Hidden History (5 page)

“What
can
you think?” asked Jane. “It’s not as if we have any choice about who our ancestors are or what they may or may not have done, Louise. Look at it this way: We got lucky on the Berry side. As far as we know, they were outstanding and accomplished citizens. So maybe the Howard side does have a few skeletons, or embarrassing secrets. Maybe that’s just how life balances out sometimes.”

“Besides,” added Alice, “it certainly didn’t harm Father. He grew up to be a wonderful man, loved and respected by all who knew him.” She shook her head in astonishment. “Not a bit like his father … apparently.”

“I find this all rather, well, shocking,” said Louise.

Jane gently poked her in the arm. “Oh, Louie, does it embarrass you to learn that your heritage isn’t quite as genteel as you’d thought?”

“It is not that, Jane.” Louise stood up, folding her arms across her chest.

“Well, I can understand how you both feel,” said Alice soothingly. “While I do think it’s rather interesting to find
out that our grandfather was, shall we say, less than a wholesome character, it
is
a little disturbing too.”

“Well, maybe that is enough reading for tonight,” said Louise as she went toward the door.

“But it was just getting so interesting,” said Jane stubbornly. “Do you mind if Alice and I continue to read without you?”

Louise stopped and turned. “Well … I would really like to hear more too.”

“I have an idea,” said Alice. “It is late tonight, and we should keep it quiet up here for the sake of our guests down below. How about we make a date for tomorrow evening, say seven-thirty. We can meet in Father’s library and read from his journal for an hour. How does that sound?”

Louise nodded. “That sounds quite nice. Despite this discovery about the questionable character of our grandfather, well, I am curious to see how it affected Father’s life. Not only that, but Father was quite a good writer, don’t you think? His love of words was rather sweet.”

“Yes,” said Jane. “And to think he was only fifteen.”

“Okay,” said Alice. “It’s settled then.”

“And no cheating,” said Jane, waving her finger under Alice’s nose.

“Cheating?” Alice blinked at her younger sister.

“Yes, no peeking ahead to see what’s in the journal. We all get to hear it for the first time together.”

Alice nodded. “Fine. No reading ahead.”

“If anyone can be trusted,” said Louise with a tired yawn, “it is Alice.”

“Yes,
Alice
certainly doesn’t take after Grandpa Howard,” said Jane, as she gave Louise a sharp glance. “I wonder who does.”

“Do not look at me,” said Louise. “I firmly believe in the benefits of a good education, and everyone knows that I am a teetotaler.”

“Maybe it’s Aunt Ethel,” Jane said with a giggle.

“Now, Jane,” said Alice, “that’s not fair.”

“I know,” said Jane. “I was just being mean. The truth is I’m probably the most like our ornery old grandpa.”

Naturally, Alice and Louise protested. Then they all laughed, hugged and said goodnight.

Alice tried to imagine her paternal grandfather after she finished her bedtime Bible reading and prayer time. Certainly, he had been nothing like her father, in disposition or in spirit. There must have been some reason that he had been such a cantankerous man. Perhaps life had been hard on him or he had been severely disappointed somehow. Whatever the cause, she was eager to find out more about her father’s family during his boyhood years. Good or bad, it was, after all, the Howard family history.

Chapter Four

H
ave you heard the news?” asked Ethel before she was barely through the swinging door that connected the dining room and the kitchen. Alice turned to see her aunt bedecked in a purple and pink flowered dress that provided a vivid contrast to her dyed-red hair.

“Hi, Aunt Ethel,” said Alice as she hung one of Jane’s pots above the stove.

“What news?” asked Jane as she emerged from the pantry.

“Are these left over from breakfast?” asked Ethel hopefully as she eyed a plate of freshly made raisin scones.

“Help yourself,” said Jane. “We’re just finishing cleaning up.”

Within seconds, Ethel had a cup of tea and a scone and was seated at the kitchen table. “Did you hear about Clara Horn’s baby?” she asked between bites.

“Clara Horn’s
baby?”
repeated Jane. “Good grief, that woman must be at least seventy years old.”

“Do you mean a new grandchild?” asked Alice as she
hung up the dishtowel and poured herself a cup of tea. “Although her daughter is probably old enough to be a grandmother herself.”

“Audrey Horn, a grandmother?” asked Jane. “Why, she’s a year younger than I am.”

Alice laughed. “That’s still old enough to be a grandmother.”

Jane frowned. “Thanks a lot.”

“It’s nothing personal, but if you do the math, you can see—”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Ethel. “I was trying to tell you about Clara Horn’s
baby.”

“Clara Horn’s baby?” echoed Louise as she came into the kitchen. “What on earth are you talking about, Auntie? Clara is almost as old as you—”

“Older,” snapped Ethel. “I’m
trying
to tell you girls the latest news and I can hardly get a word in edgewise.”

“Excuse me,” said Jane as she hung up her apron. “Louise, did you give the Winstons directions to the local antique shops? They had mentioned wanting to find something special to commemorate their anniversary.”

Louise nodded as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “I did. And I told Mrs. Miller about Sylvia Songer’s shop since she is an avid quilter. And I told Mrs. Bauchman about Time for Tea after she complimented us on the tea.”

“Well, the Chamber should give you a special award, Louise.” Jane poured the last of the coffee into her brightly colored mug and finally sat down at the table. “All right, Auntie, go ahead and spill the beans. You’ve got a captive audience now.”

Ethel looked slightly miffed. “I’ve got a mind just to leave without saying another word.”

Jane laughed. “I’d have to see it to believe it.”

“Jane,” said Louise in a slightly scolding tone.

“Go ahead,” encouraged Alice. “Tell us about Clara Horn’s mysterious baby.”

