A Home in the Wilderness, Part 2

Hello Friends. Today’s feature is part 2 of a fictitious story set in 1948 Wyoming, about Helen Curtis and her three teenagers (Luke-19) Liza (18) and Elijah (14) who return to Wyoming after a long winter to finish building the ranch their family started the previous summer. Helen’s husband, Will, died in a car accident during the winter, leaving her a widow. Together, the family wants to finish building Will’s dream ranch. But Helen isn’t sure she wants to remain there when it is finished, for it is in the Wyoming wilderness area between Devil’s Tower and Hulett, far from all her children are used to. Jerome Whitmore, a neighboring rancher, seeing their need for help in raising the walls of the main house, offers to bring his cowboy crew over to help.

A Home in the Wilderness, Part 2

by Sheri Schofield

   Saturday dawned with clear skies. It was perfect weather for erecting a house. Shortly after we’d eaten breakfast, we heard the whoops and pounding of hooves announcing the arrival of our volunteer crew.

   Luke strode outside and grinned at the men, shaking hands with them and learning names. Elijah was at his side soaking it all in and smiling from ear to ear.

   “Who’s the young lady?” one cowboy asked in a stage whisper, nodding to my blonde-haired blue-eyed daughter.

   “That’s our sister, Liza. But let me warn you, she’s almost as good as me at carpentry work,” Luke said. “Why, you should see her in jeans sitting on top of a frame, hammering in nails. She’s independent, too. Don’t let her dress and long hair fool you. You’re company, so she’s helping Mom cook today. But when you all leave, she’ll be back in blue jeans with a hammer and saw in her hands.”

   The younger men insisted on being introduced to Liza. I could see at once she was going to have no end of attention. But having grown up with brothers, she knew exactly how to manage.

   I smiled and greeted all the men. “Thank you all for coming over to help us. We are indeed blessed. My name is Helena Curtis. If you need anything, just ask.”

   Jerome, the last to dismount, had been watching with a tolerant grin on his face as his men crowded around Liza. He now walked into the group and said, “Let’s get this house up, boys.”

   By noon, the walls were up, the roof base was in place, some of the men were installing the metal roof over the bare boards, and siding was going up.

   Late the night before, after Jerome had left, I had started making apple pies. I’d baked some more before breakfast, too. By lunch time, I’d heated and sliced the roast beef and prepared the gravy.

   “Liza, help me put the food on the table.” I’d built a fire outside with a frame to hold a large pot and had cooked corn on the cob. Beans were simmering on the stove. There was bread Liza and I had baked the previous day, and big pitchers of milk.

   Jerome and Elijah set up a make-shift benches with boards nailed onto logs. Together, Liza and I set the hot food on the table.

   I walked over to the iron triangle hanging near the front door and sounded the call to lunch.

   The men dropped their tools where they worked and headed for the wash tub I’d filled up with water. Liza stood next to it with towels ready, much to their pleasure.

  After filling their plates, some of the crew sat on the grass to eat, leaving room at the table for others, while Liza and I kept the food organized. We would eat after the crew finished.

   Standing next to the table, Jerome lifted a hand. The crew fell silent as he blessed the food. Meals were generally serious business for the workers, but with Liza nearby, they did a fair amount of talking, hoping to gain her attention.

   When it was time for dessert, Jerome waited until his crew finished, then helped himself to some of my apple pie. After a couple of bites, he looked up at me and grinned. “You make a fine apple pie, ma’am.”

   “Thanks.” I smiled at him briefly then went back to work.

   By evening, the crew had finished the basics on the outside, including a coat of white paint. It was a great start.

   I sighed with satisfaction as they mounted their horses, waved their hats and raced home with a few whoops, still exuberant as though they had been to a party. With Liza smiling shyly and listening to them, I could see why.

   Jerome was the last to leave. After he’d mounted his horse, he told me, “If you need help with the interior, just send one of your boys over and I’ll come myself.”

   I nodded and smiled up at him. “You have been such a blessing, Jerome. You’re welcome here anytime.”

   He grinned, tipped his hat, nudged his horse, and lit out after his crew.

   “Thank you, Lord,” I whispered. God had provided the help we needed.

   Later that evening when the boys had gone outside for a last look around, Liza confided, “Mama, I liked Steve, the tall, quiet cowboy. He has lovely manners.”

   Hugging her close, I said, “He seems to be very nice. But take your time, honey.”

   “I will. But I just wanted you to know.”

   “Thanks for telling me, Liza.” She was growing up so fast! I knew it wouldn’t be long before she would marry. I treasured each moment with her.

