Mine to Tell (10 page)

Tears pooled in my lower lids, warping my view of Julianne’s name on the envelopes. I wiped my sleeve across my eyes and looked up at Kyle. “I was afraid everyone was right. I was afraid Julianne was nothing more than a woman who…who lacked discretion. And if she was…”

“A common adulteress,” Kyle added simply, “then what was there for you?”

It was shocking, coming from him, but it was worse when I heard it from my family, especially Paul Junior. From them it was degrading. Maybe Julianne wasn’t what I needed her to be. Maybe she was nothing to aspire toward or set me free. Maybe she was truly wrong and I was the same, and my behavior toward Trevor proved it. The wind leaked from my lungs. If that was true, I’d have to marry Trevor. There was no reason not to. It’s what we Crouse women did.

“Read the letters,” Kyle said in a way that told me my great-grandmother was worthy and so was I. “Read the first few, for now. They tell only part of the story, the first part.” Then he nodded toward our piles of deciphered notes from Julianne’s Bible. “That’s probably the rest of it, the filler between her letters. I think it will be chronological if we piece them together in the right order, the letters and the story she’s telling in her Bible. It’s her story, and she’s told it her way. That’s why the letters were left on the shelves in the open, so someone who cared would dig deeper, find the missing parts that she wanted them to. That someone is you. It wasn’t supposed to be me.”

“Yes, it was,” I defended him. “At least partly.” He was one step ahead of me. Years ahead of me, actually.

“I helped you get started. I just did it when we were growing up. Several years before you were ready.” He gave me a soft smile. “I’ll go. You read.”

I wished he’d stay. Or maybe it was best he went. I didn’t know what I was about to find, and maybe it was best I was alone when I did.

“Okay,” I said, nodding at my lap. He stood and I heard him step away. The door opened and then closed. I was alone with Julianne.

Chapter 14

“Childhood and the prime of life are fleeting.”

April 13, 1907

Dear Julianne,

Today is your seventeenth birthday, the day of promise, the day we’ve both been waiting for all these years. How long has it been? We were both eight when my family left our farm that was next to yours and moved to Chicago. And your mother and father promised to let you come for a visit when you turned seventeen. And here it is. Please tell me you’re coming. I can hardly wait!

Your best friend forever,

Henrietta

~*~

April 27, 1907

Dearest Henrietta,

I’m coming! Even though there is scarcely a penny to be had, my mother and father have kept their word. I think they may have borrowed the money from someone though, poor souls.

But in any case, I’m coming! I’ll be on the train, and you can expect me in Chicago on May second. Please be at the station, the Chicago, Cincinnati, and Louisville Railroad. It will come in late that day.

Guess how long I get to stay. Weeks. Maybe a month! Is that okay? I can’t wait to see you and the city. I’m so excited!

Love always,

Julianne

~*~

I stared at my great-grandmother’s handwriting. It was beautiful and full of the energy a young girl coming of age should have. I ran my hand over her script. It flowed in this brief note and made her come alive. She was young, young and innocent, young and vibrant. I wondered how she came by the letter she’d written to her friend in Chicago. It must have been important enough for her to ask for it. Or maybe Henrietta had died and my great-grandmother had retrieved it. Whatever her reason, it was a piece of her, a piece of what she thought was significant and wanted someone to see.

~*~

September 3, 1907

Dear Mother,

I’ve been having the most wonderful time here in Chicago. Of course you already know that because I ramble on so about it in all of my letters. I hope it’s not dull for you to hear me say this again and again, but it is ever so exciting here!

I still miss all of you terribly, but it seems like Henrietta and her brother John keep finding new and interesting things for me to see and do, and I almost never want to leave. I go to the theater often. You wouldn’t believe the colors, the sounds, even the smells. John and I go together most often. Henrietta spends more and more of her evenings with her beau, so that leaves John to take me with him. It suits us perfectly well, since we are both fond of the same plays and actors. I do wish you could see one of Oliver Carmichael’s plays. He’s the most remarkable actor of all, and John was able to introduce me to him after one of his performances. Isn’t that fabulous? John’s turned into a marvelous man. I know I keep saying it, but you wouldn’t believe how lovely Henrietta is and how splendid John has become, since you haven’t seen them since they were children.

