The Concealers (19 page)

Katherine applied the brakes, realizing the street had come to an end. Looming above her was the largest tree she'd ever seen, with moss hanging from its huge limbs and seeming to grow out of the roof of an old, white wooden building. “The Live Oak Inn—Since 1846,” read the sign.

Following the arrows, Katherine drove to the back of the inn, where she found a wide-open lot bordered by tall pine trees and cars lined up neatly on finely crushed oyster shells. She parked, let Hailey out, and took her for a walk to some trees and bushes at the edge of the lot. The two walked side by side along the stone path lined with azalea bushes to the front entrance and climbed two steps to a front porch filled with rocking chairs. Katherine opened the large oak door.

As Katherine entered the reception area, she discovered the other half of the magnificent oak tree, its large branches indeed protruding through the roof. To the left of the tree was a finely finished oak counter behind which was an office, apparently a holdover from the nineteenth century yet filled with computers, fax machines, telephones, and other accoutrements of a modern hotel. She was greeted by an energetic young lady wearing a scarlet silk scarf who welcomed her and, like everyone, immediately fell in love with Hailey.

Katherine checked in and accepted the clerk's offer of a tour, including a peek into the quaint dining room. The late afternoon sun was shining through windows with dark wood trim, accented by red velvet drapes with matching swag and jabot. A number of mostly square and a few round tables, covered with embroidered linen tablecloths and antique chairs, filled out the room, which was lighted by a large crystal chandelier in the center of the ceiling. In another room, a bar that brought to mind the pubs she imagined in Ireland, or perhaps ones her grandfather had talked about.

After thanking her host and with a long day of driving behind them, Katherine gathered her suitcase, and she and Hailey went to her room. Her quarters at the Live Oak reminded her of a larger version of the bedroom in her childhood dollhouse, complete with period furniture and an antique bed. A window overlooked a small park and allowed light to shine onto an antique desk (not lacking, however, in internet modem and plenty of power outlets). She was happy to see a bath with a full-size old-fashioned tub and matching sink.

Katherine unpacked, filled one of Hailey's bowls with water and the other with dry dog food, and called Alice to let her know she had arrived safely. In no time she collapsed on the bed, sinking down in the fluffy covers. Hearing Hailey slurp up the water, and with a big smile on her face, Katherine fell asleep.

An hour later, Katherine woke and saw it was already 8:30 p.m. Worried about dinner hours, but not wanting to go out, she climbed in the tub, took a quick shower, changed clothes, and telling Hailey to stay, walked down two flights of carpeted stairs, hands on the mahogany railing, to the dining room, where she saw a few guests still lingering over their meals. A woman at the entrance to the dining room greeted her and showed her to a small table by the window, asking her if that would be acceptable. It was where she'd hoped to sit when she saw the dining room earlier.

After an enjoyable dinner, Katherine wandered into the taproom and sat at the thick oak bar, feeling the finely trimmed and finished wood and admiring the joints. She again thought of her grandpa, who while spending a lifetime farming and then at Seneca Foods' processing plant in Marion, had a passion for woodworking. She remembered, as a child, his hours in his workshop in the back of the garage refinishing antique furniture, not to mention making all kinds of toys for her. He would love to see this bar room and especially the bar itself. She decided to order a Guinness in his honor.

As she sipped her beer—mulling over her day's travels and wondering what her meeting in the morning with Alice might be like—she noticed a small, brass engraved plaque just inside the top curve in the center of the bar. Examining it more closely, she read
Cornelius C. Corrigan—Corrigan Yachts. 1922.
She asked the bartender, a slim, thirty-something young man with a pleasant face and
Bobby
embroidered on his uniform polo shirt, what he could tell her about the plaque.

Bobby first welcomed her to the Inn, explaining that he was the son of Robert and Mary McKenzie, the fourth-generation owners of the establishment. Katherine eyes immediately lit up.

“McKenzie? From Scotland?”

“Yes, indeed. But you won't want me to bore you with all of that.”

“Actually, I'd really like to know. Would you tell me?”

“Well, it's fairly quiet tonight; I guess the short version won't hurt. We go back a ways. My great-great-great-great-grandfather, Hugh McKenzie, came to this country between 1745 and 1750. He landed in the Cape Fear area of the Carolina colony probably around Wilmington, and joined the Continental Army during the Revolutionary War attached to General Nathanael Greene. While in service, he became sick, never recovered, and was buried in Greenville, South Carolina.”

Katherine, who had taken out her pad and pen, was busy taking notes.

“Why are you so interested?” Bobby asked.

“My great-great-great-grandfather on my mother's side was a McKenzie, and he, too, came to the Cape Fear region, in, I believe from what I could determine in my genealogy research, 1794.”