   We named our ranch the Circle C for Curtis. Over the next few weeks, we installed the plumbing and insulation indoors. An electrical crew tied us into the power lines that week, and the phone company installed their line as well. The interior walls were knotty pine, so we didn’t need to paint. The boys put in windows and added red trim to them. Will had provided red metal roofing, and the total effect was pleasant to the eye.

   I sighed. Will, we did it. I wish you could be here to see it! You would be so proud of the boys and Liza.  

   Until the house was finished, we slept and ate in the back room of the barn. Even though it was summer, the nights were cool in the highlands of Wyoming.

   Luke and Elijah began the brickwork for a chimney for the stove the morning after the house raising. It took a few days, but it looked efficient when it was finished. But the old wood stove was too heavy for the two boys to move on their own.

   With the phone in, I called the operator and had her ring Jerome’s number that evening.

   “Jerome, this is Helen.”

   “Hello Helen. How are you?” I could hear the pleasure in his voice.

   “I’m doing well, thanks to you and your crew.”

   “Is there anything else we can do for you?”

   “Yes. Could you send two of your strongest men over to help Luke and Elijah move the wood stove into the house for us?’

   “Gladly. You know they will fight over the privilege of coming over, don’t you?” I could hear the laughter in his voice.

   “I’m sure. Liza has always been a major attraction in our family.”

   “Yes she is. But so is her mother.”

   I felt my cheeks growing warm. “Oh! Thank you, Jerome.:

   “We’ll be over there first thing in the morning.”

   “Thank you.” So Jerome is coming along with his men. I can see he likes me. But I’m not ready to think of anyone besides Will yet! Lord, show me what to do.

   We had just finished breakfast when we heard horses coming. The boys jumped up and headed out the barn door to greet them. Liza and I quickly put the dishes in the barn’s sink which Will had installed the summer before, then followed the boys outside.

   “Good morning, Helen,” Jerome nodded, dismounting and tying his horse’s reins to the hitching rail. “You remember Steve and Pete?”

   “Yes. Thank you all for coming.”

   “Lead us to that stove, ma’am. We’ll have it installed in no time.”

   “It’s inside the other barn door,” Luke said, taking the lead.

   “Do you have some boards we could use as a ramp into the house?” Jerome asked.

   “Yes. They’re in the barn, too.”

   A few minutes later, Steve and Jerome came outside with four two-by-six boards and a piece of scrap plywood. Laying the boards down and nailing the plywood firmly over the top, they made a secure ramp for moving the stove.

   In a short time, they were able to move the heavy stove across the grass and into the house and put it in place in front of the chimney. Luke had laid a brick foundation to accommodate the stove and to prevent fires. Jerome helped him install the connecting stovepipe.

   By the time they had completed the work, Liza had baked a tray of hot oatmeal cookies which she brought out to the table on the grass.

   “It’s looking nice, Helen,” Jerome said as he finished and brushed his hands on his jeans. He looked around. “Homey. Warm.” He nodded and looked over at me. “Will would be proud of you and the family.” He looked at Luke. “You’re a natural-born carpenter, Luke. Good job. You too, Elijah and Liza.”

   Will had installed a fence around the property last summer, but the interior pastures needed to be fenced before we could bring in cattle. For the next three weeks, we worked with poles and barbed wire doing the inner fencing.

   Sunday, I woke the children early. “Let’s go to church this morning,” I said, sitting on the edge of Liza’s bed and addressing them all.

   “That sounds fun,” Elijah said with a yawn and rolled out of bed.

   Luke followed suit, then Liza.

   “Breakfast is ready as soon as you are,” I said, walking into the living area.

   Town people were walking toward the church when we pulled our Chevy into the parking area.

   “There’s Steve!” Liza leaned over and whispered into my ear.

   “I see him.”

   Jerome stood near the door and saw us drive up. He smiled and waved. I waved back. Steve turned when Jerome waved. Seeing Liza, he strode over.

   “Hi, Liza. Good to see you here!”

   “Hi Steve.” Her face glowed.

   “Would you like to sit with me this morning?”

   “Yes, I would.”

   Crooking his elbow, he pulled her hand through it and walked her into the church.

   Jerome watched, an amused smile on his face, then glanced at me. “Ma’am, would you like to join me this morning?” He crooked his arm.

   “Thank you, Jerome.” I let him lead me inside, though my heart held him at a distance. Friendship was all I could give, and I welcomed friendship…as long as it remained friendship only.

