Honoring Others

Part VII

The morning’s gray light was softening the dark corners of Trixie’s living room when she awoke.  In a confused state she looked around, puzzled at finding herself on the couch.  Seeing the box of letters nearby, she suddenly remembered her dream and sat up, clutching the quilt to her body as a shudder ran through her.

“Oh, Johnny,” she whimpered.  “Was that a dream or something more?”

Wincing at her throbbing headache, Trixie pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders and stared into the rapidly disappearing shadows. After a few minutes of contemplation, she reluctantly pushed the quilt aside and struggled to her feet.  With great care, she placed the box of old letters on her mantle then made her way into the bathroom where she faced a pale, tear-streaked version of herself in the mirror.

“What happened last night?” she whispered. “Am I going crazy?”

Trixie continued to stare into the mirror, hoping the image would miraculously reply with some kind of an explanation but nothing happened. Turning away, she quickly stripped off her clothes then started the shower, adjusting the valve to make the water as hot as she could tolerate. Standing under the piercing spray, Trixie felt her emotions rise and, when fresh tears came, she pivoted, allowing the hot water to wash them away.

After dressing, Trixie padded into her small kitchen where she prepared a cup of hot, sweet tea. With steaming mug in hand, she wandered out to her small balcony where she silently gazed at the secluded ravine and woods behind her building. She heard the staccato tapping of a woodpecker, watched the fluttering, dewy leaves, and inhaled the earthy scent that rose from the shaded ground, all in hopes of soothing her tumultuous soul. However, her mind refused to be quieted and instead replayed the disturbing dream over and over like a looped video.  

“Is that what happened to Zeeck Johnson?  Was he left behind? Did he give up and kill himself?” she asked, still unable to comprehend her dream.

Feeling despair washing over her again, Trixie quickly finished her tea then went to make more, deciding she didn’t have the energy to go to school that morning. Instead, she settled in an old aluminum rocking chair on her porch and watched as the morning sun changed the colors of the trees and awakened the various critters that rejoiced in the arrival of another day.  Sipping her tea, Trixie fought against the tears that continually threatened. When the ringing of her phone interrupted her morose state, she trudged back into the kitchen to answer it.

“Hey, Belden,” greeted Tad.

“Hey, Tad,” responded Trixie flatly.

“What’s wrong?  You don’t sound like yourself?”

“I don’t want to talk about it now.”

“How was class this morning?”

“I didn’t go.”  Trixie swallowed hard against the lump that had returned to her throat.

“Why not?” demanded Tad, concern registering in his voice. “Are you sick?”

Trixie shrugged, afraid her voice would give away her emotions.

“Trixie?  Trixie? Are you still there?”

“I’m here.”  Trixie took a deep breath. “Can we get together tonight?”

“Sure,” answered Tad hesitantly.  “Hey, how about we grab dinner then hit the journals. Would that work?”

Trixie hesitated.  “How about if we eat in.  As for the journals, I don’t think we need to read them anymore.”

“Why? Did you hear from the National Archives?”  

Trixie sighed. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“I take it the news wasn’t good.”

“Actually, they couldn’t tell me anything.”

“But you don’t think we need to read the journals? I’m confused.”

“I’ll explain it to you tonight.”  Trixie took a quick sip of her tea.

“How about if I grab some tacos and meet at your place.”

“Okay.   I guess I better go to work now so I’ll talk to you later.  See ya.”

Trixie clicked off the call and laid her phone back down on the kitchen counter.  As she sorted through her warring emotions, she realized she was reluctant to tell Tad about the dream. “How can I explain it to him when I don’t understand it myself?”

Closing the door softly behind her as she left the apartment, Trixie walked down the stairs, a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach as she grappled with the reluctance to face others until she had made sense of her nighttime illusion .“I wish this day was already over,” she muttered as she walked into the brilliant sunshine.

 

The musty and aged smells of the antique shop that usually bolstered Trixie’s spirits didn’t even register with her that day.  She performed her tasks mechanically, her smile phony and wooden.  Trixie, mired in her confused and troubled state, was relieved that Imogene had taken the day off. “One less person who will want to know what’s going on with me today,” she thought. She had just finished ringing out a line of happy customers when she felt her cell phone vibrate.  After checking the caller ID, she answered.