By now, Katherine could see that she had Bobby's total interest. “The first major settlement of the Highland Scots in North Carolina was the Argyll colony,” she recalled from her research.

“That would have been about the time they fought the Jacobites, dealing a blow to the clans, and causing many Scots to emigrate to North Carolina and then South Carolina,” Bobby said, apparently ignoring the customer at the other end of the bar.

“That's right,” Katherine said.

“Have you been to Scotland?”

“I went during my second summer in college on a two-week scholarship exchange program,” she replied. “Actually stood on the battlefield where the followers of Bonnie Prince Charles fought that battle, and saw a reenactment.”

Bobby excused himself to attend to his other customer, and within a short time returned. “I can't wait to visit Scotland. Must have been a special trip for you.”

“It was. There was so much to see, so much history. Edinburgh. The castle. All of Scotland, the highlands, the lakes.”

“What was the place you remember the most?” Bobby asked.

“It was in Edinburgh, at the Greyfriars Churchyard. I was raised a Catholic in the tradition of my mother, but I loved going to the Presbyterian church with my grandfather. There is a stained glass window above the pulpit in the sanctuary, which depicts the signing of the solemn covenants. Just above the signers in the background of that window you could see the Edinburgh Castle. I stood on that same spot.”

Bobby smiled. “You asked me about the plaque.”

Katherine took careful notes as he spoke.

He told her about a yacht maker and craftsman named Corey, whose family owned a yacht company north of Charleston, on the waterway, for God knows how long, and that Corey knew the family and agreed to do the extensive wood work restoration years ago in the Inn. The counter in the reception area, the railings for all the staircases, and the bar had been his handiwork. Corey, he said, was a fine gentlemen and a legend in these parts.

“Is he still living?” Katherine asked.

“I'm not certain, Miss Kelly,” he replied, surprising Katherine that he knew her name. “Mr. Corey had some difficulties . . . he'd be at least seventy-nine or eighty years old by now. A fine man, indeed.”

Returning to her room, Katherine found Hailey up on the bed, head between her extended front legs, with a guilty expression on her face. Katherine gave her a kiss and took her for a long walk, the moon and stars lighting the way. Later, they settled in for the night. Katherine fell asleep absorbing the contrast of sleepy, southern Braydon with the city she left that morning. About “Mr. Corey,” she definitely wanted to know more.

“I'm glad you and Hailey are here safely. How was your trip?” she asked.

“The trip was long, but I love the Inn. Is this a good time for me to come over?”

“Absolutely. You can easily walk,” Alice said, giving Katherine the directions.

Katherine and Hailey enjoyed the stroll to Mulberry Street. In fifteen minutes or so, Katherine saw a mailbox with two hummingbirds painted on the side, hovering over the number 203.

She opened the wrought-iron gate of the white picket fence and followed the stepping stones to the two-story wood frame house with forest green shutters and a wide front porch. Hailey followed behind. Pots full of brightly colored flowers hung from the borders of the ceiling.

“Hello, Katherine,” Alice said, shaking Katherine's hand and bending down to pat Hailey. “So you're Preston's daughter. I'm delighted to meet you. I can't believe you came all the way to Braydon to see me. My goodness, you're beautiful.”

Katherine thanked Alice, taken by how warm and sweet she was.

“Come in—both of you,” said their host. “I'll need to introduce Hailey to Buck. He's upstairs at the moment, but he will be well aware that you and Hailey are here, and he won't take kindly to being kept in the dark. He'll want to make friends with you both.”

Katherine and Hailey followed her into the small, neat living room, filled with Early American-style furniture and maple-framed pictures. Alice excused herself and went upstairs to get Buck. Moments later, she returned downstairs, followed by a hundred-twenty-five pound, solid black German shepherd with deep brown eyes, an intelligent face, and ears standing on full alert. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Alice put an arm around Katherine and a hand on Hailey and led them to Buck. Buck stood still and stared at them for a few seconds, and then went over to Katherine, welcoming her and then Hailey with a few sniffs.

“Let's let the dogs go out in the backyard and get to know each other while we have some iced tea,” Alice said. Katherine agreed, and they all went down the hallway and through the kitchen to the back porch. Alice opened the door, and both dogs bounded down two steps to the yard to play.

Alice and Katherine went back to the living room.

“Why don't you sit down, and I'll get the tea?” Alice said.

Katherine thanked her and sat down on the peach-colored Daughtry sofa and absorbed the room. When she saw the framed photographs on the black baby-grand piano, Katherine tiptoed over to see if she could pick out the one of Joe.