   Elijah found a small group of teenagers and introduced himself. Luke, much less social than my other young people, simply walked into church and sat next to me. It was nice. Jerome on one side, Luke on the other. At least I wouldn’t feel alone in the new church.

   The choir entered, dressed in long blue robes with white stoles, and began singing the doxology. We all stood and joined them. Later, one of the young women in the choir sang a solo during the special for the day, O Love That Will Not Let Me Go.

   Glancing a  Luke, I noticed his lips were slightly parted and his eyes were fixed on the woman. Who was she? Was she spoken for? I could almost read his mind. Well, we would find out in due time. I felt we would fit into this church nicely, and thanked God for the friendliness I felt from others.   

   By July, we were ready to buy stock. We bought four heifers, a bull and a milk cow from a rancher closer to town. It was the start of our own herd.

   I bought some chickens from another neighbor after my young people put up a chicken coop with straw for nests. They built the coop between the barn and the house so we could easily walk between buildings when snow fell. Sheltered by the cliff to the north and west, all the buildings would weather the coming winter well.

   Liza came up beside me one evening as I stood looking out over our fields. “It feels good to have our own home and ranch, Mama. Even if it’s far away from Grandpa and Grandma and our friends back in Rapid City. I like it here.”

   “Yes. It is good. I miss your dad a lot. But he would be pleased with the way we’ve all managed to build the dream he had.”

   “He would. He’d be proud of you, Mama. You’ve been wonderful.”

   “Thank you, Liza.” I hugged her. “You’re a comfort to me.” I sighed, wondering if I should keep my young people so far from all that was familiar to them. “I don’t suppose you’d like to sell the ranch and move back to Rapid City, now that we’ve built the ranch, would you?”

   “No. We put too much work into this place. We belong here now.”

   “I’m glad you feel that way, honey.”  

   It was a busy, exhausting summer, but I welcomed the long work hours, for it kept me from the grief I felt over losing Will. He was never far from my thoughts. Yet I never had time to linger too long in the pit of grief. I fell asleep each night before the wave of pain could reach me.

   Gradually, my heart stopped hurting so fiercely whenever I thought of Will. The grief became a dull ache. By September, I was able to go a day or two without remembering my loss, and by October I could even laugh again sometimes. Healing began washing away feelings of loss for long stretches of time.

   My children began experiencing healing, too. Hard work and laughter eased the pain.

   During the summer and especially when fall arrived, we all worked together canning fruit and vegetables we were able to buy in bulk from the farmer’s market in town. We stored what we canned on shelves in the rock-walled basement with its earthen floor. We stocked the large freezer with cuts from half a beef we’d been able to buy at the butcher’s store. We butchered most of the roosters, freezing them for future meals, and my boys caught many fish in the creek near our house. Some we ate fresh, and some we froze. I felt great satisfaction with all we had stored for the coming winter. It was hard work but rewarding.

   One morning in October when I awoke, I saw snowflakes falling outside my window.

   “We’re ready.” I whispered. We had mowed and baled hay during July and stacked it in the barn’s loft. We’d also stacked some in a cave where the cattle went for shelter when the weather was cold. If a storm came, I didn’t want the cattle to be without hay.

   Luke had built a roof extending twelve feet out over the area in front of the chicken coop so the chickens could be outside whenever they wanted without battling the snow.

   Temperatures dropped in November along with scatterings of, but there were days when the sun came out and warmed the cold earth. Ice on the roof melted, forming icicles. But we were warm inside the house, for I had bought enough logs for two winters, and the boys had chopped much of it. The wood was stored conveniently on the south side of the house right outside the kitchen door, where the sun would warm it. The boys had built a sturdy roof over that end of the house and secured a canvas tarp over the top of the stack, knowing from long experience how snow on wood made it stick together.

   Our first Christmas in our new home was somber. We all felt Will’s absence.

   “Remember when Dad…” The phrase came to our lips often, provoking good memories, but leaving us sad.

   Jerome came over with treats his cook had made, telling funny stories about his riders. It was a bright spot in an otherwise sad day. Steve, who had gone home to Sundance for Christmas, stopped by our house the next day..

   “Come in, Steve,” Lisa said, inviting him into the house.

   He grinned and came inside carrying a cardboard box. “My mom thought you might like some goodies,” he said, setting the box on the table.

   “How lovely!” Liza said. She walked toward the table and began unpacking the box. “Christmas cookies….Mmm! This smells like pumpkin bread. Lifting a paper bag and looking in it, she reached in and pulled our homemade taffy. She turned a glowing look up at Steve. “Thank you!
   Steve’s face glowed, too, as he looked into her eyes. “It is my pleasure.”

