Janey's Secret

Janey’s Secret

by Sheri Schofield

Hi Friends. Today’s story takes me back to my senior year of high school, when I was doing my senior classes at home on weekends as I finished up my junior year of high school in the classroom. I loved to study outside in the fresh air instead of inside, whenever weather permitted. I used to walk up to a meadow behind the house and study in the shade of a tree near an old house foundation where daffodils bloomed in the spring. I used to wonder about the house which used to be there. Who were the people? What was their story? Nobody knew. So now I’ve come up with a story of my own to go with that memory. Here it is.

   It was my senior year of high school when I found the box which would change everything.

   “Mom, I’m going up to the meadow to study,” I called, grabbing my English literature book, a small quilt, and heading for the door.

   “Okay. But remember to be back by four.”

   “What’s at four?” I paused, hand on the door handle.

   “Oh, Susan, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten we’re having Pastor and Carol over this evening!”

   “Right. I’ll be back in time to help you with dinner.” I pushed the back door open and headed up the woodland path toward the meadow. It was springtime in southern Oregon after a long winter. The air was fresh. The sky was blue with a few puffy clouds floating by.

   I rarely had time for walks up the mountain, but studying in my room when the sun was shining seemed impossible that day. The old cherry tree in the meadow offered shade. Spreading the quilt over the uncut grass beneath it and breathing a sigh of contentment, I sat down and opened my book.

   Ten minutes later, a bird began to sing. I looked up and searched the field. A meadow lark sat singing on the crumbled foundation of the old house not far from me. It had evidently burned down years ago, for there were still black marks on the foundation. Daffodils still grew around it, though, their heads nodding in the in the breeze.

   My concentration wavered. Turning my book upside-down on the blanket, I stood and walked over to the flowers which had been planted around the house many years before. They needed weeding, but I had no trowel. Finding a sharp stick and dropping to my knees, I began to clear the dead grass around the flowers.

   I’d always wondered about the old house. What was it like? Who had lived there? How did it burn down? Mama didn’t know, neither did Dad. They just shrugged. It was before their time, I guess.

   I pulled and moved the grass away from the flowers and reached for another handful. That’s when I noticed a slight gleam in the dirt. It looked like the corner of something metal.

   Using the stick, I dug around the metal object. It took some work, but I finally unearthed it. A small, metal box about the size of a square baking dish, rusted in places, emerged from the dirt. I brushed it off.

   From its weight, I guessed there was something inside. I shook it. Whatever it was didn’t make much sound. Could I open it with all that rust? I tried. Gradually, I worked the lid off.

   Inside was an aged book. The word Diary was etched on the front. Tied to the cover with a ribbon were two wedding rings. Intensely curious now, I opened the diary. The name inside was Janey. Whoever she was, she was long gone. I began reading. It looked like a woman’s handwriting:

   “Today is my seventeenth birthday. And today I met Allen Leigh. He graduated last year and is nineteen. I like him. He’s funny and kind and very smart. His parents are rich, but you’d never guess it. He’s not a snob. He goes to our church. After the service, my friends invited me out to lunch at Denny’s and Allen came, too. He’s new to town.”

   The story recounted their first date, falling in love, keeping their relationship secret because Allen’s parents wouldn’t approve, and neither would Janey’s. Because of the money. Allen was the only heir to the Leigh fortune. His parents wanted him to marry a society girl. But Allen fell in love with Janey and she with him. Then disaster struck. The Korean War started on June 25, 1950,  and within a month, Allen was drafted.

   “I cannot bear to part with him! I love him so much! We cried together when he got his orders. Afterward, Allen asked me to marry him. Before he leaves in two weeks! I said yes. If he never comes back from the war, I will have known his love for a short time.

   “We went to the courthouse the next day and pledged our lives to each other in marriage. He placed a gold ring on my finger, and I placed one on his. We went downtown and had our picture taken at the photographer’s shop to remember this day.

   “My parents were visiting my aunt over in Nevada for two weeks, so we’ve had that time to ourselves. My older brother Sean was taking care of the livestock on our farm and watering the garden. We swore him to secrecy about our marriage, then left for a short honeymoon at the Oregon coast.