Alice returned with a silver tray covered by a white lace doily, containing two crystal glasses of mint-sprigged iced tea. She set the tray down on the table in front of the couch, then turned and faced Katherine. “He's in my den. Would you like to see the picture?” Alice said.

“You're a mind reader,” Katherine replied. “Forgive me for being too intense. One of my many shortcomings.”

“Not at all,” Alice said. “You're a woman on a mission.”

“First, thank you for seeing me. You're no doubt wondering why I'm interested in Mr. Hart. There are a couple of reasons. I think I mentioned that I recently completed my master's in journalism. I have one loose end to complete—an assignment from my mentor, who asked me to write about a person who had a substantial influence on a member of my family. I struggled with this until I heard about Mr. Hart from . . . Preston, and also from Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“How in the world is Casey?” Alice asked with a broad smile. “Not a bad man for a Yankee. I always enjoyed talking to him.”

“I don't know him well, but there's something about him. I liked him instantly, maybe because he loves Snickers bars. I asked him whether Mr. Hart had a major influence on Preston. He said Mr. Hart had . . . considerable influence on both of them. He told me a little about Joe's so-called “Collectibles.” Secondly, I'm intrigued with Preston's involvement with that group of friends. So if you don't mind, yes, I would like to see Mr. Hart's picture.”

Alice smiled, left the room for a couple of minutes, and returned with a picture of a man in his forties sitting in the cockpit of a fishing boat, petting a large, black German shepherd. “The one on the left is Joe,” Alice said with a chuckle.

Katherine sat quietly, staring at the picture.

Alice broke the silence. “What are you thinking?”

Katherine did not know how to respond. “It's just that I've heard so much about Mr. Hart.”

“If Joe were here, my dear, believe me, he'd tell you to call him by his given name,” Alice said.

Katherine studied the picture. “I know I shouldn't say this . . . I guess I expected him to be larger, more imposing . . . he looks . . . ordinary. Forgive me.”

“If you knew him, saw him in action, you'd know he was an extraordinary man.”

Katherine took out her pen and notepad and looked at Alice. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

“I have so many questions about Joe.”

“Feel free to ask me any questions you like, my dear,” Alice said. “If I don't feel I should answer them, I'll let you know.”

“Thank you. This may sound odd, but was Joe perfect?”

“Heavens, no.”

“How is that?” Katherine asked.

“Well, if Joe were answering this question . . . about another person, he would separate the person's imperfect conduct from the person. I'll take a chapter from his book. Joe let Buck ride in the back of his pickup truck without being in the crate. It drove me nuts. Joe took his boat in deep water, alone. Worried me to death. In fact, I still don't know how he made it back the day he got sick. He was stubborn, headstrong, convinced he was right—which I suppose he usually was. Relentless in drilling down—getting deep into the subject—and impatient when others wouldn't cooperate, especially when it was in their interest to do so. He worked hard to be patient with people who had a sense of entitlement. Joe was not perfect, God rest his soul.”

Katherine wrote as fast as her Cross pen could go, and then sat up straight and looked into Alice's eyes.

After a few moments of silence, Alice looked at her and said, “He was a simple man of superior intellect and impeccable character, who made big problems small and little joys big. And you never doubted for a second he was doing it all for you.”

From the expression on Alice's face, and the way she sat upright on the sofa, Katherine could feel the depth of feeling Alice had for this man. “You loved him, didn't you?” Katherine said softly.

Alice paused for a moment before answering. “He cared about people, my dear.”

“Preston, his wife, Marcia, and Casey all mentioned Joe's friends,” Katherine said, looking at her notepad. “I'd like to know about them.”

“Joe had many friends,” Alice said. “All kinds. His closest friend was Red. They were roommates at Annapolis and together in the Navy. Red was his exec officer—his right-hand man.”

“What did Joe do in the Navy?” Katherine asked, continuing to take notes.

“He was a submarine commander. What he did was classified, but he was involved in intelligence gathering. He was very close to his men. A strong leader.”

“How long was he in the Navy?”

“I'm not sure. I know that he had quite an illustrious career in the service, then went to law school, and afterward he and Ashley decided to move here and start his practice. That's when I came on board.”

“Why didn't he stay in the Navy?”

“He felt he'd gone as far as he could go . . . under the circumstances . . . and would've been bored by a desk job. So he decided to move on. The Navy has its own way of looking at these things.”

“What circumstances?”

“Joe's mother and father died in a lumber accident when he was a young boy. He was brought up by an aunt and uncle. He considered his men on the submarine to be his family.”

“Can you tell me more about Ashley?”