   The boys crowded around, reaching for cookies and taffy. “Tell your mom we love it!” Elijah said, munching on a cookie.

   Steve brought laughter with him, too. But the room felt empty when he left.

   I think we all felt relieved when Christmas season was over, and the new year dawned.

   But January 2, 1949 turned our world upside down.

(To be continued)

A Home in the Wilderness

Greetings, friends. The story I am starting for you today is set in 1948-49 and captures a historic event here in Wyoming while it weaves the tale of a family that braves the wilds to build their home. I spent longer than usual researching the background to try to paint a picture of the time and places in order to bring you an authentic feel for the characters and the land. Because of the complexity of this story, woven as it is into an actual event, I will share it with you in three or four parts. Enjoy!

A Home in the Wilderness

Part 1

by Sheri Schofield

Spring rains pelted my bedroom window as I gazed out at Mom and Dad’s back yard. It was spring of 1948 in Rapid City, South Dakota. Winter snows had melted, and daffodils were pushing their heads up in bunches along the wooden fence which enclosed the small back yard.

   “Helen,” Mom said entering my room. “How are you feeling today?”

   “Better. My leg is almost healed now, and I was able to walk over to the closet without pain.”

   “Good.” She nodded with satisfaction. “Breakfast is ready. Do you want me to make your tea?”

   “Thank you, but I think I can make it myself this time, Mom. I need to use my leg more if I’m going to head out to the ranch in a couple weeks.”

   “I wish you wouldn’t,” Mom said. “I know Will has the barn built on the property, but where will you and the children stay while you’re working? It will still be cold, you know.”

   “Will had one end of the barn closed off for living quarters and left some cots for us to use. There’s a wood stove in there, too. We will be fine. Don’t worry about us. The kids are strong and healthy.”

   “Yes, they will probably be okay. Luke and Elijah are tough. But I worry about Liza. She’s eighteen now and should be meeting more young people her age.”

   “I’m sure she will make friends at church. So will Luke and Elijah. Luke’s a full-grown now. A man. He’s probably going to take the lead in getting acquainted in town. Elijah? Well, I’ll make sure he gets to weekly youth group. He’ll make friends quickly with his cheerful spirit.”

   My boys, Luke at nearly twenty and Elijah at fourteen, were both independent spirits. Liza was the quiet one who liked to write, play the guitar and sing. But she was also skilled in carpentry, like the boys were. She would find her place in the church music groups. Hulett, Wyoming was a small town in the year 1948, but it was a friendly place.

   My husband, Will, had dreamed of ranching in Wyoming someday. When he sold our house in Rapid City, he was able to purchase land near Hulett and the Devil’s tower in Wyoming. It was undeveloped land, but Will had enough money to buy the land plus all the building materials, which were now locked up in the barn he and our children had built last fall. We’d left the property for the winter months and returned to Rapid City to stay at my parents’ home until spring. We hadn’t expected for Will to die in a car accident two months before, or for me to break my leg as well.    

   Mom and Dad were wonderful. They’d helped me through the worst of the pain and grief, but I knew there would always be an emptiness in my heart, a place only Will could fill.

   With the warmer weather, I knew we should be heading out to the ranch. I dreaded leaving Mom and Dad, but if the children were to have a good future, I needed to complete the job Will had started and finish building the ranch.

   Whether we stayed there or not after we finished building the house remained to be seen. With a barn and a house on the property, we could sell for a good sum and move into a place in town if we wanted. Maybe. Not a lot of people liked to live in remote areas.

   There was a good school for Elijah in Hulett. Liza had graduated the year before, having worked extra hard. I wasn’t sure what she would do after the house was built, but she was an excellent carpenter, as was Luke. Will had taught them both his trade. Elijah at least knew how to hammer a nail straight and saw wood right on the mark, even if he didn’t have the experience his older siblings had. We would be fine, I told myself.

  The first week in May, we loaded our possessions into a small trailer Dad loaned us and headed west in the used Chevy I’d bought to replace what we’d had before the accident. Waving goodbye to my parents, we headed west. I wiped tears from my eyes, but the children were excited about the trip.

   “How long do you think it will take to build the house?”

   “I wonder if we’ll have any close neighbors!”

   “Mama, how long will it take to get there?”

   “Are there many neighbors near our place?”

   I smiled. “I know. You’re full of questions and curiosity. But we’ll be there later today.”