   “We returned the day before Allen had to leave. He packed a small bag, which included a small photo of the two of us on our wedding day. I kept its twin, hiding it in my closet in a secret place. We said good-bye at the bus station and held each other until the last moment. Then he was gone.

   “Three months later, Allen was killed in action in Korea. I heard about it first, for the Army contacted me. Dad and Mom were at work at the time. I cried until there were no more tears left. By then, I knew I was carrying Allen’s baby. But my parent knew nothing, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  “Hugging my secret marriage to myself, I told them I was expecting a baby. Dad demanded to know the father, but I wouldn’t tell him. Dad was a difficult man. He ranted and raved at me, demanding to know more. I told him it didn’t matter, because my lover had been killed in Korea. If Dad knew about Allen, he would have hauled me over to the Leigh place and demanded they take care of me. Mom just cried and said nothing. And she didn’t come near me.

   “We need to send her away so she won’t tarnish our family’s standing in the community,” Dad said.

   “That’s how I came to live with the Browns here in the back woods of Oregon, seventy miles from my parents.

   “The Browns were good to me, though I could see Mrs. Brown highly disapproved of me. When the baby was born, she loved him, though, and that made up for her disapproval of me.

   “I’ve named my baby Allen Madison Leigh, but I haven’t told anyone. As far as they know, his name is Allen Madison, my family name.

   “My parents want me to give him up for adoption, but I will not. My father is furious, but I don’t care. I will be receiving survivor benefits from the Army and Social Security, and I will work for this baby and raise him myself.”

   A photo fell out of the diary. It was the picture of Janey and Allen’s wedding day. They looked so happy! What time they had together was good.         Allen looked familiar to me, though. He looked a lot like a young man who worked in the grocery store in town. His name was Cole Standish. I wondered if he was related to the young man in the photo. Turning the diary upside down, I shook it to see if it contained anything else. A clue maybe.

   A birth certificate fell out. It was for Allen Madison Leigh, a baby boy.

   I closed the diary gently and placed it back inside the tin box. It was hard to concentrate on my studies afterward, but I forced myself to do it.

   Back at the house, I slid the metal box with its precious contents into a dark corner of my closet, just as Janey had done long ago.

   Saturday, I went shopping in town with Mom. I searched the aisles quickly when I arrived at the grocery store. Cole Standish was stocking the shelves in the coffee section.

   “Cole?”

   “Yes,” he said, turning his head toward me and flashing a smile. A quick look of recognition crossed his face. “Aren’t you one of the McLean girls?”

   “How did you know?” I asked in surprise.

   “You have the look. I know Jerry McLean. We played football together, and I remember he had a couple of younger sisters back in our high school days. Which one are you?”

   “I’m Susan. I’m seventeen this year.” I smiled up at him. “You look just like a photo I found this week.”

   “A photo?”

   “Yes. But it was in a picture of a young married couple named Allen and Janey Leigh.”

   “Leigh? Aren’t they that rich couple that live out in that big mansion near the river?”

   “Yes. They were the parents of Allen Leigh.”

   “And you think I look like that Allen?”

   “Yes.”

   Allen laughed. “Well, that explains why Mrs. Leigh looked like she’d seen a ghost when she came in here last week. I was at the cash register at the time. I thought maybe she was having a stroke or something. But she snapped out of it.”

   “Cole, when are you off work today? I need to talk with you.”

   His eyebrows went up. “I’m off at three. Where do you want to talk?”

   “Can you make it to Riverside Park?”

   “Sure.”

   “Then I’ll see you at three.” I smiled and turned away. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Cole staring at me, his mouth slightly open and his brows drawn together. I waved and walked out of the store.

   Later that day, I borrowed Mom’s car and drove to town. I took along some sandwiches and milk in a cooler. It has been my experience that men are always hungry. Finding a shady picnic table near a giant cottonwood tree, I set my offerings on the table, the little metal box next to them, and waited.

