leland Howard’s granddaughter!”

“Mr. Howard’s
granddaughter
?”

Ruby’s gasp caught the
attention of Dorothy as she entered through the door behind the desk. She
echoed Ruby’s astonishment: “You said his
granddaughter
? We thought he had no family left.
He
thinks all his family
is gone!”

“She was gone for a long time,” Tate said as
she put a steadying hand on Cally’s back. “But she’s here now, and she would
love to see Mr. Howard if you think he’s up to it.”

“He’s busy carving some Christmas ornaments,
but he always likes to have visitors,” Dorothy offered as she escorted them
into the common area.

Leland Howard sat in his usual spot by the
windows, head bent over his work. Cally stopped short of approaching him. “I
need a minute,” she said. Tate and Dorothy stood quietly to the side as Cally
took her time. She had yearned for this meeting for more than four decades. She
would not rush now.

“Where did she come from, Ms. Marlowe?” The
nurse whispered the question.

“California is the easy answer, but there’s
so much more to it than that Dor . . . Ms. Dorothy.”

Dorothy gave the slightest giggle. “That
‘Ms.’ doesn’t come naturally to you, does it, Ms. Marlowe?”

“Absolutely not! But, I’m learning to adjust
to Southern customs, with Ms. Ruby’s help.”

“I had some trouble with that when I came to
the South, too. When I’m at work, I always use the title when I greet someone.
Informal situations, I tend not to use it. You know, at the store, with friends
. . . but I always use it around older folks. It really is kind of confusing. I
go by the better-safe-than-sorry rule!”

“Good advice, Ms. Dorothy. Thanks.”

“We thought he was all alone. So, where did
she come from?” Dorothy asked again as she nodded in Cally’s direction. They
both noticed how still Cally stood and how intently she stared at her
grandfather.

“She’ll have to decide how much to share.
But she was taken away as a child and just found her way back. She thought he
was dead, and I think she’s having a hard time taking it all in herself. I
can’t imagine what it will be like for him.”

Cally turned to Tate and whispered “Okay.”
Dorothy took a seat nearby as Tate led Cally to her grandfather’s side.

“How are you today, Mr. Howard?”

Leland looked up from his work and smiled
broadly upon seeing Tate. He searched to see if she had a package with her. “No
cookies today?”

Tate chuckled. “No, sir. No cookies today,
but I did bring something very special with me.” She indicated Cally. He turned
his attention to the stranger as Cally knelt beside him, took his hand in hers
and said: “Gampa, it’s me. It’s Cally.”