Honoring Others

Part V

When Trixie got off work that night, she headed to her cozy apartment solo since Tad had to work the late shift at the Community Center.  Shutting her front door door behind her, she tossed her messenger bag onto a nearby chair then kicked off her shoes.  Immediately, a frown crossed her face as she realized that in her haste to get out the door that morning, she had put on two different socks. Trixie regarded her mismatched feet for a minute, then, with a shrug of her shoulders, decided they were unimportant in relationship to solving her current mystery. Her socked feet slid across the old hardwood floor to the desk that was in one corner of her living room and her computer that sat ready and waiting. After logging in, Trixie began entering queries into Zeeck Johnson.

“Yes!” she shouted out when an initial search turned up many sites for military records.  A few minutes later, Trixie slumped down in her chair, frustration written all over her face.

“There’s no way I can access anything here,” she wailed after realizing she would have to provide more information about Zeeck Johnson.  “How can I provide you info when that’s what I’m trying to get from you?”  

A trip through a second website that housed military records proved successful in that documents for a Zeeck Johnson had been located, but she needed to join the site in order to access them.  Trixie moved on to another website that promised information if Trixie could provide Zeeck Johnson’s middle initial, date of birth, and location of birth.

“But I don’t have all that information right now, do I?” Trixie angrily closed her laptop and went into her kitchen to find something to eat.  

After poking and rummaging through her nearly empty refrigerator, Trixie opted for a fried egg sandwich on an english muffin. She cracked the egg into a pan, then scrutinized and sniffed at the stale muffin until she was satisfied it was edible. She grabbed a slice of processed cheese to add to her sandwich then poured herself a glass of white wine, wryly noting that, thanks to her choice of beverage, she had managed to capture the four basic food groups in her hastily prepared dinner.

With food in hand, Trixie returned to her computer.  After careful consideration, she typed in the name Zeeck Johnson then hit the search button.  Her eyes lit up when a list of names appeared on the screen in front of her.  But as she scrolled through the list, she realized that none of the names fit the age of her relative.  After stuffing the last bite of her muffin into her mouth, she typed in a search requesting the birth of a Zeeck Johnson.  A family tree site appeared and Trixie eagerly clicked on that only to groan aloud a few minutes later when she realized that the list contained thousands and thousands of Johnsons that had been born during the last 200 years.  

“We couldn’t have an uncommon name now, could we,” she growled as she started to go through the list.

An hour later, a frustrated Trixie again slammed shut her computer.  “I give up!  If I want to get more information, I’m going to have to buy access to the site.”

Shoving back her chair, Trixie ran across the living room and snatched up her bag.  After rifling through it, she returned to her desk with credit card in hand.  A few clicks brought Trixie to the enrollment screen of an ancestry website where she paused and silently debated, flipping the plastic card back and forth.  Suddenly, she tossed it onto the desk.

“Gleeps!  I’ve got it,” she cried with a snap of her fingers.

Trixie reached into her back pocket for her phone then quickly dialed her Aunt Alicia.

“Hi, Aunt Alicia.  It’s me, Trixie,” she said when the call was answered.

“Who?  Oh, Beatrix.  Yes, how are you, dear?  Still working on your Zeeck Johnson mystery?”

Trixie winced at the hated surname but continued.  “Yes.  That’s why I’m calling you.  I may have found his military records but can only get so much information without actually joining the site.  Did you happen to sign up on any of the ancestry websites?”

“Of course I did. How do you think I’ve been able to make such a complete family tree?  Those sites have a bevy of information but some of it can be pretty confusing. I had a dickens of a time locating all the Johnsons.  There are so many of them.”

“So I’ve noticed,” grumbled Trixie. “Do you think you can help me?”

“If you wait a minute, I’ll get on my computer.”