   When we finally arrived at the gate to the ranch and Luke pulled the gate open for us, I was exhausted. But we were pleased to be at our own home again. We’d spent last fall here, so the kids knew where everything was.

   The house foundation was tucked up against a cliff on the west side, a cliff that curled around on the north end making a perfect defense against the winds of Wyoming. This was tornado country. The shelter would help protect our home. The barn and chicken coop were close to the cliff too. Wyoming also had hailstorms which sometimes dropped ice balls the size of goose eggs. The protection of the cliff would help preserve the house during a storm. Of course, Will had dug a cellar under the house, a place of retreat if a severe storm came our way.

   I unlocked the padlock Will had put on the side door of the barn. “Luke. backed the trailer up to the door to make unloading easier.”

   “Okay, Mom.”

   “Elijah, I want you to build a fire in the stove before we unload.”

   “Will do.”

    Bedding, household goods, clothes… It took some time to unload and organize what we’d brought with us. But by dinner time, the space was feeling cozy.

   The fire in the wood stove where I now cooked dinner for the family warmed the room. We were camped out in the back part of the barn under the loft. Later, this would be the milking area for the cow.

   Will and I had planned to buy a milk cow as well as a few red Angus cows and a bull. If we decided to stay, I would follow through with that plan. Liza and I could churn butter and bake goods and sell some of those items, plus milk, to the neighbors or to the local store, depending on the need. I could bake bread and cookies for market as well, once we were settled…if we decided to stay.

   When we sat down at the plain wooden table for a supper of roast beef, baked potatoes and greens from Mom’s garden, I led the family in prayer.

   “Father in heaven, thank you for  this ranch and the food you have provided for us. Lord, please make us truly grateful.” My heart ached for Will, especially here at the ranch where we had spent so many happy times together.

   The next morning dawned clear and cool.

   “Liza, I’ll take care of the dishes. Go ahead and help the boys take the lumber out to the house site and start laying the walls out on the ground. Luke, Dad’s plan for the house is on the shelf at the head of my bed.”

    By the time I’d finished with kitchen clean-up, my young people had hauled much of the lumber out to the house site. I went out to help. As I loaded a wooden cart with more lumber to take over to the site, I heard hoofbeats approaching. An older cowboy rode up to the site, pushed his hat back on his head and looked at me in amazement.

   “Ma’am, are you building this house on your own?” He sounded astonished.

   “Not exactly. My children are helping me.”

   I looked up into his face. He looked to be a little older than I was, with curly brown hair laced with gray peeking out beneath his cowboy hat,, and a big mustache.

   “Hi. My name’s Helen Curtis. Who might you be?”

   He dismounted and stepped forward to shake my hand. “The name’s Jerome Whitmore. I own the ranch next to yours, the Bar W. I met your husband Will when he first arrived. Is he around?”

   “No, unfortunately, he died in a car accident this past winter. We’re here to finish what he started.”

   “I’m so sorry.” Gazing at the progress my young folk were making on the frame, he said, “When you have the frame finished, I’d like to bring some of my hands over to help you raise it.”

   I smiled up at him. “That would be very kind of you. I’ve been wondering how we’d get the building up with only the four of us.”

   Jerome walked over to where my children were working and introduced himself. After studying their progress he asked Luke, “My name’s Jerome Whitmore. I have the ranch bordering yours on the north. I met your dad a few times in town last summer. He was a fine man. I’d like to help you finish what he started, if I may. How much longer until you’re ready to raise the walls?”

   Luke looked him over thoughtfully then glanced at me. I nodded. “I’m thinking we’ll be ready to raise them by Saturday, if all goes well.”

   “Good. I’ll come over and check on Friday and bring a crew over on Saturday if you’re ready for us.” He nodded at Luke. “You’re doing a good job here. It’s nice to see a young man finishing the work his father started.”

   “Thank you, Mr. Whitmore.” Luke looked around at Liza and Elijah. “We’re all in this together. Not one of us would do it anything different. Honoring Dad—it’s what we do.”

   Jerome nodded. “See you Friday late afternoon.” He headed back toward his horse.
“Ma’am, I’ll have my cook put together food for my men for the house-raising. Don’t you worry about it.” He turned to mount his horse.

   “Mr. Whitmore,” I said. “We don’t have anything fancy, but I’d like to invite you to stay for supper when you come over on Friday. Please bring your wife, too. That would give us a welcome chance to get acquainted with you all.”