“Yes,” agreed Jane. “Did Clara find a basket on her porch? Or perhaps it was hidden under a cabbage leaf in her garden?”

Ethel smiled slyly. “Well, I suppose her
baby
would enjoy a cabbage leaf in her garden. For that matter, you better watch out for your own garden, Jane.”

“What kind of baby are we talking about?” asked Louise.

“A pig!” exclaimed Ethel. “Clara Horn has gone out and gotten herself a pig.”

“A pig?” Louise blinked. “What could Clara Horn possibly want with a pig? Why, her backyard is no bigger than a postage stamp.”

“Exactly,” said Ethel, tapping the side of her head with
her index finger. “We’re beginning to think that Clara may need to get her head examined by a professional.”

“Do you mean a pet pig?” asked Alice.

“Like a potbellied pig?” added Jane.

“I think she called it something like that,” said Ethel. “But, good grief, what pig doesn’t have a potbelly? Your Uncle Bob raised pigs on our farm for a few years, and that’s the whole point: You fatten them up for slaughter in the fall. They all have potbellies.”

“But she probably got a Vietnamese potbellied pig,” said Jane.

“Who cares where she got it,” said Ethel. “The problem is, it’s a pig. And Clara does
not
live on a farm.”

“Lots of people in California got potbellied pigs for pets during the nineties,” said Jane. “It was quite the fad.”

“Well, maybe in California,” said Ethel. “Everyone knows that those people out there are all half-crazy anyway.”

Jane just rolled her eyes.

“Where does Clara intend to keep her pet?” asked Louise.

“That’s just it,” declared Ethel. “She keeps the nasty thing in her house. I’ve heard that it actually sleeps in her bed.” She shook her head in utter disgust. “The woman is clearly losing her marbles.”

“Oh, come on,” said Alice. “Maybe she’s just lonely. It hasn’t been that long since she lost her husband.”

“Well, I remember what it’s like to bury a husband,” said Ethel. “And you didn’t find me sleeping with a dirty old pig.”

This pronouncement sent the three sisters into sidesplitting laughter. Ethel just sat there, staring at them as if they were no saner than Clara Horn. “Well,” she finally said as she reached for her oversized purse, “I never.”

Alice was the first to recover. “Sorry, Aunt Ethel. We’re not laughing at you. It’s just so funny—about the pig and all.”

“Yes,” agreed Louise, placing her hand on Ethel’s arm as she used her lace trimmed handkerchief to wipe tears of laughter from her eyes. “I must agree with you, dear, I never would have considered sleeping with a pig after I buried my husband either—”

Jane lost it all over again, and Alice was not far behind her. Louise, still stifling her own giggles, kindly took Ethel by the arm and walked with her out the back door.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” said Jane, wiping her wet eyes with a tissue. “That was just so funny.”

Alice nodded. “Yes, and you know how laughter’s contagious. As soon as you got started, I just couldn’t help myself.”

Jane rose from her chair and went to the back door. “Well, it’s also good medicine. I needed a laugh.”

“I just hope we didn’t offend Aunt Ethel.”

“Not to worry, it looks like Louise is smoothing it all over.” Jane pointed out to the garden where the two older women stood talking amidst the roses.

“So, do you think it’s really true about Clara?” asked Alice as she rinsed her teacup and set it in the dishwasher.

“You mean that she sleeps with a pig?”

“Please,” begged Alice. “Don’t get me going again.”

“Why not?” said Jane as she walked to the cupboard and reached for her big mixing bowl. “I’ve heard they make nice pets. Very intelligent. Only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“They start out cute and small, but they can grow up to be enormous. They can weigh hundreds of pounds.”

“Goodness. I can’t imagine Clara Horn caring for something like that.”

Jane was sifting flour into the bowl. “I thought I’d whip up some sugar cookies. They’re not fancy, but I just got a yen for them this morning. Maybe it’s all this down-home talk about pigs.” Jane laughed.

“Sugar cookies sound delicious to me,” said Alice. “Are you using Mother’s old recipe? She used to make the best ones. Bigger than my hand with the fingers widespread. Of course, my hands were a lot smaller then.”

“I probably won’t make them that big. They might not look very dainty for our guests.”

“Perhaps I could take a few to Vera,” said Alice. “She wasn’t feeling well yesterday.”

“That’s a great idea,” said Jane. “I’ll set aside a special plate for her and Fred.”

Alice took Vera her cookies later in the afternoon, but on her way, she saw Clara Horn wheeling an old-fashioned baby buggy down the street toward her. Alice paused to say hello. “And who’s in the baby carriage?” asked Alice, but she was afraid she already knew.

“Why, this is my baby,” said Clara with a twinkle in her eye. “Her name is Daisy.” Then she held her forefinger over her lips. “I think she’s still asleep.”

Alice peeked into the baby buggy to see a pair of dark beady eyes and a black snout poking out of a white baby bonnet. “Well, hello there, Daisy,” said Alice.

“Oh, Daisy,” said Clara, bending over to see. “Did you wake up already? I thought you were still taking your afternoon nap.”

Alice was not sure what to say next. It would feel disingenuous to say, “What a pretty baby.”

“How old is she?” she finally asked. “She seems quite small.”

“Daisy just turned seven weeks,” said Clara proudly. “Barely old enough to be weaned from her mother. She still
drinks from a bottle sometimes. Really, isn’t she just the sweetest thing you ever saw?”

“I’ve never seen anything like her,” said Alice honestly. She studied the dark face and began to think that the pig was rather cute, in a piggy sort of way. Then she reached out and patted the small animal on the head. The pig gave a soft grunt and Alice smiled. “She’s really quite nice,” said Alice.