While waiting for her Aunt, Trixie sat back in her chair and surveyed her living room, silently congratulating herself on the cozy yet contemporary ambience she had created. A quilt, courtesy of Aunt Alicia, was folded neatly over the back of her couch and two small end tables that she and Tad had painted black balanced out the seating arrangement. The simple curtains on the window behind the couch were open, allowing the few remaining vestiges of sunlight to filter into the room. Outside, branches from majestic oak trees brushed softly against the ivy covered facade while muffled sounds from a tv in the apartment below drifted upwards. Judging by the scent that lingered in the air, Trixie deduced that a nearby neighbor had made a garlicky dinner. A thud, followed by a series of rustling sounds at the other end of her phone interrupted Trixie’s musings.

“Okay, dear.  I’m signed on and I’ve entered Zeeck Johnson’s name.”  

“Is everything okay over there?  I thought I heard something fall.”

“Oh, that silly cat of mine, Mr. Butters, knocked my book to the floor in his haste to jump onto my desk.”

“Oh. Are you on the website yet?  Does it say anything about Zeeck Johnson, like when or if he died?”

“If he died! Land sakes, Beatrix, I would say that’s a given.  Do you realize if he’s still alive he’d be close to 100 years old.  I think you can just erase that idea from your mind.”

“Well, what does it say? Does it tell you where he lived after the war?”

“I’m checking.  Don’t rush me.  Hmmm...it only lists his birthdate and lists him as a son of Zeeck Johnson.  Who’s that?  I could have sworn that your Zeeck Johnson was one of my grandfather's brothers, but I never knew there were two relatives with that name. Wait a minute…”

Trixie’s foot jiggled nervously while her Aunt clicked away.  

“Oh, now I see. Isn’t that interesting!” chuckled Aunt Alicia.

“What? What?” Trixie sat forward so abruptly that her entire desk shuddered.

“I’m looking at the census for 1920.  It shows a Zeeck Johnson who is the son of a Zeeck Harold Johnson.  He must have been named after his father and Zeeck Harold Johnson must be your great grand Uncle Harold.  Who would have ever thought his first name was Zeeck?”

Trixie rolled her eyes while suppressing a loud sigh that was begging to come out.  “Uh, that’s really interesting, but…”

“Yes, it is.  These old census lists contain a lot of information.  But so many times the census takers misspelled names or put down wrong birth dates.  It’s amazing we know anything today. Now I wonder why they both have an odd spelling of their first names.”

“I never thought about that.”  Trixie quickly typed in the name Zeeck in her computer to see what she might learn about the name. “Hey, look at that!”

“Look at what? We’re on the phone.  I can’t see what you’re looking at. Honestly, Beatrix!”

“I googled the name Zeeck and found out it’s a German name.”

“Yes, it is,”  agreed Alicia.  “And by looking back a few more generations, I see that Zeeck was the last name of a woman who married into the Johnson family.”

“So somebody used a woman’s maiden name as a way to carry on her family name?”  

“I suppose. Let’s see what else we can learn here.  Oh, look!  There are the names of all my great grand Aunts.  My goodness! There certainly were a lot of Johnsons. And, my great Uncle’s occupation is listed as a cigar maker.”

“Really? He was a cigar maker?”

“No, I don’t believe that for a minute because on the next census he was listed as a farmer.”  She laughed.  “These census takers weren’t always the sharpest knives in the drawer.  Whoever heard of a cigar maker in Croton-on-Hudson?”

“Croton-on-Hudson.  Amy wrote that Johnny was from Croton-on-Hudson.” Trixie sat up excitedly.

“And the census backs that up.”

“Uh, Aunt Alicia, does it say anything about the younger Zeeck Johnson going to war, or getting married or even dying?”

“Well, of course not.  I’m looking at the 1930 census.  Anything like that hasn’t happened yet.”

Trixie anxiously fiddled with a pencil that was lying next to her computer, then began doodling little diamonds across the top of a piece of paper. “Do you have any idea where I could track down more information about him?”