“Hi, Moms.”

“Hi, Trixie.”

“What’s up?”  Tucking her phone under her ear, Trixie sat down on the stool. Her fingers, usually busy fidgeting, lay listless in her lap.

“I was hoping you and Tad could come to the farm for dinner Friday night.  Aunt Alicia will be here so you two can work on the mysterious life of Zeeck Johnson.”

“Hmmm. Okay. I’m pretty sure Tad’s available.” Trixie’s voice lacked its usual enthusiasm.

“Are you okay, Trixie?  You sound like you have a stuffy nose. Are you coming down with something?”

“No, just tired, I guess.”

“I think you’re working too hard, dear.”

“Maybe.  Do you want me to bring anything?”

“Just Tad.”

“All right.  Thanks, Moms.”

“See you then.”  

Trixie slid her phone into her pocket, then trudged over to help a group of customers who were excitedly exploring the shop.  Glancing at the clock above the counter, she grimaced and inwardly cursed the day that seemed to be moving so slowly. Even the hot bowl of soup from the restaurant next door at lunchtime did little to improve her state of mind.  When her shift finally ended, an exhausted and melancholy Trixie headed back to her apartment. She was setting out plates for dinner when she heard Tad’s familiar knock at the door.

“I thought you’d never get here,” mumbled Trixie as she pressed herself against him and buried her face in his soft flannel shirt.

Tad hugged his girlfriend, then held her away from his body.  “What’s going on?”

Trixie shut the door. Then turned to face Tad.  Her face was still pale and her eyes were red-rimmed.  Even her flat curls seemed to reflect her sadness. Exhaling loudly, she answered.

“I’ll try to explain everything to you.  But be warned, it’s a really weird story, one that even I don’t understand.”

As Trixie turned away, Tad grabbed her arm.  “What’s wrong?”

Trixie shook her head then suddenly paused and sniffed the air.  Her eyes zeroed in on the fragrant bag in Tad’s hand.  

Tad held out the sack. “Eat first or talk first?”

Trixie eyed the bag for a moment. “You know what?  I’m actually hungry.  Let’s eat first. And before I forget, Moms invited us to dinner Friday night.”

“Perfect. I hope you told her we’d be there.”

“Yeah, I basically answered for you.”  

Tad kissed Trixie’s nose then held her close.  “That’s okay.  You know I’d never turn down a meal at Crabapple Farm. Let’s get through these tacos.  I'm dying to hear what you have to say.”

Trixie looked at Tad, a faint smile on her troubled face.  “Now you sound like me.”

The two sat down and ate, their usual teasing banter absent, replaced by small, mundane tidbits about their day. When they were done, Tad carried the plates into the kitchen while Trixie wiped the table. With the apartment returned to a tidy state, Tad turned off the overhead kitchen light then he and Trixie went into the living room. Sitting on the couch, Tad waited while Trixie retrieved the letter she had received from the National Archives.  

“Here,” she said, thrusting the correspondence into Tad’s hands as she settled down next to him.

He quickly read the letter, an increasingly puzzled look on his face.  “I don’t get it.  You said we didn’t need to read the journals but this letter doesn’t answer any questions.”

Tucking her legs underneath her, Trixie grabbed a pillow and began fidgeting with it. “I have something to tell you and I don’t want you to say anything until I’m done.”  She pulled the pillow tight against her.

Tad, a concerned look on his face, hesitantly nodded. “Okay.”

“Last night, after I read the letter from the National Archives, I sat on this couch, still wondering what had happened to Zeeck.”  Trixie placed her hand on Tad’s arm and swallowed hard.  “What I’m going to tell you is really hard, so please let me finish before you say anything.”

Taking a deep breath, Trixie told Tad about the dream, including the physical sensations she had experienced.  When she was done, she looked at him expectantly.  “Well?”

“Wow!” he whistled softly as he exhaled.

“Tad, what do you think?” Trixie tossed the pillow aside and leaned forward.  “Is my dream the solution I’ve been looking for? And if it was, how did that happen?”

Tad shook his head slowly.  “I don’t know.”

“I’ve been thinking about that dream all day and, oddly enough, it does answer the questions.”

“It does?”  