I’ve been keeping up with my journal. I write in it every day, describing what we’ve done and everything I’ve seen so I can share it with you someday. There’s so much to write, I may have to buy another one before I come home.

Speaking of coming home, would it be possible for me to stay longer? Again? Henrietta’s family is quite well to do and I have been very helpful to them, so I don’t think I’m a burden at all. They have asked me to stay longer again, all of them have, not just Henrietta. I’ve grown quite close to them. Different than when we were just children. Please say yes. It’s very important to me and to them. I can explain that better later. For now, just please say yes, that I can stay longer.

Love always,

Julianne

~*~

I stopped reading and pondered the written portrait of my great-grandmother that was beginning to take shape in my mind. She fell in love with the city, was enthralled with the theater, especially Oliver Carmichael, and wanted to stay. I didn’t know what to think yet about this actor, but I found myself cheering for her, wishing I could reach back in time and change things for her, grant her what must have been at least her second request to extend her visit.

I didn’t need another letter to tell me that my wishes were futile. I looked at the next letter in the stack. A small note card, not even an envelope to carry it.

~*~

Julianne,

You must come home right away. I’m sorry, but it’s imperative. Your father is arranging your ticket for you. Please be ready to travel right away.

Love,

Your mother and father

I looked at the postmark and it was sent in mid-September. My breast heaved with despair.

~*~

September 25, 1907

Dear Mother,

I will be home October first. Please meet me at the train. I do hope everyone is healthy and well. Your urgency frightens me, but since you gave no specifics, I will assume the best. Besides, if there is something wrong I’m sure the news I have for you will make you forget it. I can’t wait to tell you, so be prepared for something wonderful.

Tell Father thank you for making the arrangements. Everyone here is sad to see me go, but not too sad. I’ll explain why when I see you. But I will tell you part of my secret. John and Henrietta are coming to our home for a visit. Not long after I arrive. You’ll be ever so happy when you see them again and know everything I have to say.

Be ready to carry some extra bags. Henrietta’s family has given me so much, and I have gifts for all of you, too.

See you very soon!

Love,

Julianne

~*~

I put the letter back into its envelope and set the stack aside. I felt like God. Like a God who saw the plight of his people and couldn’t stop their madness. They were blind while he was all-knowing, their free will taking them too far away.

“Why didn’t you stop her?” I threw my head back onto the sofa’s headrest and stared through the ceiling. I wished that by not reading more of her story I could prevent the inevitable from happening. But it did happen. She did come home, and she did eventually marry my great-grandfather. Then she left him for two weeks and was a marked woman from then on. “Why did you let her come home if she wasn’t ready to?” I asked, furious that neither God nor I could stop her.

I thought of the encrypted story Julianne had underlined in her Bible. Now I understood what I’d seen in the Old Testament that Kyle and I had deciphered. My breathing came harder when I recalled the words we’d found so far, the fragments of thoughts and sentiments she’d left behind. My heart wanted to explode.

“Why didn’t you stop her?” I demanded again, even louder this time, as I glared at the ceiling.

Chapter 15

“I moan like a dove;

my eyes look wistfully to the heights.”

Kyle sat across from me at my small table. The house was quiet, reverentially so, as Julianne’s letters and Bible lay between us. I had a small typewriter in front of me, to begin putting her story into readable text, and Kyle had the papers full of our transcription of the chain of underlined letters from her Bible.

“Are you ready to begin?” he asked, pulling the papers toward him.

“Almost,” I said, taking my fingers from the keys. He looked up. “Why?” I asked before we started. “Why did you keep her mailed letters to yourself all these years? You could have returned them to the house or you could have told people what you’d found. But you didn’t. Why not?”

I expected him to redden or look uncomfortable. Maybe even leave, or lie to me, but he did none of those things. He looked me in the eye, his own eyes tender with a compassion that made me sad. Sad it wasn’t in Trevor’s.

“I protected her,” he said.

I’d only read the top few letters so I could learn her story in the order she intended to tell it. They made her look innocent, a young woman with gusto and dreams. What could be misconstrued? No one would have cared about what was in them. But I did know the beginning of her story, the one in her Bible that told of her pain. It painted a different picture than the one her first letters gave. “She’s different than the first letters portray, right?”