“Let me check a few more things.  You know, I really should be taking notes while I’m here.  I’ll need to update our own family tree.”  Alicia fell silent for a minute.  “Lookie here.  In 1940, Zeeck Johnson, son, is no longer listed on the census.  He must have already moved out.”

“Then what happened?” asked Trixie, anxiously.

“Then? Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Sorry, Trixie.  He’s not listed on any future censuses, at least as far as I can tell.  You say he went into the service?”

“Yes, according to the journals I’ve read he went into the military and then to war.”

“Hmm… That’s odd.”

“What?”

“It shows he enlisted during World War II, but there’s no indication of what capacity he served.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Maybe.  You can never tell how accurately information was added at the time, or whether it was compromised when it was put into the computer system.”

“Does it say when he came home?”

“No.  It doesn’t list his discharge or any other status.”

“Nothing else? Would it say if he went AWOL or was MIA?”

“I’m sorry, Beatrix.  It literally has no additional information on Zeeck Johnson.”

“So, basically, this call was useless,” said Trixie glumly. Then she brightened.  “No, I know that Zeeck Johnson definitely lived in Croton-on-Hudson and was a relative and I now have his birth date.  I should be able to find something if I look through the county records, don’t you think, Aunt Alicia?”

“I don’t know, dear. But learning that your great, grand Uncle Harold was actually named Zeeck Harold Johnson may open up a whole new line of information,” answered Alicia. “I may be able to add more to the family tree now.’

“I’m glad I called,” said Trixie.  “I got some good information. Thanks, Aunt Alicia.”

“No problem. This phone call was a nice break from the quilt I’m making. And by the way, dear, you don’t have to access any of these websites to see a census.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two chatted a bit more, then Trixie hung up.  After washing her few dinner dishes, Trixie turned out the light in her small kitchen then stretched out down on her couch with one of the journals she had brought home the night before. Opening to a new entry, she began to read through the flowery handwriting but despite her best intentions, nodded off in the middle of a page.  

*****

The next morning, Trixie was focused and alert in her astronomy class.  Although she was working full-time, she had managed to keep up with all the assignments.  She was surprised to find herself actually enjoying the class and the millions of unsolved mysteries it presented.  When the lecture was over, she returned to Sleepyside and to Ingram’s Antiques.

“How goes the ancestor search?” asked Imogene when Trixie arrived at the shop.

“It’s coming, but slower than I would prefer.” She laid her messenger bag on an empty chair and grabbed her work apron. After tying the apron strings, she gathered her blond curls into a high ponytail.  

“Oh?”  Imogene, with a quick glance over her shoulder, led the way as the two walked to the front of the shop.  

“It’s just harder than I thought it would be.  I’ve read a lot of the journals, contacted my Aunt who helped by giving me information from various censuses on her ancestry website, but I still don’t know what ultimately happened to Zeeck Johnson.”

“Trixie,” Imogene settled heavily on the old wooden stool that sat behind the front counter.  “A week or so ago, you had never seen that photo.  Now you know the name of the child and that he’s related to you, right?”

Trixie nodded.  “And his date of birth and that he was born in Croton-on-Hudson.”

“Well, there you go.”  Imogene smiled at a group of women who, chattering excitedly among themselves, entered the shop.  “You’ll get it all done.  I have complete faith in you.  But in the meantime, there’s a ton of work to do here.  We were ambushed by a bus load of tourists this morning.  I need you to double check the sales in the computer and tidy up a bit.  I love the business but there are days that I long for a nice hot bath full of bubbles, as well as a champagne flute filled with the bubbly.”

Trixie patted Imogene’s shoulder.  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. It might be nice to put my mind on something else.  Maybe that will help me come up with a new attack strategy.”

Imogene tossed several pens into the jar that sat next to the computer and tidied up the counter. “As long as you get the work done, you can come up with any type of strategy you want.” Shoving the stool into the corner, she went to assist the group, whose questions and excited squeals reverberated across the shop.