“Yes.”  Counting off on her fingers, Trixie began laying out her case.  “Don’t you see?  There was no information about him anywhere.  Why? It seemed like he had just disappeared, which he did.  And the government had no information because somewhere, at some time, there had been a decision made to just let the POWs stay where they were.  Nobody’s going to say, ‘Why, yes Ms. Belden.  Your relative was in a POW camp but we didn’t want to make the effort to get him out.’” Her face fell.  “But it’s not the solution I was hoping for.”

Tad nodded.  “I know. Tell me about the dream again.”

Trixie recounted her dream, including as many details and sensations as she could.  “I swear, Tad, when I woke up, I thought for sure I’d find a twisted sheet around my neck. It was so real,” she shuddered. “ And I felt like I was really Zeeck Johnson. I wish I could explain it better, but I can’t. It was just so weird, so…” she struggled to find the word she was searching for before finally throwing up her hands. “Weird, unearthly, abnormal, eerie, unbelievable.” She stopped as her eyes filled with tears.

Tad pulled her close.  “Shhh.” He stroked her curls and rubbed her back.  “As weird as it is, it’s possible you solved this mystery.  Although this time, your method is a bit unorthodox.”

Trixie snuggled deeper into Tad’s arms.  “That’s what I think, too.”

Pondering the dream, the two snuggled together.  The room grew dark as the sun sank behind a bank of clouds before completely disappearing.  As if sensing the melancholy mood inside the small apartment, the trees remained still with only a few faint quivers from their leaves.

“What are you going to do with all those journals and the letters?” asked Tad, breaking the silence. Reaching over Trixie’s head, he snapped on the small table lamp.

“I don’t know.  But I definitely plan on keeping them.  Who knows?  Maybe I’ll write a book about Amy and Zeeck.”

“Really?”  Tad looked at Trixie in surprise.

“Why not?  Obviously, stranger things have happened.”

“That’s true.”  Tad tucked Trixie’s head beneath his chin.  “Yeah,” he said a few minutes later. “I could totally see those journals and letters woven into a great story.”

“What better way to honor Zeeck then to keep his words alive?”

“But...writing, Belden?  It’s kinda like school work. Do you really think you could do that?”

“Maybe.  Maybe not.  I’ll let it percolate in my mind for a while. In the meantime, I think I’ll work through the rest of Amy’s journals and see when she decided to move forward with her own life.  Although, to be honest, I don’t think Sam Walker holds a candle to Zeeck Johnson.”

“Agreed.”  

“You know what else I think?” asked a relieved Trixie.

“I can’t even imagine,” grinned Tad.

“Those tacos we had tonight were great.” Trixie licked her lips appreciatively.  Let’s have them again next week.”

Tad pulled Trixie closer.  “I take it you’re feeling better?” He ran his fingers through her soft curls. “But why didn’t you call me last night?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know.  I was so confused and upset, then I couldn’t find my phone.  All I could do was curl into a ball and cry myself to sleep.”

Tad gave Trixie a tight hug. “ Next time, call me.”

Trixie settled herself securely against Tad.  “I will but I sincerely hope I never have a dream like that again.  Ever!”

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

 

For the next several days, Trixie struggled to make sense of and to accept what she had experienced. Feeling better after she had confided in Tad, Trixie still vowed to keep the surreal dream to herself.  But one afternoon, she hesitantly shared it with Imogene.  

“So, what do you think?”  Trixie, her breath held tight, braced herself for her boss’ reaction.

“This may surprise you but I think that makes complete sense.” Imogene settled herself on the stool behind the counter, as she calmly accepted Trixie’s description of the eerie occurrence.  

“You do?  You don’t think me having that dream was weird?”

Hopping off the stool, Imogene pulled herself up to her full five foot three inches and looked Trixie directly in the eye.  “No. But I’ve always known you to have a keen sense of intuition.  How else did you manage to solve all those mysteries?  And you have a very strong sense about people.  I guess Zeeck Johnson was able to tap into it.”

“Tap into it? Imogene, do you hear what you're suggesting?” cried Trixie, her mouth gaping slightly in surprise.  “Do you really think he somehow communicated with me from the great beyond.”

Imogene shrugged. “Trixie, there is so much around us that we don’t understand.  I’ve learned to never underestimate anything.  Why couldn’t that have happened?  History’s full of people who got messages from their deceased relatives.”

