Ancient Inheritance. Rita Vetere
What’s it going to be tonight?” he asked. He took the book from her tiny hands to study the cover, and smiled.
“Want the angel story, Grandy.”
“Little Lost Angel it is,” he said, carrying her with him into the kitchen so she could say goodnight to his wife Kate and daughter Erin.
“G’night, Nanna. G’night mommy,” Catherine chimed.
As Kate kissed her granddaughter’s soft round cheek and ruffled her raven hair, Alan was struck once again by how much the child resembled her. Even after thirty years of marriage, his wife’s fragile beauty still took his breath away. Aside from their striking dark hair and delicate bone structure, Kate and his granddaughter also shared the same outgoing personality. His daughter, Erin, on the other hand, was fair-haired and blue-eyed like him, and had inherited his quiet, reserved manner as well.
“Sleep tight, angel,” Kate told the little girl.
“Mommy, come upstairs, too,” Catherine demanded.
“As soon as Grandy’s done reading your story, I’ll come right up, promise.”
Erin turned to him. “She loves it when you read to her, almost as much as I used to.”
Alan’s heart still ached for Erin. She’s been through so much. He carried Catherine upstairs, remembering the day almost four years ago when Erin had shown up at their door, seven months pregnant and crying. She had barely been able to get the words out. Tom was dead. The plane her husband had boarded for a business trip that morning had crashed on takeoff. Erin had returned to live with them until the baby arrived and, afterward, they had convinced her to remain. Thank goodness the birth of her daughter had given back to Erin some of the joy Alan thought she had lost forever.
After he got Catherine settled into bed, he opened the book and began to read. Halfway through the story, he looked down. She was sound asleep. He stayed with her for a while, watching the gentle rise and fall of her breathing as she slept, then left her to her dreams and went downstairs to finish work.
He spent some time looking over the contract, which was a good one. Leaning back in his leather chair, he closed his eyes, thinking about his family and reminding himself how truly blessed he was.
His hand moved up to the medallion of the Archangel Michael he wore around his neck. For the past thirty-five years, it had served to remind him of his secret, one he’d kept safe since returning home from the war to Chicago in 1945.
Since that time, he had prospered beyond his wildest dreams. Alan’s father, always a forward-looking man, had put his life savings into a polyethylene plant after the war and had come close to financial ruin in trying to make a go of it. But after his death in 1957, when Alan took over the company, business virtually doubled the first year. Now, twenty-three years later, he had four plants in full operation. One lucrative contract after another seemed to drop into his lap. Success had come too easily. The thought made him uncomfortable. Not for the first time, he wondered whether his good fortune was a result of what he’d come to possess during the last days of World War II.
With each passing year, Alan’s anxiety over the secret he carried had lessened a little, although he never allowed himself to become careless. When he moved his family into the comfortable house in the upscale neighborhood of Hyde Park, he quietly arranged for a tiny hidden room to be constructed behind the wall of his study, where what he had acquired in Nuremberg could reside undisturbed. Being a cautious man, in that same room, he also set aside cash each month, envisioning a time when he might have to move quickly.
He had never spoken of what happened in Nuremberg to anyone, not to his best friend Joe, not even to Kate, with whom he shared everything else. The secret he guarded was too precious to risk its discovery.
He glanced at the clock on his desk, surprised to find it was close to midnight. Alan left his study and went upstairs to bed, unaware that his good fortune was about to take a turn for the worse.
Heavy rain stripped the few remaining leaves from the trees and a cold, late-autumn wind snatched them, sending them racing into the night sky, as a fierce storm sprang into action.
In their large upstairs bedroom, Alan slept next to Kate. His eyes shifted back and forth under his closed lids. His pulse quickened. A small moan escaped him as he moved through the foggy terrain of his dream.
Moments later, he awoke with a start and sat up in a cold sweat. Anxiously, he scanned the dark bedroom. Shadows of wind-swept branches raced across the walls. He listened, but could only detect the sound of heavy rain drumming against the window.
He slid out of bed, taking care not to awaken Kate.
In the dark room, something glimmered on the floor, and he walked over to investigate. Startled, he picked up a sparkling object. It was a large feather of purest white that glowed with unearthly iridescence. He’d seen a feather like this one once before, in Nuremberg.
He stared at the luminescent feather resting in the palm of his hand. It hadn’t been a dream. A cold chill danced over his skin, and he trembled. Although he knew what he had to do, he was afraid.
Alan glanced at the nightstand clock. Four in the morning, five o’clock on the east coast. He went downstairs and picked up the phone, dialing a number he knew by heart. A sleepy voice answered on the other end, and Alan breathed a sigh of relief. “Joe, it’s Alan. I’m sorry to be calling at such an hour, but I’m in trouble. I need your help.”
* * * *
Just before noon, Joe arrived on Alan’s doorstep. Alan ushered him inside the house after scanning the street through the drizzly fog.
“Thank God,” he said, when Joe was inside. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been able to come.”
“I’m here, old buddy,” Joe reassured him. “Now, what’s going on?”
Alan avoided Joe’s worried eyes. “Let’s talk in the other room.” He led the way to the study and closed the door behind them.
For a long moment, Alan didn’t speak. Then he said, “Thank you for this, Joe. I know how it must sound—”
“Listen. I’m ready to do whatever you need, but you have got to tell me what this is all about. What are you running from? What’s going on?”
Joe, even if I could tell you, you’d never believe it. He looked at his old friend, unsure what to say next.
“Alan. Whatever you tell me stays between the two of us and these four walls. What is it? Did you get mixed up with the wrong crowd? Piss somebody off? Somebody in the Mob maybe?”
If it were only that easy. He shook his head no.
“What then?”
“I can’t tell you, Joe,” he finally said. “Believe me, I wish I could. But it’s better that you don’t know. Safer. Not just for you, but for Kate, Erin, and the baby, too.”
“Well, if you can’t tell me why you are going, can you tell me where?” Joe persisted.
Alan sighed, exasperated. “I don’t know. I have to leave, disappear for while. I’m not going to lie to you, so you’re just going to have to take this on faith. When I get to where I’m going, and it’s safe, I’ll contact you.”
After a long moment, Joe sighed. “All right,” he finally agreed. “If this is the way you think you have to play it. But I swear to God, Alan, if you get yourself killed, I’ll—”
“Don’t worry about me.” Alan assured him. “Your job is to worry about Kate and the girls.” Thinking about the possible consequences, Alan turned away so his friend would not see the tears welling up in his eyes.
Joe must have sensed his distress.
“Hey.” Joe reached out and touched his arm as if to offer comfort and reassurance.
“Rest easy, okay? They’ll be safe with me. I’ll