**********

That evening, Trixie and Tad dined on a gourmet meal of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup in Trixie’s apartment. A single lamp in the living room cast a warm glow that contrasted against the deepening shades of purple and indigo outside.

“So, your Aunt really couldn’t tell you much?” asked Tad as he slurped a spoonful of soup into his mouth.

Trixie shook her head.  “No.  But I ended up helping her with the family tree.”

Grabbing a corn chip from the nearby bag, Trixie dragged it through a pile of gooey cheese that had dripped from her sandwich then popped it in her mouth.

“Huh? You helped her?”

“Never mind. It’s not important.  Did you remember to bring some of the journals with you?”

“Yeh, they’re out in my car.  I’ll get them right after I clean up.”  

Trixie batted her eyelashes at her boyfriend.  “My hero!  A man who cleans up.”

“It’s only fair. You made this delectable feast.”

“Right!  I opened a can of soup, added some milk and made the sandwiches.”

“Don’t forget the Fritos!”

Trixie held up her index finger.  “And the Fritos!”

“Still…” Tad lightly bussed Trixie’s cheek.  “I like to cook with you.”

After Tad made good on his promise to clean up after their meal, he went to his car and returned with a stack of the journals. Settling down next to Trixie on the couch, he fanned out the selection in his hands.

“Which one do you want?”

‘Hmmm...I Really want to read more about the time right before Johnny left.”

“Then you probably want this one.”  Tad handed Trixie the journal that was wrapped in the red ribbon then pulled out the one he had been working through earlier.

“Thanks.” Trixie laid the diary in her lap. ‘You know,  I’m really curious about the status of their relationship when he left. Maybe I’ll learn more about it tonight.”  She opened the journal, read a few pages, then paused.  “I was getting all excited about the possibility that Zeeck Johnson might actually be able to return to Sleepyside and we could get to know him.  But both Aunt Alicia and Moms pointed out that he’d be nearly 100 years old.”

Tad shrugged.  “So?  Lots of people live well into their nineties.  Don’t give up hope, Belden.”

“You really think so?”

“Anything’s possible.”

“That would be so neat.  Imagine being able to actually meet him after all the research we’ve done.”  

The room was quiet for a few minutes while the two read. Suddenly, Trixie laid the journal in her lap and wiggled around to face Tad.  “Hey! I’ve got a great idea.”

Tad looked up expectantly. “Yeah?”

“When Johnny comes back here, we should buy a brick for him in the Metro Park. You know, the ones that are placed around the Veteran’s Garden with soldiers’ names etched on them.  I think he’d really like that. And we could have a big family dinner.  Of course, Aunt Alicia would be there and she’d be asking all kinds of questions so she could update the family tree. And we could give him presents and I bet Aunt Alicia would even make him a special family quilt for his bed.”

Tad looked at Trixie in disbelief. “What exactly does your journal say?” he asked as he looked over her shoulder at the faded cursive she was reading. “A minute ago you were worrying that he was dead and now you’re buying him a brick and throw him a party.”

“I just thought about what you said.  He still could be alive, couldn’t he?” Trixie looked up at Tad, her eyes reflecting her hope that the mystery would have a happy ending.

Tad shrugged. “Why not!”

Pleased with that thought, Trixie toed out of her sneakers and propped her colorfully socked feet on the table in front of her. She returned her attention to her journal, chewing at a ragged cuticle while she read.

An hour later, both Trixie and Tad tossed their respective books aside.

“Nothing,” groused Trixie.

“Ditto,” answered Tad.

“Except for Amy’s writing of her romantic night.  So far, she’s written about it for over ten entries. I had no idea somebody could write over and over about taking off a bra. Gleeps! And all that cursive writing. Why couldn’t Amy have typed out her journal entries?” She rested her head against the back of her couch.  “I’m frustrated. Again!”