Slapping her hands on her hips, Trixie smirked dubiously. “Hmmm...I don’t recall ever learning that in school. And that sure sounds like something I would have remembered if I did.”

Imogene smiled. “You don’t learn everything in school, dear.  Open your mind.  Accept what happened and see where it takes you.”

Before Trixie could respond, Ian called to Imogene from the doorway of the restaurant.  

“Think about it, dear. Don’t fret, just accept.”

Imogene turned and hustled to the restaurant to see what Ian needed, leaving Trixie lost in thought. Behind her, a cascade of colorful beams from the overhead disco ball bounced around her, but Trixie, deep in concentration, never noticed.  

“Accept it,” she muttered.  “See where it takes me.”  After pondering the idea for a minute, she decided to do just that. Feeling a sense of relief, Trixie hurried to a nearby aisle to help a customer, finally wearing the genuine smile that had been missing from her face for several days

**********

Friday night was cool and rainy.  Dodging the big puddles in the alley behind the shop, Trixie jumped into her car and hurried home to get cleaned up for her dinner at Crabapple Farm. When Tad knocked at her door a short time later, she was ready, dressed in a pair of snug jeans and a comfortable t-shirt. Her hair, brushed and shining, hung loose and her lips glistened from a fresh application of clear gloss.

“Let’s go!” she said, taking Tad’s arm and steering him toward the staircase of her apartment building.

“Whoa, Belden, what’s the rush?  I thought we could spend a little quality time together first.”  Tad waggled his dark brows.

“Seriously, Tad?  You want to have quality time then go have dinner with my Aunt Alicia?  Are you nuts?”  Trixie shook her curls in disbelief.  “First, that will never happen.  And second, that will never happen. Let’s go.”

Tad followed as Trixie hurried down the stairs and to his car.  She chattered all the way to the farm, relating the sage advice Imogene had given her in response to her dream and the supposed solution to the mystery.

“I like Imogene,” remarked Tad.  “And she sure seems to like you.”

“Yeah, she’s a good person to work for.”

“You ready for dinner with your family?”

Trixie gave a brisk nod.  “Bring it on!”

After parking in the driveway at the farm, the two ran through the gray mist, hurdled the low terrace wall, then landed at the back door. Laughing, they stepped into the kitchen where they were immediately assaulted by the fragrant aroma of roasted chicken and an apple pie. The kitchen, warm and cozy against the damp weather, was full of activity. Moms was working at the stove while Aunt Alicia and Peter sat at the table, arguing loudly over investment accounts. Bobby, an open textbook in front of him, was working on his math homework while Mart was busy filling in the squares of the daily crossword puzzle.

“Hi, all.” Tad removed his jacket and hung it on a nearby peg.  “Hey, Mrs. Belden, I’ve been thinking about your dinner all day. Thanks for inviting us.”  He gave Moms’ shoulder a brief squeeze then joined the others at the table.

Aunt Alicia nodded briefly to Tad then continued her conversation.  “No, Peter.  You’re wrong.  I’ve been studying up on retirement funds.”

“But, Alicia,” responded Peter wearily .“ I work in a bank.  I think I understand finances better than you.”  

“Oh, pshaw.” Alicia slapped the table in Peter’s direction then swiveled on her seat to face the young couple.  “Hello, Tad.  How are things with you and Trixie?”

Tad smiled.  “Things are good with me.  As for Trixie, you can ask her yourself.” Tad nodded toward his girlfriend.

“Beatrix,” commanded Aunt Alicia.  “Is that how you dress for dinner with your family?”

Trixie looked down at her jeans and long sleeved t-shirt.  “Yes. Why?”

“I would think you’d want to dress up a bit.”

“I like to be comfortable when I eat.  To be honest, I considered wearing my slippers.  Nothing says comfort like warm slippers.”  Giving her father a quick wink, Trixie pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.  “What are you guys talking about?”

“Your father thinks he knows more about retirement funds just because he works in a bank,” snorted Aunt Alicia.

“And I suggested she find a financial planner who can answer all her questions.  Preferably somebody she’s not related to,” fumed Peter.

Aunt Alicia frowned then turned her attention to her niece.  “How’s your search for Zeeck Johnson going?  I’ve been digging through all the websites I can but haven’t found any more information on him.”

