The Discovery, A Novel (26 page)

The next morning, Father Flanagan woke up early, as he had the last several mornings, with only one thing on his mind. He was worried about Ben. The other priests in the parish were scheduled to say Mass at every service this morning. He was glad he’d been relieved of this responsibility. He had decided to attend the ten o’clock service and planned to use the time between now and then to pray.

There was a knock at his door. He opened it to find Father Murphy standing on the other side. “Father Murphy, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Good to see you, Aidan. Hope you slept well. I’m in a bit of a hurry, but I wanted to give this to you before I forgot.” Father Murphy handed a thick envelope to him.

“What is this?”

“A young man dropped it off at the rectory last night. He said it was for you, asked me to make sure you got it.”

“A young man?” Aidan wondered if it could have been Ben. “Did he seem troubled or upset?”

“Quite the opposite. He seemed very happy, and just sad that he missed you. I told him you had already gone to bed. Is everything all right?”

“I’m sure it is. Thanks, Father, for dropping this by. Do you need me to assist you this morning?”

“I’ll be fine,” Father Murphy said. “But thanks for asking. I’ll see you in a little while.”

Aidan closed the door and walked to a nearby upholstered chair. He sat down and opened the envelope. “Oh my goodness,” he said.

It was filled with cash.

And a note.

He slid the note out and began to read:

Father Flanagan,

Things have turned out better than I could have ever dreamed. I wish I could tell you all the details. You have helped me more than you will ever know. There is no amount of money on earth that could begin to repay my debt of gratitude for your kindness, love, and advice. But please accept this donation to be used wherever you think it is needed most. Continue to keep me (us) in your prayers. I will never forget you.

An Anonymous Friend

Instantly, Aidan knew it was Ben. Had to be.

He hadn’t signed it because he didn’t want to get Aidan in any trouble. “Thank you, Lord,” Aidan said aloud.

Somehow, some way, God had answered his fervent prayers. God had not only spared Ben’s life and kept him from getting arrested, he had also allowed Ben and Claire to be together, if the reference in the note to “us” was any indication.

He was so grateful, and so relieved.

Later that afternoon, Ben and Claire, now as Mr. and Mrs. Whoever, drove north on US1 to start their new life together. To Ben, Claire’s parents had been simply amazing.

Yesterday, after explaining to Ben how he and Claire’s mother had reached the conclusion that God meant for them to be together—even though it meant they might never see their daughter again—Claire’s father had gotten in the car and drove to his pastor’s home to talk him into performing their wedding. Which he had done just one hour ago, after concluding this morning’s Sunday service.

Since the war began, thousands of couples wanted to tie the knot in a hurry before the groom shipped overseas. The pastor had gotten used to performing last-minute weddings, and the local judge had waived the normal waiting period for couples to obtain a marriage license. Claire’s father had told the pastor that Ben wasn’t shipping overseas, but his reasons for getting married so quickly were definitely “war related” and “somewhat classified.” The pastor had said that if Mr. Richards could vouch for Ben’s character and approved of his intentions, it was good enough for him.

Mrs. Richards had let Claire use her wedding dress. It was a little big for her, but Ben thought she looked stunning. The hardest part of all was saying good-bye just before they drove off. Ben still couldn’t believe the depth of sacrificial love Claire’s parents had shown over the last twenty-four hours.

He had gotten an idea last night that he thought might offset their pain, a way he and Claire could communicate with her parents in the months and years to come. He’d typed out the procedures he’d learned in his Abwehr training. It was fairly sophisticated but something he felt sure Mr. Richards could grasp. It involved sending coded messages using classified ads in local newspapers. Ben had thought up an additional layer that would allow them to do this once a month, and how to make it work both ways.

The thing is, he’d said, “You have to memorize these instructions carefully, then destroy this sheet of paper.” Mr. Richards looked it over and agreed. Ben heard Mr. Richards tell his wife that it wasn’t as bad as families had it a hundred years ago. “They’d have to watch their married children head off on a wagon train or sail off across the sea,” he’d said, “and they’d never hear from them again.”

“And when Jack gets back from the war,” Claire added, “you can teach it to him.”

This idea may have brought Mrs. Richards some small comfort but did little to stem her flow of tears. All four of them cried as they kissed and hugged good-bye. Ben’s heart ached for them. Still, it couldn’t overcome the joy and happiness he felt inside, sitting next to the love of his life as they drove off on this romantic adventure.