“Let me do something to take your mind off  your troubles,” grinned Tad.  He took the journal from Trixie’s hand and tossed it, as well as his own, aside. Then he pulled Trixie close and snapped off the lamp that sat on the small end table at one end of the couch.

“That might just be the best idea you’ve had all night,” sighed Trixie as her lips met Tad’s.

**********

The next morning, an excited Imogene met Trixie at the back door of Ingram’s Antiques.

“Oh, Trixie.  I didn’t think you’d ever get here,” she exclaimed as she bustled into the back room.

“Is something wrong?” asked Trixie in alarm, her heart pounding in her chest as a myriad of potential catastrophes ran through her mind.

“No.  No.  I  have something I think you’ll be very interested in.”

“What?” Trixie dropped her bag on the work table then unzipped her hoodie and shrugged out of it.

While Trixie was slipping her apron over her head, Imogene grabbed an old, dusty shoebox from the top of her cluttered desk and held out to Trixie. “This was brought in yesterday by Sam Walker’s daughter.”

“What is it?” She opened the box and saw several bundles of letters.  “What the heck,” she muttered.

Pulling out one small pack, she studied the address.  “Gleeps! It’s addressed to Amy and it’s from Zeeck.  Oh! Oh! Oh!”  Trixie fell into Imogene’s desk chair, causing it to roll across the floor while her fingers rapidly danced through the old, brittle envelopes.  “Imogene, you’re the best! These should help answer some questions.”

“I thought you might like them,” smiled Imogene knowingly.  “Unfortunately, I’m going to be at an estate sale today so reading those letters will have to wait until you get off.”

Trixie’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I’m thrilled to have these.  And yes, I’ll wait till I get home.  But once I’m home…..I’m going to hear from the other side!”

“I’ll be expecting a full report tomorrow,” said Imogene as she gathered her purse and coat.  “I left a ‘to-do’ list on the front counter. Have a good day!”

Imogene’s flurried exit generated a cloud of sparkly dust motes that flitted and darted through the musty air. The door had barely clicked shut when Trixie pulled out her phone and dialed Tad.  In rapid fire, she told him about the letters.

“So, are you free tonight?” she asked breathlessly.

“Are you kidding?  I can’t wait to learn what Zeeck thinks of Amy and their relationship.  I’ll grab a pizza and meet you at your place.”

“Perfect,” beamed Trixie.  

“How big is the box of letters?  Do you need me to carry it for you?”

“It’s just shoebox and I think I can manage it.  Your display of strength will have to wait for another time,” giggled Trixie, giddy over the recent discovery.

“Tell you what.  I’ll carry the pizza and I’ll do it with one hand!”

“Pace yourself, Webster.  We’ve got some work to do tonight.”

“And I can’t wait, Belden.  See you later.”

Replacing the phone in her pocket, Trixie closed the door to the back room and headed to the front of the shop, the previous day’s frustration already forgotten.

“Come on, clock,” she said as she trekked through the aisles, “move fast for me today. I’ve got something important to check out tonight.”

**********

“Don’t get that pizza near the letters,” cautioned Trixie when Tad, true to his word, arrived with a large pizza in one hand.

“Where do you want me to put the pizza then?  Maybe you should move the box of letters off the table.”

“Okay.  But where should I put them.  I’d die if something happened to them now so I want to keep them in my sight.”

Tad set down the pizza and waved his arm around.  “You can see the kitchen, the living room, part of your bedroom and a bit of the shower curtain from your dining room table.  You have a million places to choose from.”

Trixie slapped her hands on her hips and stared at Tad. “A million? Really?”

Tad grinned.  “Okay, maybe a thousand. How about we eat so we can get to those letters.”

“Deal.”

Trixie placed the box of letters on the small mantle above the fireplace that occupied one corner of her living room.  After returning to the dining nook, she cleared her mail off the table and dumped it onto her desk while Tad brought plates and napkins from the kitchen. He poured Trixie a small glass of wine then twisted a cap off a beer for himself. Trixie motioned frantically to his chair.