Trixie squirmed in her seat and kept her eyes focused on the hand quilted placemat, courtesy of Aunt Alicia, that lay in front of her. “Uh, uh, I think I know what might have happened to him.”

“What?” demanded Alicia.

Trixie glanced at Tad, then at her Aunt.  “I’ll tell you but I want you to listen to my story.  Promise?”

Nodding, Alicia motioned impatiently for Trixie to proceed.

Slowly, Trixie recounted her dream, including the different sensations she felt as the dream unfolded.  When she was done, she looked around the table at the faces that displayed disbelief and intrigue.

“I know that sounds really crazy, but the dream seemed so real and it fit so perfectly with why we couldn’t find out anything about Zeeck.”  Trixie looked at her Aunt, whose wide, unblinking eyes stared back at her.  “Aunt Alicia, are you all right?”

Alicia’s palms hit the old maple table with a loud slap. “Sakes alive, girl!  You’ve got it!”

Bewildered, Trixie looked around the table.  “I’ve got what?”

“The gift.”  Alicia excitedly turned in her chair.  “Helen!  Did you hear what your daughter said?”

“Bits and pieces of it, Alicia.”

“Well, come over here and sit down. This is too important to miss.”  Alicia returned her attention to Trixie.  “Go on,” she ordered.  “Tell the story again.”

Trixie again recounted her tale.

“There,” said Alicia.  “See what I mean.  She’s got the gift.”

“Oh, Alicia,” mumurred Helen.  “That seems like quite a stretch to me.”

“You never believed that old story, did you?” Aunt Alicia gave Helen an accusing look.

“What are you two talking about?” exploded Trixie.  “What gift?  What old story?” She whirled to her brother.  “And why aren’t you saying anything? I would think you’d be spouting multi-syllable words all over the place.”

Mart shrugged.  “At this exact moment, locution has eluded my grasp.”

Helen nervously rubbed at her forehead.  “Your Aunt is referring to an old bit of family lore regarding your great Aunt Matilda.”

“Who?”

Moms sighed.  “Another relative you’ve never met.”

“What about her?” demanded Trixie.

“The rumor was that she would experience prophetic dreams,” answered Moms.

“You mean like an oracle?” questioned Tad.

Trixie’s head snapped around.  “A what?”

“Now dear, your mother obviously never believed those tales surrounding Aunt Matilda.  But it all makes sense now?”  Aunt Alicia smiled smugly at Moms while soothingly patting Trixie’s arm.

“What makes sense?” Trixie’s patience was wearing thin.

“It was always believed that Aunt Matilda had the gift of prophecy, that she would dream things before they happened.  I bet you inherited that gift. And that explains how you were able to solve all those mysteries.”  Alicia’s fingers drummed excitedly on the table.  “You must have been getting the solutions in your dreams.  Do you remember that happening?” She leaned forward and clasped Trixie’s hand excitedly.

Trixie shook her head.  “Not really.”

“Oh.” Alicia’s face fell for a moment.  “I know.” She snapped her fingers.  “You were just too young.  But I bet that intuition was already at work.  Remember that time you thought your friend’s uncle was an imposter?  How did you know that?”

Trixie shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I just knew it.”

“See!” said Alicia triumphantly.  “You have the gift. I should have suspected this sooner.”

Trixie twisted around in her chair.  “Moms?”

“Yes, Trixie.” Moms, a puzzled look on her face, looped and wrung the dish towel she had removed from her shoulder.

“What do you think?”

Moms shook her head slowly.  “I don’t know what to think.”

“Don’t know what to think!” Trixie stomped the floor.  “Can’t somebody answer a simple question?”

“You deem this conundrum a simple inquiry?” Mart’s voice added to Trixie’s irritation.

Pivoting in her chair, Trixie set her brother with a glaring stare.  “You think this is a simple conundrum? I liked you better when lo...lo....” She waved her hand toward her brother.  “Never mind.”

“Now younger sibling, if you insist on playing out this intriguing drama with all of us present, then you must be prepared for such consequences as questions or disbelief.  I am going with the latter.”

“Pshaw, Mart,” cried Aunt Alicia.  “There’s no drama here, nor questions nor disbelief.  I am telling you all that Trixie has the gift that our great Aunt Matilda had.”  She turned in her chair.  “Now, Trixie, have you gotten any other messages lately?”