   He looked into my eyes thoughtfully. “I’d like that. But I’m afraid I don’t have a wife anymore. She passed away two years ago.”

    “Oh.” I knew the pain he suffered, for I was walking through it myself. I laid a handon his forearm. “I’m sorry.” I met his eyes. “I’d still like you to come.”

   “Thank you for the invitation.” He tipped his hat. “I’ll see you Friday afternoon, Mrs. Curtis.”

   I watched him ride away to the north, where his ranch must be. Luke, who had come over to stand by me, commented on our visitor. “He’s nice. I’m glad we’ll have a crew to help us raise the house. I was wondering how we could manage on our own.”

   “I believe God sent him to us.” I nodded in agreement.

   My young people had finished and were cleaned up on Friday by the time Mr. Whitmore arrived to inspect the framework. He brought a large roasted and sliced beef stored in gravy, and a sack of fruit and potatoes and other vegetables, plus four loaves of bread on a pack horse. “This should be enough to feed my crew tomorrow,” he said, carrying it into the living area. “I had my cook prepare the roast, so all you’ll need to do is heat it up.”

   “Thank you so much!” I was overwhelmed by his generosity.

   Mr. Whitmore smiled. “I have a crew of healthy eaters. I wouldn’t want you to go broke trying to feed them all.”

   “I am most grateful.”

   “Let’s take a look at that frame,” he said, turning to my sons.

   Luke and Elijah accompanied him while Liza helped me set our rustic table.

   Over dinner, we became better acquainted with Mr. Whitmore. He was thoughtful and reserved, supportive of our project. He told us about his wife, Rosalee, who had suffered with cancer for a year before passing. I saw the grief on his face, but he didn’t say much more about the battle she’d fought, just that it had been hard.

   I shared a little about Will’s death. “I miss him dreadfully. We’d been in love since grade school. He’s always been part of my life.”

   “Yes. I understand. Rosalie and I met in high school.” He paused. “You should call me Jerome. Okay?” He looked around at the younger folk.

   “Sure.”

   “Okay.”

   “Alright.”

   “I will,” I said. “And call me Helen.”

   “Yes ma’am.” He grinned at me, his eyes twinkling.

   Later that night while my young people cleared the table and washed up, I walked with Jerome out to his horse.

   “Thank you for inviting me here for dinner,” he said. “It was a pleasure getting acquainted with and your young people.”

   “I’m glad you could come.”

   We paused by the horse there in the moonlight.

   “I’m sorry for your loss, Helen. I do understand how difficult it is to lose the one you love. I want you to know that I will be here to help you and your family, and please count me as a friend.”

   “With pleasure,” I said, looking up at him. “It’s good to have friends here in the wilderness.”

   Tipping his cowboy hat, he mounted his horse. “See you tomorrow, ma’am.”

The Newcomer

By Sheri Schofield

Hi friends. My husband Tim and I just returned from a long trip which took us through the Wyoming wilderness where rolling hills are covered with sage brush and mountains thrust their peaks up sharply from the desert floor. The ground and mountain colors vary, sometimes gray, sometimes red, and other times almost white, where a different layer of rock thrusts up against the blue-gray mountains like giant, smooth fingernails clawing their way to the sky. It is a wild, rugged, beautiful land. As we drove, I imagined living in the area, where towns are small, few, and far between. What would a young woman do in such a setting? I let my imagination take over, but every now and then, I’d ask my husband, retired physician who once served in the military, for advice about the hero in the story I was imagining. Now I share it with you – “The Newcomer.”

Anna Carpenter waved good-bye to her last piano student and reached for her gardening gloves, a trowel, and one of her geranium plants. She knew everyone in town thought of her as an old maid, for she was twenty-seven and still lived with her mother. But this did not bother her, for she was happier than many married women she knew in town.

Nevertheless, she did harbor a secret longing for marriage and children. Sometimes in the evening when she was brushing her long, sandy colored hair the recommended hundred strokes, she found herself wishing for a husband. Her gray eyes would deepen in color as she dreamed. Then she would shrug, sigh, and move away from the mirror. There was no point in wishing for something that would probably never happen, she thought. Having grown up in the small town of Elk Crossing, she had also grown up with the young men and hadn’t found one who shared her interests in books, music, or flowers, and she couldn’t imagine being married to someone who didn’t share those interests.

She was planting the geraniums in the large, wooden barrel in her front yard that afternoon, when a moving van pulled into the house across the street. The house was set back behind the country feed and farm supply store which had been empty for several months. Mr. Jansen, the previous owner, had moved to Cheyenne to live with his daughter in his old age. Anna had heard that the house had recently sold, but nobody knew who the new owner was.