Ben decided that the God he had learned to trust more fully had orchestrated things in an amazing way, beyond anything he could have dreamed. He would have to trust God to continue helping all of them in the uncertain days to come.

Over the next several years, Ben and Claire were very happy, enjoying their new life together. Still, every so often he would catch her staring off in the distance or crying quietly by herself. And each time, he knew what it was.

The loss.

The missed moments, the memories never made with her family. He’d wrap his arms around her and apologize all over again for the terrible sacrifice she’d been forced to pay by falling in love with him.

And each time, after her tears had run their course, she’d look up into his eyes and tell him how much she loved him, that he was worth the sacrifice she had made. And as hard as it was, she’d say that she would do it all over again.

And each time, Ben would quietly vow that he would love her with all his heart, and he would offer a silent prayer that God would help him become a man worthy of this beautiful woman, and her family, and the love that had come at such a cost.

Decades later, Ben would look back at these extraordinary times, and this thought would immediately come to mind: from the first moment he’d met Claire, through all the difficulties they’d had before getting married, through all the ups and downs in the years after that, he had known she was the only woman he would ever love. He never once doubted it. Never had a single regret. When God gives a man this kind of woman, he knows it deep inside. Almost at once. Like he knows his own soul.

A love like that is a gift you can never earn or ever repay.

THE END

Legare Street, Charleston
6:00 p.m.

I held the last manuscript page and sat back on the couch, thoroughly exhausted. Apparently, my eyes had adjusted to the diminishing light of the setting sun. The living room was dark. I hadn’t moved since the moment I’d discovered I had been reading about Gramps and Nan. It was great as a book, riveting as a memoir. I had always loved Gramps, but now he’d achieved superhero status.

I read the last paragraph again, remembering the words Gramps had said that night out in the courtyard, when I’d asked if he’d ever had any regrets marrying Nan. He’d quoted from this manuscript almost verbatim.

Turning the last page over, I placed it on the stack, sat up, and stretched. I felt a strong urge to see his typewriter and the hand-carved wooden box, which had suddenly become priceless. They were back in his office—my office. I walked through the kitchen and flicked on the light as I stepped inside. There was the typewriter, still centered on his desk, the wooden box right beside it, right where I’d left them.

Had it only been yesterday? It felt like we’d traveled through time together.

Gramps had typed the entire journey I’d just taken on that old thing. I could see him sitting there, clacking away. Such a schemer, sly as a fox. It was what made his novels so fascinating. For some reason, he’d decided this was the way he’d unveil his story, this body of secrets he and Nan had sat on for sixty years. Written it like a novel, but not fiction. A love story, their love story. A spy story. A World War II thriller.

But what did he want me to do with it now? Was it just for me, for our family? Did he expect me to unveil it to the world?

I walked over and sat at the desk, spun the chair halfway around. He’d set up this scavenger hunt for me to discover. Did it this way on purpose, thought it all through. What did he expect me to find? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t in this house; I’d searched it from top to bottom. Was it in the manuscript, in his journal? Something I’d missed?

I trust he’ll know what to do with it, and with the package I’ve left in my wooden box.

I spun the chair back around and stared at the wooden box. “Gramps, you’ve given me too much credit. I was never good at puzzles.”

Writing this memoir, he’d answered so many of the big questions we’d had about him and Nan, especially from my sister Marilyn. Where Gramps and Nan came from, how they’d met, how they’d fallen in love. Why he’d never talked about it before. Why there were no wedding pictures.

My grandfather was a German spy.

Who has that for their story? I thought of my good friend, Aaron Burns, one of the guys in my wedding. His grandfather had played in the NFL for the Packers, back when football highlights were done in black and white. I’d always thought that was something.

Wait a minute. I suddenly realized I was German. I’d always thought we descended from the British.

Whatever happened to the Richards family? My great-grandparents? And I had a great-uncle Jack, who’d fought in World War II. The only thing I knew about him was that he didn’t smoke cigars. What about Hammond, the FBI agent? Had he and my grandfather ever met again? Were these names even anyone’s real names?

So many questions. Given more time, I was sure the list would grow. Whatever the questions and the answers to them (if they could be found), I had already decided I’d never give up the typewriter or the wooden box. One day, I’d give them to one of my kids.