Groaning softly, Trixie dropped her forehead onto the palm of her hand. “Aunt Alicia, I never said I was getting messages.  You did.  And now you make me sound like some kind of a psychic medium.”

“My goodness, you’re certainly not that but you’re the one who said your dream was like something you had never before experienced and that it explained why we’d been unable to find any information on Zeeck Johnson.”

Trixie nodded.  “That’s true.”  Her brow furrowed in concentration as she rolled and unrolled her placemat.

Behind Trixie, there was the sound of clattering dishes as Moms returned to her stove where she vigorously beat the mashed potatoes. Bobby sat quietly in his chair while Mart remained silent, his pen suspended above his puzzle. Breaking the awkward silence, Trixie asked,

“Now what do I do?”

Aunt Alicia reached over and rubbed her back.  “You’ll just do as you’ve always done.  Nothing has changed.”

“But what if I get more dreams?” Trixie’s voice held an edge of panic to it.

“Then you’ll have to decide if they seem connected to anything around you.  But, you may never have another dream.  Nobody really understands how these things work.”

Startled by the sound of the buzzing stove timer, Trixie jumped up, eager to escape the uncomfortable feeling that had settled over the group at the table.  

“I’ll help,”  she said, making herself available. Standing next to her mother at the stove, Trixie spooned vegetables into a serving dish and asked softly, “Moms?”

“Yes?”

“Is is true what Aunt Alicia said?”

Moms stopped whipping the potatoes and turned to face her daughter. “ The family did indeed believe that Great Aunt Matilda had something special.” She tenderly pushed a curl off her daughter’s forehead and tried to smooth out the worry lines that had appeared between Trixie’s brows. “In fact, they believed in it so much that some of them purchased a large chunk of land convinced they would be able to sell it at a much higher price in the future.”

“And did they?”

Moms shook her head.  “No. And that led to part of the family estrangement.”

“But what do you think?”

Moms sighed.  “I honestly never thought about that gift in relationship to you because I had completely forgotten about it.”

“Did this so-called gift ruin Aunt Matilda's life or anything? Did people consider her a freak? Did she run off a join a circus or anything like that?”

Smiling, Moms shook her head.  “No.  Nor did it give her any trouble.”

“So, I don’t have to do anything different or change?”  Trixie’s eyes were anxious.

Smiling, Moms shook her head. “You don’t have to change a thing, Trixie.  As for what your Aunt said, you’ll have to work through that and come to your own conclusion.”

Trixie chewed the side of her mouth.  “Hmmm…”

Moms reset the stove’s timer then turned to her daughter. “Trixie, there are so many things in our lives that seem to have no rhyme or reason.”

“Like what?”

She tucked Trixie’s curls behind her ears.  “Oh, things like flowers suddenly blooming in the middle of winter?  Or thinking about somebody we haven’t seen in a while and then running into them. As a mother, how many times did I know one of my brood was sick or needed me when they hadn’t even said anything?”

Trixie’s face brightened.  “I guess I never thought about those things. Gleeps! It seems there are a lot of mysteries out there.”

Moms laughed softly and pulled Trixie close.  “Indeed there are. And you don’t have to solve them all.”

“So, I’m all right?” Trixie’s eyes belied her anxiety.

“You’re more than all right.”  Moms gave Trxie a tight hug.

Before Trixie could say anything else, Bobby called out,  “Hey, Trixie, can you get me the answers to my math test in advance?”

“Don’t be silly, Bobby,” interjected Mart.  “If she could do that, she would have helped herself years ago instead of moaning and groaning every time she had her own math test.  But as you can see…”

Trixie dropped the serving spoon and moved quickly toward her brother.  “You know what, Mart? I bet…”

Tad rose and stepped between the siblings.  “What can I do to help you, Trixie? I bet if I brought the dishes to the table, we could get dinner started. How about it?”

Trixie’s eyes met Tad’s and she relaxed.  “Thanks,” she mouthed.  

As Trixie, Tad and her mother carried the hot dishes to the table, Peter and Aunt Alicia adjusted their chairs and made sure the place mats and silver were ready.  After everybody had settled into their assigned spots, the family started passing the food.  The silverware made soft clinking sounds against the china as they dug into the delicious meal. The edgy ambiance that had surrounded the group  ebbed.  