“Hurry up and sit down so we can get this dinner over and done with.”

“Maybe we should run this pizza through the blender so you can drink it down in just a few gulps,” teased Tad.

Trixie paused and pretended to give Tad’s suggestion serious consideration.  “Good idea but I’m afraid the cheese would gunk up the blades.”  Then she smiled at Tad, pulled out her chair and sat down.

Tad joined her. Sliding a steaming piece of pizza onto his plate, he glanced toward the box sitting on the mantle.  “Be honest, did you sneak a peek at those letters today?”

Trixie shook her head.  “No.  Can you believe it?  Imogene was out on a buying trip so I had a lot to take care of.  Every time I thought about all those letter just waiting to be read, it drove me crazy.”

“Almost dying or going crazy! Life is always on the line for you, isn't it?” observed Tad sarcastically.

Shrugging, Trixie picked off a piece of pepperoni and popped it in her mouth.  “It’s the way I roll!”

Tad took a quick sip of his beer then slid another piece of pizza onto his plate. “And I like the way your roll,” he said as he took a bite, the hot cheese dripping in a strand beneath his chin.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by three sharp knocks on Trixie’s door.

“Who’s that?” demanded Trixie  “Don’t they know we’ve got plans tonight?”

Tad wiped his hands then strode to the door and yanked it open.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded upon seeing Trixie’s brother Mart standing on the threshold.

“What kind of a welcome is that?” asked Mart. “Never mind.”

Pushing Tad aside, Mart entered the small apartment and marched to the table.

“Good evening, my benevolent sibling,” he said as he stood in front of Trixie.

“What do you want?” frowned Trixie.  

“I am in dire need of your token to access the parental abode.  Mine has mysteriously disappeared and I intend to get a replacement procured as soon as possible.’

Tad gently shoved Mart out of his way and sat back down at the table.  “What’d he say?” he asked as he grabbed another slice of pizza.

Trixie shrugged.  “Who knows? I’ve never mastered ‘Mart-speak.’”  She carefully picked off several more pepperoni before devouring the rest of her piece of pizza.

Mart sat down at the table but before he could grab his own slice, Trixie slammed down the box lid.

“Don’t even think about it, Mart.  Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here.”

Mart stared at his sister.  “I told you.  I lost my key to Crabapple Farm and I want to borrow yours so I can get another one made.”

“Why don’t you just tell Moms you lost yours?” asked Trixie.

“Banish the thought!” exclaimed Mart.  “Then she would think I’m irresponsible or something.”

“Well, aren’t you?” Trixie fixed her brother with a deadening stare.

“No.”

“Why don’t you just get your own place?” asked Tad. “Then your mother wouldn’t know if you lost your key.”

“I plan to.  Soon.  But for now, I’m stuck at the old ancestral homestead.”

Trixie grabbed another piece of pizza.  “Hmph.  You’ll never find as great a place as I did.”

Mart leaned forward.  “Let me correct you, younger sibling.  I’ll never find somebody with whom I can curry such a favor as an apartment like this.”

Trixie snorted.  “Shows what you know, Mart.  The only currying I do is on a horse.”

Mart rolled his eyes.  “So, can you lend me your key?”

With a loud sigh, Trixie got up from the table, rummaged through her bag, then returned with the key.  “Here.” She tossed it through the air.

Mart snagged it, then smiled pleasantly at his sister.  “One more thing. Can I have a piece of pizza?”

“Fine, but just one,” cautioned Trixie.  

Mart reached into the box and grabbed a heavily loaded slice then stuffed it into his mouth.  Trixie and Tad sat stupefied as Mart’s mouth twisted and contorted while he chewed the pizza. Then with one large motion, he swallowed it.

“So, what are you two up to tonight?” Mart asked.

“We’ve got some new information regarding the mystery tot.”  Trixie picked up her pizza and took a big bite.