Curiously, Anna stood and looked across the street. A tall man with a slight limp climbed out of the truck and walked around to the back an opened the doors. It wasn’t a large truck, but he might need help. From where she stood, she could see that his face was framed with dark hair with some gray around the edges. She pulled off her gloves, dropped them beside the barrel, and walked across the street

“Hi. Welcome to Elk Crossing,” she said hesitantly but with a smile. “I’m Anna. I was planting flowers at our place across the street and saw you come in.”

“Hi Anna,” the man nodded. “Glad to meet you. I’m Jared Jones.” He reached out and shook her hand, a shy smile on his face. He looked to be about thirty, and he was pale, as though he had been ill for some time. She noticed he wore a brace on the lower part of his left leg.

“Could you use some help unloading the truck?”

“I could, but I don’t want to impose.”

“No problem. I’m glad to help. Do you have family coming?”

“No. It’s just me.” A sharp look of pain crossed his face for an instant, then he relaxed.

“I can help,” she said.

“Thank you, Anna.”

Together they began unloading the truck in companionable silence, speaking only when necessary. Having two older brothers, Anna understood the need to focus on the job. She also knew he would be hungry after unloading.

“My mom has a beef roast in the oven and scalloped potates ready to add. Would you like to join us for supper?”

Jared’s face lit up. “That sounds great. What time?”

“In about an hour. We’ll see you then.” Anna smiled and headed back to her place to alert her mother about their guest and to finish planting the geraniums.

Over the next week, other neighbors stopped by to welcome Jared to town, and though he received many invitations to meals, he thanked them for the offers, but said he needed to focus on unpacking and getting the feed store open. They understood, but everyone was curious about him. Anna smiled quietly to herself when she heard of the invitations and said nothing.

Sunday after church, Jared accepted the invitation to join Anna’s family for lunch. Her brothers liked Jared, with reservations which they shared with her later.

“Anna, he’s a nice guy. But with that limp…and he wears a brace… you could do better,” Kurt said.

“You don’t want a man you’ll have to take care of,” Josh said. “You’ll want someone who will look after you, sis.”

Their wives nodded complacently, satisfied that their husbands were strong and healthy.

“You need to think about that when choosing a man,” Josh’s wife Mandi said.

“Of course,” Sally, Kurt’s wife, added with a nod.

Anna just smiled and ignored their interference. She had gone out with the various single men in town and was not interested in them. She’d gone to school with most of them since childhood and felt nothing but casual interest in them as adults. But she liked Jared. He had a dry sense of humor, and he rarely said anything unless it was worthwhile. Being quiet herself, Anna appreciated his reserve and good manners.

Later that week as she was working again in the garden, Jared walked across the street.

“Anna, I’m not familiar with what people need in a feed store around here. Would you advise me?”

“Sure.” Anna stood and walked across the street with Jared. She told him what the last owner had carried, and he promptly ordered those items.

Jared took frequent breathers as he stacked the heavier items when they arrived. “I can’t work as steadily as I used to,” he commented. “I spent the last several months at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in D.C. recovering from an injury.”

“Oh! You were in the Army?”

“Yes. I flew a chopper in Afghanistan for a few years. Got hit in the knee with a bullet when I was pulling some soldiers out of an ambush by the Taliban. Army sent me home.”

“You flew a helicopter in a war zone?”

“Yes. It was dangerous work, but I enjoyed it.”

Later that day, Jared invited Anna over to his store for tea and cookies, which he had bought at the local bakery. Later he showed Anna through the house. Though he didn’t have a lot of furniture, it was enough to get by. She noted with satisfaction the guitar in the corner and the bookcase in the living room which indicated there were shared interests between them.

Anna saw a framed portrait of Jared and a dark-haired woman on his dresser. They looked happy and in love.

Jared reached for the photo. “This was my wife. Her name was Hunoon, which means compassionate. And she was truly compassionate. I adored her. She and her family were secretly Christians, which was not accepted in her village. We were only married a few months when the Taliban massacred Hunoon and her family when she was visiting her aunt in a nearby village. She was expecting our first child.”

Anna heard the grief in his voice. She touched his arm gently. “I’m so sorry, Jared.”

“Thanks for caring.” He inhaled and stood straighter. “Let’s get outside in the sun. It helps.”

“I noticed you are planting geraniums. Do you buy them locally?” he asked, changing the subject.