“So,” exclaimed Moms brightly.  “How was everyone’s day?”

“Mine was fine but I was really hoping Peter could give me some financial advice,” said Aunt Alicia.  “Hey, maybe Trixie can help me.”

“Alicia!” Moms looked at her sister sternly.  “No more talk about that.  I suggest you get your own advisor and leave Peter and Trixie out of it.”

“Hmph!  Guess I’ll have to.”  Alicia put a forkful of chicken into her mouth.  “Helen, I take it you didn’t add the rosemary like I suggested?”

With a barely discernible roll of her eyes, Helen Belden answered as tactfully as she could.  “I like it just the way it is.”  

“Me too,” declared Bobby.  He swallowed his mouthful of food, then looked around the table.   “Hey, Trixie.  If you can’t do math, can you dream me the answers to my next history test?”

“NO!”  said the rest of the family in unison.

“Okay.  Okay.”  Bobby shoveled more chicken into his mouth.  “So what good is it?” he muttered to himself as the conversation picked up around him.

Relieved that the discussion about her dream was over, Trixie dug into her plate of food. While she chewed, she puzzled over the new information her Aunt had given her and tried to tie it in with the solving of mysteries in her youth. Unable to make any relevant connection, she pushed the uncomfortable thoughts to the back of her mind and joined in the chattering that bounced around the table.

 

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

A few weeks later, Tad slouched down on Trixie’s couch, his feet comfortably propped up on her ottoman, the remote control to her television in his hand.  He paused in his search for a baseball game and watched as Trixie fussed over a big pot of blooming geraniums that sat in front of the dining room window.

“What?” she asked when she noticed his stare.

“Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Fuss over flowers like that?”  

Trixie shrugged, “I don’t know. Why?”

“Just curious.”

Trixie propped her hand on her hip.  “They do require some care, you know.”

“I know.” Tad returned his attention to the remote in his hand.

“Besides,” continued Trixie.  “I just do what Moms did:   check the dirt then pinch off old blooms.  I like the consistency.  You, on the other hand, have little consistency.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You'll watch whatever baseball game is on.  It doesn't matter whether or not you like or even follow the team that’s playing.”

Looking up at the ceiling above him, Tad stroked an imaginary beard.  “I fail to see the problem with that.”

Trixie jumped onto the couch next to him. “Come on, Webster.  At least be a discerning viewer.”

A puzzled look appeared on Tad’s face.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Trixie giggled.  “Choose wisely.  Don’t just watch a baseball game because it’s there.”

“Oh, yeah?  And where did you learn that “Martesque” word?”

“I read it in one of Amy’s journals.  Her mother told her she needed to have “discerning tastes” when it came to choosing a husband.”  Trixie wrinkled her nose.  “I don’t think I like Amy’s mother.”

“Me neither. I guess she never got past her dislike of Zeeck.”

“No! And she got her way,” said Trixie quietly. She propped her feet next to Tad’s and watched the game Tad had settled on. “Hey!” She suddenly sat up.  “I want to show you something.”

Trixie disappeared into her bedroom then came back, thumbing through one of Amy’s journals.  “Here.” She thrust the book toward Tad.  “Look what I found last night.”

Tad took the book and read the entry that Trixie was pointing to.

 

Well, I guess my mom wins!  She’s been nagging me about Zeeck for so many years that I’m just tired of listening to her.  I haven’t heard from him in almost two years.  My heart is so sad.  Mother said I should have had a more discerning eye when I first went out with him.  She keeps talking about a young man who goes to our church.  The man’s name is Sam Walker.  He’s nice enough, I guess.  But he’s no Johnny.  But he asked me to dinner on Saturday night and mother said I’d be delighted to go with him.  I’m horrified that my mother would do that but too tired to fight her on it.  So, I guess I’ll go.  But my heart will be thinking of Johnny the entire time.  I can’t imagine where he is.  The war is over but I’ve heard nothing from him.  Sometimes, at night, I cry because I fear my Johnny met a beautiful woman and married her.  I just wish I knew. I know I will love him forever.

 

“What’s the date of this entry?”

Trixie pointed to the top of the page.  “September, 25, 1945.”

Tad whistled softly.  “She waited a long time for Johnny to come back to her. “

“I know. It sounds like she never learned what happened to him.”  She stared unseeingly at the tv.  “And that’s probably a good thing.”