“Yeah, she came upon a box of letters that was written by the little kid,” added Tad.

Mart vasiclated his disbelieving stare between Tad and Trixie.  “I don’t want to disrupt your idyllic dream, but I personally find it difficult to believe that a kid that young could actually write.”

Trixie rolled her eyes impatiently.  “He didn’t write them when he was a kid.”  She scowled at her brother.  “And I think you’re done.”

Mart wiped his hands on a paper napkin then stood up.  “Thanks for the pizza. Now I’ve gotta go finalize last week’s remunerations so I can spend some time engaging vocally with the lovely Diana.”

“Yeah! Yeah!”  Trixie waved him off.  

“Night, you two.”  Mart executed a sharp salute, then disappeared through the front door.

“Whew! I’m glad he’s gone.  You can never tell what my brother will do when there’s a hot pizza in front of him.”

“You done?” asked Tad.

“Almost.” Trixie stuffed another piece into her mouth, then wiped her hands. “Yep!”

“Let’s get to it.”  Tad took the box into the kitchen while Trixie followed with the plates.  After a quick clean-up, the two returned to the living room where Trixie snagged the box from the mantle while Tad turned on the lamps that bookended the couch.  Then the two sat down, their anticipation palpable.

Tad watched as Trixie carefully removed the box lid.  “Look at these,” she whispered reverently.  “They’re written on this special paper specific for airmailing. They feel so fragile.”

Trixie carefully took out the letters that were separated and bundled with the same red ribbon that had secured Amy’s private journal.  With the help of the faded postmark dates, they were able to sort them then put them into chronological order.  

“Look!  At first they’re from France, then Italy, and finally Africa,” marveled Trixie.

“Do we want to read all of them?” asked Tad.

“Eventually.  But right now, I want to read the last few letters he sent.  That might tell us where he went or what happened between him and Amy.”

“Okay.”  Tad carefully replaced the rest of the letters in the shoebox while Trixie unbound the small pack in her lap.  Sliding the first letter out of its envelope, the two read the strong script:

 

My darling Amy,

Counting the days till I come back to the states.  Although it’s interesting here in Africa, it’s not New York.  I can’t wait till I can stuff a coney dog into my mouth and wash it down with a cold coca cola.

How did you do on your chemistry test?  I know you hate the sciences, but there is a place for them in your everyday life.  I wish I were there to help you.

I’m so glad my time is almost up.  I’ve served my country and did the best I could.  But I’m weary and long to sleep in a bed that has real sheets. I miss a nice hot bath.  I miss the sound of a tea kettle whistling in my mother’s kitchen.  

If I didn’t have you waiting for me, my darling Amy, life would be unbearable.  But since I do have you, I’ll keep looking forward to our wonderful future.

Love always,

Johnny

 

Trixie carefully refolded the letter, slid it back in the envelope and placed it back in the bundle of letters.  

“It appears he was crazy about her,” concluded Tad.

Trixie nodded.  “So what happened?” She twisted around on the couch.  “How come they didn’t end up together?”

Tad shook his head.  “I don’t know.”

Trixie, a frown crossing her face, grabbed a small pillow and played it, twisting the scant yarn tassels back and forth.  “When I started this, I just wanted to know if that little boy in the picture was related to me.  But now, I want to know what ultimately happened to him.  Did he make it back home or not?  And if he didn’t, why not?”

“Do you want to read another letter?”

“Do you even have to ask?”  Trixie plucked another from the pile and opened it.

 

Dearest Amy,

As usual, I want to start my letter by telling you just how much I love you.  That day we met was the best day of my life...so far.  When we marry, that day will be even better.

The only bright spot here is a fellow soldier named Lenny.  He is the funniest person I’ve ever known.  He can make a joke out of anything and keeps us in stitches, which is good.  It makes the horrors of this war more bearable.  Last night Lenny told a really funny story.  I laughed so hard that my beer came out my nose.  I’m going to make sure he’s on the guest list for our wedding.