   Cole found me fifteen minutes later. “There you are. Now what’s this all about?” he asked, obviously consumed by curiosity.

   “Let’s eat first,” I suggested. “I’ve brought some sandwiches and milk.”

   “Huh? Oh. Okay.”

   After we had eaten, Cole said, “Okay, now tell me what this is all about.”

   “Well, I found this box buried next to the foundation of an old house that burned down years ago. When I opened it, here’s what I found.”

   I laid the diary with its two wedding rings, the photo, and the birth certificate on the table between us.

   Cole glanced at me then reached for the photo.

“You’re right, Susan. That man could be my twin!”

   “Were you, by any chance, adopted?” I held my breath, wondering if I was being too bold.

   Cole paused for a moment, lifting his eyes to the river not far away. Finally, he looked at me. “Yes. I was adopted. But I never knew who my parents were. All I know is that my mother died when I was a baby, and there was no birth certificate. The people who took me to the adoption agency said my name was Allen. That was all they knew. My parents changed my first name to Cole, but my middle name is still Allen.”

   “Wow! That can’t be a coincidence.” I paused to absorb the information. “The house where I found this box burned down many years ago.”

   Cole studied the photo. “Are you thinking this might be my real parents?”

   “I think it’s something we should look into.”

   “We?”

   “Yes! This is my find, and I’m in on the hunt!”

   Cole laughed. “You are certainly a McLean. I know that look from your brother.”

   “Then let’s do this.” I handed him the diary with the wedding rings and the photo. “You read the diary tonight, and let’s meet again tomorrow and decide what to do. Okay?”

   “Yes, ma’am!”

   The next afternoon, we met again at the park.

   “I read the diary,” Cole said. “It’s a sweet, sad story. But I don’t know any way to discover if it’s my parents or not.”

   We fell silent for a couple of minutes. Then I thought of something.

   “Let’s check out the photographer. Don’t they keep photos and records for years?”

   “It’s a long shot. But sure. Let’s go there first.”

   We drove downtown to the photography studio typed on the back of the picture. Welby & Son.

   A man about my dad’s age came forward to greet us. “Can I help you?”

   “We hope so,” Cole said. “We’re wondering whether or not you still have records going back to 1950?” He held out the photo.

   The man looked at it and raised his eyebrows, glanced at Cole, then said, “We have records. Let me check.” He disappeared into the back room with the photo. A few minutes later, he returned with a larger photo and a receipt.

   “This was ordered during my Dad’s time by a couple named Allen and Janey Leigh.”

   “Could we get a copy of that?” Cole asked.

   “Is this your father and mother?” the photographer asked.

   “We think so. I was adopted, and my parents died when I was a baby. There was no birth certificate at the time, but we found this.” He handed the man a copy of the birth certificate from the book plus a copy of his own adoption birth certificate with the name Cole Allen Standish on it.

   “It looks genuine. Let me make a copy of it, then I will give you a copy of my order form and this photo from the files.”

   A few minutes later, we walked out of the shop and climbed into the car. For a full minute, we couldn’t say a thing. It was an amazing confirmation.

   “I wonder if my father is buried in the local cemetery,” Cole thought aloud.

   “Let’s go see.”

   We found Allen Leigh’s grave after some searching. Looking down at the gravestone, Cole said, “He was only nineteen when he died, a year younger than I am.” He sighed, saddened by the loss. “I wish I could have known him.Do you think we dare visit the Leighs and find out if this is truly my father?” Cole asked.

   “Maybe we should call them first.”

   “Okay. But you should be the one to explain. You found the box. I don’t want those people thinking I’m trying to trick them or take advantage.”

   “Where can we call from?”

   “I have a phone at my place. It’s not far from here.”

   Twenty minutes later, I made the call. “Mrs. Leigh?”

   “Yes.”

   “My name is Susan McLean. I found a tin box buried next to the foundation of a house that burned down years ago. In it was a picture of your son, Allen, and a young woman. We stopped at the photographers to check on the photo, and he said they took the photo in June 1950, and the couple were listed as Mr. and Mrs. Allen Leigh. In the box I found, there was a diary, too. The woman in the picture was Janey Madison Leigh. They were married just before Allen shipped out to Korea. Janey had a son, but she refused to tell anyone who the father was.”