Of course, first we had to have some kids. I needed to call Jenn. She had to be off work by now.

When I got back to the living room, my cell phone was glowing. I ran the last few feet but had missed the call. It was Jenn. I hit the send button, hoping she hadn’t gotten into her car yet.

“It’s you,” she said. “I heard your message but you didn’t answer. I thought, how can he do this to me again?”

“I’m sorry, hon. I just left it for a sec. You off work?”

“I am and I have some good news.”

“What is it?”

“No way, you first.”

“It’s incredible, Jenn. It’s all about him and Nan. It’s not a novel. It’s their story, how they met, where they came from. All the secrets Marilyn wanted to know. I should have figured it out sooner. Guess it was just too big to grasp. I’m dying to tell you all about it, but I know you’re going to want to read this yourself.”

“I certainly do.”

“Already told you the ending,” I said.

“Already figured it out.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t want to say anything when you called last time, but I was pretty sure.”

“It’s so amazing, Jenn. I still can’t get my mind around it.”

“I can’t wait to read it. So want to hear my news?”

“Definitely.”

“I’m off for good this weekend. I can come home. They were so great about it. Nobody thinks I should work the whole two weeks, including my boss. She said she couldn’t even believe I came back at all.”

“That’s wonderful, Jenn. I can’t wait to see you. You know, I just had an idea. We can do that now that we have money. Think of things and just do them.”

“Maybe,” she said. “What are you thinking?”

“How about I drive the Mini Cooper down.”

“You don’t have to do that, I can fly back. I bought a round-trip ticket.”

“Don’t you want to drive the Cooper?”

“Michael, I can drive it all the time when I get back.”

“All right, I’ve got another reason. After reading this, I’d really like to see Daytona Beach. I can pick you up, we could drive over there from Orlando, stay at a nice hotel on the beach. You could read the manuscript, and I’ll drive around, scout out all the places Gramps wrote about, see how many of them are still there. When you’re done, I’ll give you a tour.”

She paused a moment. “Actually, that sounds pretty good. I still can’t get used to our situation, that we can just do things like that. Have you thought about what to tell Mr. Samson, your grandfather’s agent?”

“No, and I don’t really want to right now.”

“When’s he expecting you to call?”

“He said a few days. I’m going to use the longer interpretation for ‘few.’”

Jenn laughed. “Well, I’m in the car.”

That meant she had to go. “I can be down there tomorrow, by the time you get off work.”

“I can’t wait. You’re going to let me drive, right?”

“We’re going to have to work out some kind of schedule,” I said.

“It’s that much fun?” she said.

“Yeah.” The thing was, we both wanted this car, she way more than me, but that was before I’d gotten to drive it. “I love you, can’t wait till tomorrow . . . Mrs. Kuhlmann.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

We hung up. I reached down and gathered the manuscript together, carefully. First thing in the morning, I planned to make a hard copy and bring that down to Jenn. I’d put the original in a safe deposit box at the bank. Then I had another idea. I could buy a recorder, dictate it, and hire someone to make a digital transcript from that. When the time was right, I could email copies to the rest of the family. I wanted to talk to Jenn first, but I thought whatever we wound up doing with this thing, it should be a family-wide decision.

Back in the office, I opened the wooden box and laid the manuscript inside. A temporary home. I had no plans of bringing the box to Florida. But I was starving. So my plans before turning in tonight were simple: get something to eat, buy a nice big envelope for the manuscript, and pack.

Before stepping into the kitchen, I turned off the office light. Barely a few steps away and I felt this nagging sense that there was something undone back there, something to do with the manuscript. I walked back, flicked the light on, and stood by the desk.

I looked down at the desk, at the typewriter. There was my grandfather’s journal. Still nothing. I opened the wooden box, and it clicked.

Special Agent Victor Hammond.

Since this story was true, then Hammond must be a real person. So was his partner Nate. What if one or both of them were still alive? They’d be in their late eighties, maybe early nineties, but it was possible. What if my grandfather used their real names? He’d used his—he’d written “Ben and Claire” on the back of that picture.

Starving or not, I had to check this out. I grabbed my laptop and hurried to the couch. Didn’t really know where to begin, but if Victor Hammond was somewhere on the earth, I planned to find him.