It’s really hot here today.  I’m so tired of my shirt sticking to my back.  What I wouldn’t give for a cooling breeze!  Never again will I take a cool summer evening for granted.

I’m sorry your mother is still making things difficult for you.  Maybe she’ll be more understanding when I get home.  Just think, when I left you were in high school and now you’re in college.  I always thought you were a smart woman, now I have proof.

Write me back, sweetheart.  Your letters mean the world to me.  And, if possible, could you please send me a recent picture of you.  I’m afraid I’ve carried your other picture so much that it’s ruined.

Sending you all my love,

Johnny

 

 

Trixie refolded the letter.  “Why couldn’t her mother just leave them alone?  Couldn’t she see how much they loved each other?”

Tad took the letter and gently replaced it in the stack. The two read several more letters until Trixie, heaving a heavy sigh, stopped.

“We’re not finding out what happened to Johnny,” she wailed. “Why is that so hard? And, gleeps! We've read the last letters he wrote!” She pounded her thigh with a tight fist.

“You know,” Tad slid the shoebox onto the ottoman in front of them, “you could try doing research the old-fashioned way.”

“Old-fashioned way?”  

“Yeah.  Contact the National Archives regarding Zeeck Johnson.”

“Do you think that would help?” Trixie’s brow furrowed as she considered Tad’s suggestion.

“It couldn’t hurt.  Why don’t we made a rough draft and if you like it, then we can email them.”

Trixie pushed herself off the couch and went over to her desk.  After rummaging through the top drawer, she produced a rather rumpled sheet of paper.  “We can write the rough draft on this.” She grabbed a pencil and handed both to Tad.

Tad stared at the objects.  “Uh, Trixie.  You do know you can do that on the computer, don’t you?”

Trixie’s palm smacked her forehead.  “Gleeps!  I’ve been so wrapped up in the journals and letters that I’m actually beginning to act like I’m living in the past.”  She stuffed the paper back in the drawer and grabbed her laptop.  “Now,” she said opening the device, “where were we?  Oh yes, you were ready to write down what I say.” She slid her computer onto Tad’s lap.

“Oh! Is this how it’s going to be? Then I’ll expect a nice gift on professional administrative day.”

“Wow!  The fact that you actually know that is impressive.”  Trixie tapped the keyboard.  “Are you ready?”

Tad flexed his fingers then nodded.  “Shoot!”

Within a short time, the two had composed a letter to the National Archives and, with a click of a button, sent it on its way. Trixie closed the computer, then grimaced.

“What’s wrong?” asked Tad.

“Waiting is not my forte,” she sighed heavily.  “Or haven’t you heard?”

Tad laughed.  “Oh yeah, I believe I’ve heard that rumor before.”

“And that’s all I seem to be doing lately.  Wait for my Aunt to get back to me, wait to get more journals, and now waiting for a response.”  Trixie's head bobbed back and forth as she spoke.

With a dramatic sigh, she folded her arms across her chest and propped her feet on the table in front of her.  “I just wish I knew what happened to him,” she whispered.

“Patience, grasshopper,” grinned Tad.

Trixie looked up at Tad with her head cocked to one side.  “Know what?”

“What?”

“I really hate that word.  I really, really do!”

Tad looked surprised.  “You hate the word ‘grasshopper’”?

Trixie playfully punched Tad’s arm.  “No, the other one.”

Chuckling, Tad drew Trixie into his arms.  “Let’s see if I can make you feel any better.”

“Be my guest,” murmured Trixie as she and Tad snuggled close.

********************

Author’s notes:  A very special thank you to my sister, Judith, who edited this story for me.  Her encouragement kept me going.  Also, thank you to my DH who does a final read for me and finds my little typos.  Picture by me!

Fritos - corn chip produced since 1959 by the Frito-Lay division of Pepsico.

Word count-6005

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