“Why?”

“Because it made her sad to think he had married somebody else, but it would have destroyed her to know he had committed suicide because he was so heartbroken at the knowledge he would never see her again.”

“You’ve never learned anything else about him?” Tad gave Trixie a questioning look.

Trixie shook her head firmly.  “Nope.  That weird dream is still the best and only explanation I’ve gotten.”

“So what are you going to do with the journals?” Tad muted the game.

“Well,” Trixie snuggled closer to her boyfriend, “last night, while you were busy working, I sorted through all of them.  I had already bought two giant storage bins. I put the earlier journals in one and the journals concerning Johnny, plus the box of letters, in another.  That way, they’re in some kind of order.”

“And…”

Trixie took a deep breath.  “I still think they’d make a great story but I’m not sure if I’m the person to write it.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“I think they’re just fine in the back of my closet for now. After all, those letters and journals have been hidden away for decades.  I’m sure a few more years won’t ruin their story.”

“Agreed.” Tad yawned.  “I’m glad we got this settled. Now I can get back to my game?”

“Uh, Tad,” Trixie pointed toward the TV.  “I think you should know  your game went into a rain delay a few minutes ago and now they’re showing a rerun of Gilligan’s Island.”   Trixie wrestled the remote away from Tad and started flipping through the channels.  ‘Hey! Look! A Psych marathon! I forgot it was on this weekend.”

Tad dropped his head onto his chest in defeat.  “I think I just lost any chance of getting back to my game.  Am I right?”

Trixie smiled coyly in response.

“Great.”

Sliding down further on the couch, Tad closed his eyes and snuggled up  to Trixie.  Within a few minutes, he had dozed off. Beside him, Trixie delighted in the antics of the ametueur sleuths on the screen, laughing as they outsmarted everybody around them and finally solving the crime in their usual unorthodox manner. The sound of mail being shoved through her mail slot interrupted Trixie’s marathon.  With her eyes glued to the screen, she dashed over to the door and collected the various pieces that lay scattered on the floor.  She was dropping it onto her dining room table when the return address of one caught her eye.

“The National Archives,” she gasped.  

“Tad! Tad!” she shrieked das she ran to the couch.  “I got another letter.”

“Huh?” Startled, Tad sat up and opened his eyes.

“Look.” Trixie danced the envelope in front of Tad’s face.  “I got another letter.”

“Open it,” he urged as he sat up.

Trixie pried open the flap and, holding her breath, carefully pulled out the letter.  She held it out so the two of them could read it.

 

Ms. Belden,

I wrote to you several weeks ago regarding your relative, Zeeck Johnson and told you we had no information on him.  Since then, some new information has come across my desk.

We recently received numerous soldiers’ correspondence from German archives that described conditions in Soviet POW camps.  One letter mentioned a soldier by the name of Zeeck Johnson.  Since I had recently responded to your inquiry, the name held some significance. The soldier wrote that he had met Mr. Johnson.  A short time later, he was sent out to work on reconstructing roads in the area.  When he returned, he wrote in another letter that Zeeck Johnson was no longer at the camp.  He was told the man known as Zeeck Johnson had committed suicide. This was included in a follow-up letter to his family.

Our bureau can neither confirm nor deny this information and will most likely be unable to do so.

I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but it is the only occasion that I have ever come across his name.  

Please feel free to contact me or the National Archives if you wish to discuss it further.

Regards,

Eugenia Yost

National ARchives

Washington, DC

 

Trixie slowly refolded the letter then slid it back into the envelope.  She carefully set the letter on the table next to her then turned to Tad.

“Well,  I guess that’s that.”

Tad nodded slowly.  “It definitely seems that way.”

Trixie surveyed her living room silently before releasing a loud sigh.  “I was hoping my dream was wrong.”

Tad rubbed Trixie’s thigh.  “I know.”

Heedless of the muted tv, Trixie and Tad settled back on the couch, their hands clasped together.  Neither spoke as the flickering light from the tv provided the only life in the silent room.

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

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

Gilligan’s Island - an American sitcom that ran from 1964-1967.

Psych- American detective/comedy that ran on the USA network.

Youtube-American video-sharing website.

Sportscenter-(SC) -a daily sports news program.

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