   There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. “You’re saying our Allen may have had a son?”

   “Yes.”

   “Do you know where he is?”

   “Yes. He’s standing right next to me. He was adopted after his mother died. We think she died when the house she was staying in burned down, or maybe shortly afterward. He was adopted by the Standish family. There was no birth certificate to tell who his parents were. But there was a birth certificate in the box I found. The agency said his name was Allen, but that was all they had on him. His new parents named him Cole Allen Standish.”

   Her voice trembled. “Can we meet him?”

   “If you would like. We can come over and show you what I found when you are ready.”

   “I’m ready now!” she exclaimed. “Please come!”

   “Okay. We will be over in a few minutes.”

   I hung the phone up and looked at Cole. “Let’s go.”

   He was nervous all the way over to the Leigh mansion. Neither of us felt like talking. He pulled his car up to the house, climbed out, then came around and opened my door. “Okay, Susan. Let’s see if this is for real.”

   We had barely reached the front door when it opened. A white-haired woman stood there looking at us. After a long moment, she said, “You’re the young man from the store! Please come inside.”

  She ushered us into the living room and asked her housekeeper to bring tea.

   “You look exactly like my Allen!” she exclaimed, her voice quavering, her eyes filling with tears.

   “Ma’am, I’m just learning about this, too. Susan came into the shop yesterday and showed me this photo.”  Cole handed the picture to Mrs. Leigh, along with the receipt. “Here’s the photographer’s receipt and my adoption birth certificate. We wanted to be sure.”

   “There it is. Mr. and Mrs. Allen Leigh!” The old woman shook her head in amazement as she gazed at the photo. “After all these years, I didn’t think I could be surprised!”

   “Ma’am, I don’t want to take advantage of something I cannot prove. I just need to know if we are related. If we are, I want to know about my father. I don’t know who to ask about my mother. All I have is her diary.”

   “Could … could I see it?” she asked timidly.

   I reached in my carry-all bag and pulled out the tin box. Opening it, I handed the diary with its two gold rings to the small woman.

   She gasped when she saw the rings. “This is my mother’s wedding ring! Look!”

   Inside the ring was the inscription, “E all my love T.”

   “My mother’s name was Elizabeth. My father’s name was Tom. This ring disappeared about the time Allen left for Korea. I never knew what happened to it … until now.”

   She looked up. “No one needs to prove anything to me. This is proof enough. Cole, I am your grandmother.”

   Cole gasped and blinked. He slid from his chair and knelt next to hers. “I am glad to meet you, Grandma. I will be here for you in the years ahead.”

   The old woman cried, but her face was lit with a smile. Looking over at me, she said, “My dear, come.” She motioned to me.

   Speechless, I walked over to her and knelt next to Cole.

   “You must let us become acquainted,” she said. “Can you come over again for Sunday dinner?”

   And that was how a small tin box opened a hidden doorway into the past that led to a beautiful future. Allen found his birth family at long last and introduced them to his adopted family. His grandmother was eager to learn all about his childhood and got along great with his adopted mom. We learned his grandfather had passed away three years earlier. But Allen was able to learn much about him over time.

   We eventually tracked down Sean Madison, Janey’s brother. He was pleased to meet Cole and welcomed him to the family, which had grown into a large clan by then. Janey’s parents had passed away years before, but Cole learned more about them and the family over time.

   A great friendship was forged that day between Cole and me, too. He took me to all the family events with him and showed me off as the one who had solved the mystery of his past.

   Shortly after I graduated from high school, Cole asked me to marry him. When I said yes, he placed his great-grandmother’s engagement ring on my finger. At our wedding, he placed his mother’s wedding ring on my finger, too.

   Later that same week, Cole and I visited the old house foundation together.

   “Mother,” he said into the still air, “this is Susan. We were married this week. I just want you to know we are happy. Tell Dad, will you?”