“She was a true Southern lady. Remarkable. Beautiful. Intelligent. Always caring for others. Joe loved her more than life itself. When Ashley was killed, it was such a tragedy. And it broke Joe's heart,” Alice said, and then remained silent for a while. “Would you like some more tea?”

“Yes, please,” Katherine said, understanding that Alice needed a break.

Alice went to the kitchen, and Katherine continued with her notes. She felt that she was intruding, if not imposing, and she wanted to get back to the Collectibles. After a few minutes Alice came back into the living room with more tea and joined Katherine on the sofa.

“Thank you for all this information, Alice. I hope I'm not being too intrusive.”

“You're fine. Life goes on. How else may I help?”

“As to certain of Joe's friends, ones he helped. Preston, and his wife, Marcia both mentioned Johnny.”

“Johnny is what today would be termed ‘mentally challenged.' He works downtown, at the Braydon Home Dairy. If you like we can have lunch there and I can introduce him to you.”

“Yes, I'd like that.”

“Joe and Ashley—bless her heart—invested a lot of time and thought in making Johnny's life better. Mr. Wilson took an interest in Johnny, too. That's when I first met your father. He came here, to Braydon, and Johnny showed him how to wash dishes,” Alice said with a broad smile. “But it was more than that, of course. He talked with Johnny a good bit.”

“Really. Can you tell me more about what my father actually did for Johnny?” Katherine asked.

“After their first meeting, Preston called me to see if I had information on educational opportunities for individuals like Johnny. I had two cabinets full of files—some Ashley had developed before she died, and others that Joe had worked on. I gave all of that information to Preston. He did a lot more work in that area.”

“What area? What did he do?”

“Educational opportunities. He was concerned about Johnny's speech patterns—how Johnny used to call himself ‘Donnie'—in the form of a third person reference. Your father arranged to have Johnny tutored by a speech therapist. It made a world of difference—it built Johnny's self-esteem. I'll never forget Johnny getting up to speak at Joe's funeral. We were all amazed.”

Katherine could see tears in Alice's eyes and feel the emotion in her voice. Then she realized that she, too, was starting to cry.

“There were others,” Alice said. “Others Preston reached out to and helped. Missy and Tommy, for example. They're trying to start a camp for children now—somewhere in Nevada. Your father may be helping with that, I'm not sure. He also spent some time with Corey.”

“Corey?” Katherine asked. “Mr. Corey, the woodworker?”

Alice laughed. “Mr. Cornelius Corrigan, and yes, he was a fine wood craftsman and a yacht builder. Have you heard of him?”

“I saw a sample of his magnificent work at the Inn, and Bobby McKenzie told me a little about him.”

“Bobby's a fine young man. The McKenzies are good people,” Alice said.

“You said Preston met Mr. Corrigan.”

“I know that he went to see him . . . Corey's not well. Alzheimer's.” Alice reached for one of the tissues in the box on the end table.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Katherine said. “What a terrible disease.”

“You speak as though you have some personal experience,” Alice asked, touching her forehead with the fingers of her hand. “Do you know someone with it?”

“No, but I've read about the condition. My grandfather says he's sure he'll get it . . . always joking about knowing his name.”

“Yes, it's a serious matter. One that deserves much more attention.”

“Do you know how I could find him?” Katherine asked.

“Yes.” Alice went to her desk, found a book, wrote down the address and Barbara's phone number, and handed it to Katherine. “His daughter, Barbara, takes care of him, and she has her hands full. You're probably going in the morning. I'll call Barbara. She'll be pleased to meet you.”

“Joe must have loved having you help him.”

Katherine could see the strength of purpose in Alice's eyes, the developing tightness in her throat. Katherine looked down and checked her notes. “Johnny, Missy, Tommy, Corey. Have I missed any?” she said.

“Harry. Harry Klaskowski. He taught Joe how to shoot skeet,” Alice replied.

“I don't believe it,” Katherine said. “At the Newark Rod and Gun Club in New York State?”

“I don't know where or when, I just remember Joe telling me how they met. They were great pals, fished together. In fact, Harry visited Joe in the Bahamas during his last fishing trip—they shot trap off Joe's boat. I learned that at the funeral. Do you know Harry?”

“I haven't met him, but my grandfather knows him well. He was a state skeet shooting champion. What an amazing coincidence! So, I'm curious . . . what went on with Harry and Preston?”

“I don't know. Harry comes and goes. Preston asked me to help him find Harry, but that didn't happen. He was at the funeral, though. Bless his heart.”

Katherine made more notes, and then looked up at Alice, who appeared to have a faraway look on her face. Katherine worried that she was asking too many questions at once. “Let's check on our dogs and then go to lunch. How does that sound?” Katherine said.

“Like a plan, young lady, like a plan.”