“No. We have to drive into Casper for flowers. It’s too expensive to drive all that distance, and I usually like a lot of color in my garden, which is also expensive. I winter over my geraniums. That helps keep the cost down.”

“Hm. I see. I wondered about flowers. I haven’t seen any stores in town that carry them. I was thinking about putting a greenhouse behind the feed store and growing flowers as well as fruit and vegetables to sell locally.”

“What a good idea!”

“Will you help me? I don’t know what the people here like to grow.”

“Sure. Be glad to.”

Anna’s brothers scoffed when she mentioned the greenhouse idea. It didn’t seem manly enough for them. But she kept her thoughts about Jared to herself and didn’t tell them about his military experience. She knew his worth and respected his private confidences. Jared would speak up when he was ready.

By July, Jared had the greenhouse up and operating. He imported plants to get started, and they sold well. The feed store was a necessity in their community, and the ranchers were grateful to have a nearby supplier.

Over a Sunday dinner in October, Josh and Kurt announced they were going on an elk hunt back in the wild country. Their freezers were getting low on meat for their families. Jared asked where they would be hunting. That was all it took to turn the conversation toward elk, deer and antelope habitats and past hunting stories.

Josh and Kurt had been gone for almost a week when Josh called on his satellite phone. “Kurt and I are stranded in the canyon east of Red Mesa. He broke his leg. We need to be airlifted out. Call 911.”

Anna called the emergency number. Soon a helicopter landed in field outside of town. She drove out to meet the pilot and showed him where her brothers were located.

He studied the map and shook his head. “Well, I can try. But I don’t think I can land in that canyon. It’s too narrow. I’ll have to land about six miles away. We’re going to need more help.”

“We have an experienced helicopter pilot who flew in Afghanistan living in town. He might be able to fly in, if you’re willing to let him.” Anna searched the pilot’s face.

“He flew in ‘Stan, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to talk with him. I served there myself, and the country is wilder than this. I’ve seen those chopper pilots dive into places I’d never attempt.”

Anna drove him over to the store and led him inside. “Jared, Josh called. He and Kurt are stranded in a canyon east of Red Mesa. Kurt broke his leg. I called for an emergency airlift, but the pilot—what is your name?”

“It’s Henry, ma’am.”

“Thank you. Henry doesn’t think he can get into the canyon. Would you take a look at the map and see if you might be able to help?”

Jared walked over, looked the location over carefully and asked a few questions. “Sure. I could do that, if you’re willing to let me fly?” He looked at the pilot.

“Anyone who flew in ‘Stan is good enough for me. I know what y’all did. Let’s go.”

At the helicopter, Jared climbed into the pilot seat and donned the headgear. Glancing back at Anna, whose brows were furrowed with concern, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this. Better get back. I’m going to start it up.”

Anna moved away and the blades began to move. The helicopter rose into the air and flew toward Red Mesa in the distance.

Anna called Sally, Kurt’s wife, and let her know what was happening. Sally drove their van over and waited nervously for the helicopter to return.

“He was a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan?” she asked, her eyebrows rising high. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I don’t share what people tell me in private.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “Tsk,” she snorted.

Less than an hour later, they heard the chopper returning and drove out to the field. Sally drove the van to meet the aircraft. Josh and Henry moved Kurt out of the helicopter on a stretcher and brought him to the van.

Jared had climbed down from the helicopter and handed his headgear to the pilot, who shook his hand. “Man, I’ve never seen anything like it! You did a fantastic job, sir.”

Jared smiled. “Lots of practice.”

The pilot flew Kurt and Sally toward the hospital in Casper, leaving Anna with Josh and Jared in the field.

“So, Jared, how many missions did you fly into the mountains of Afghanistan?” Josh asked with great interest.

Anna smiled quietly and listened as Jared opened up about his life to her brother. They hardly noticed when she left them talking in the field and drove home. She knew just what to expect later that afternoon when Josh dropped by the house.

“He’s quite a guy,” Josh said quietly, patting Anna on the shoulder.

“Yes, he is.” Anna smiled.

That evening Jared and Anna sat on his porch swing listening to the crickets.

“Anna, thank you for recommending me for that helicopter rescue flight. It meant a lot to me.”

“You were obviously the man for the job,” she said complacently.

Jared slipped his arm over her shoulder and drew her closer.

Anna leaned her head against his shoulder. This was her man. She understood him and loved him just the way he was.

Complete acceptance and respect. It is the mark of true love which lasts forever. Anna smiled into the night, knowing she would never again feel alone as long as Jared was by her side.

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?”