He nodded. “I read them all,” he said simply. “And even after that I knew there was more somewhere.”

A familiar mixture of remorse and envy panged from within. What made this shy, retiring young man so much more valiant than we, Julianne’s own family? He was knightly. I wanted someone to fight for me the way he did for my great-grandmother. The way my grandfather had when my great-uncle Simon had tried to tear down this house. I couldn’t keep admiration from my thoughts as I looked at Kyle. I silently applauded him and hoped someday he’d find someone, a very fortunate someone, he could defend and stand beside.

“Thank you. For doing that,” I said. “I just had to know. I’m ready now.”

He made no move to read from our pages of letters and words from Julianne’s Bible. Instead he looked at me, the protective man still in his eyes. “Can I ask you something?” he asked.

“Okay.”

“How’s your story coming?” It sounded like a casual question, but I knew it wasn’t.

“I gave my newspaper some introductory sections about the house, about making it livable…”

“About her disappearance?” he asked. “About her things in the attic?”

I understood his concern. I had it too. We were about to open a whole new facet of my adventure in this house, one that ran much deeper than I’d expected to know or tell. I didn’t know what Julianne was about to tell us, and I didn’t know if it would be shared with the world. Whereas my family wanted to protect their reputations, Kyle and I wanted to defend a woman we believed was wrongly accused. “I only introduced her disappearance. Gave a flavor of her. That’s all.”

He nodded and aligned the notes in front of him. I returned my fingers to the keys and looked at him. He nodded. He read, I typed, and Julianne finally began to take form.

****

Genesis is for beginnings, but this marked my end. What came about for me has been told behind closed doors and whispered behind hands. It has been fabricated and repeated and not once taken from my own mouth or heart…until now. Though the truth will most likely remain untold, this is my story. This is mine to tell.

Chicago had been my home for well nigh half a year. It was a city of light, of strong breezes, of danger, of excitement, and of love. I’d never tasted such living as I did on its crowded streets. I’d never shared so much with friends, never known Henrietta the way I came to know her then, and never understood John, her brother, until that wonderful time.

The first time I saw him, or at least the first time I recall him, we were but children. He was Henrietta’s older brother, a playmate, one who was kind and patient with us, but who still kept to his governing role as the elder and wiser. This time when I saw John he was more. His eyes, the way his hand took mine, the way he smiled, smelled, and spoke. This was the second time I saw him, and nearly the last.

When I was summoned back home, I exited the train full of excitement and promise, happy to see my family again and joyfully knowing I had great news for them. Secret news, surrounded by silly superfluities only a young woman can appreciate. My excited hugs fell upon mummified beings, their arms stiff and cold as they accepted my happy reunion. “They don’t understand my gaiety yet,” I told myself on our way home. “They will soon, and their hugs will change. They’ll be dancing with me too.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen this man who was waiting for us, but it was the first time he registered in my consciousness. Standing like a brittle statue at our door, Isaac Crouse watched us dismount from our wagon and come to the house. His eyes were on me, though he spoke to my father. My father answered him with a muffled tone while Isaac stared after me. Then he went away.

We settled ourselves around the table, a meager fare prepared for my homecoming. They were quiet, too quiet, and I couldn’t stand their sullenness any longer. “I have news,” I announced. Pained expressions passed between them. I told them of my joy in Chicago, the theater, the restaurants, the society, and how it was all so wonderful…but that it was more wonderful because of John, Henrietta’s brother. My father tried to interrupt me, but I wouldn’t let him. I hurried and told them that John wanted to be with me today as I gave them our news, but he couldn’t. He was coming soon, though, and Henrietta with him, and he would ask officially for my hand in marriage although I had already given it to him, right before the train departed, in a little mock ceremony in which his good friend, Arthur, who was an attorney, pretended to officiate. It was a surprise of John’s before I left, to show his devotion to me, even if it was merely pretending. Our agreement to marry for real was settled, and his trip here a formality out of respect for them. All they needed was to know my elation and be a part of our real wedding. John was the most wonderful…