Family Stories. Tessa McDermid
boxes near the attic entrance. “I wanted pictures. Now that I have them, I don’t need to worry about being caught.”
“You’re crazy.” He grabbed the sides of the ladder and made his way down the steps.
Hannah leaned over the edge and passed him a box of photos. When all the boxes were stacked in the hallway, she followed him down. She pushed the ladder back up.
“Come on, let’s show Grandma.” She didn’t wait to see if he was behind her, knowing he’d be curious to find out whether she got into trouble.
Their grandmother sat at the kitchen table, her two younger sisters on either side. She stopped talking when Hannah and Preston entered the kitchen. “You’ve been in the attic. Hannah, you’re not supposed to go up there without telling me.”
“And then you say it’s too dangerous and I shouldn’t go up at all.” She placed the boxes on the table. “Grandma, I’m sixteen. I know how to be careful. I’m not going to fall through the ceiling.”
“Your father did and he was a grown man.”
Preston giggled. “Dad fell through the ceiling?”
His grandmother nodded. “It wasn’t funny. He could’ve been hurt.” But a corner of her mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “He was here for Christmas and said he’d get the tree out of the attic for us. We were sitting in the living room and suddenly, a leg came right through the ceiling. Your great-grandparents still lived here. G.G. screamed and Grandpa Frank couldn’t finish his TV show. He had to help your dad.”
She tapped the box in front of her. “So, tell me what you found.”
Hannah settled on the chair between her grandmother and great-aunt Alice. This was the part of the visit she always enjoyed most. Hearing the stories. “Pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. We can use some for the party.”
“Mom and Dad don’t want a party, ” Aunt Alice said.
“It doesn’t have to be a big party.” Hannah wrapped her own hands around her grandmother’s worn ones. “Grandpa Frank and G.G. have been married for almost seventy-five years! Doesn’t that deserve a celebration? I mean, people hardly stay married for a decade anymore, let alone seven of them!”
Aunt Margaret chuckled. “You can be pretty persuasive, Miss Hannah. But I don’t think even you can convince Mom and Dad.” Her expression sobered. “Mom got very upset when we mentioned a family dinner at the retirement home for their anniversary.”
“The party for their sixtieth anniversary was the last time we had any kind of celebration for either of them.” Aunt Alice picked up the photograph Hannah and Preston had been studying earlier. “Oh, look! The dresses we wore for the wedding of some cousin. Mom spent all week sewing them.”
They lowered their heads over the picture. All three were mostly gray now, but strands of their natural hair colors still peeked through. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead, their appearances just as different as they were inside.
Another picture caught Hannah’s eye. A tall, dark-haired man stood at attention in his navy uniform, his eyes bright and his bearing rigid. One corner of his mouth curved up as if he were having a hard time staying serious for the photographer.
Grandpa Frank. Her great-grandfather. The father of the three women sitting at the table. The love of G.G.’s life.
She reverently touched a finger to the picture, her mind racing across the years and past the generations as she recalled the family stories she’d heard.
Chapter 1
Winston, Missouri
July 1929
Frank Robertson leaned against the railing of the neat frame house and studied the door. The setting sun slanted across it, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten yet and that he still had to find a place to sleep that night.
“Just one more, ” he promised himself. He was going to prove himself to the merchant whose wares he carried. When Frank had proposed going from town to town with a selection of items the man displayed in his general store, Mr. Samson had expressed nothing but skepticism. He’d finally agreed but only after requiring Frank to leave a security deposit, in addition to paying for each item he carried away from the dingy building.
Frank jingled the loose coins in his pocket and used his foot to shove the worn suitcase away from the doorway, scowling at the memory. His first reaction had been to deliver a pithy discourse on the man’s antecedents and then slam out of the store. But he had hesitated. He was hungry, he was miles away from the next town and none of the other shopkeepers had listened to even the beginning of Frank’s practiced spiel.
Taking a deep breath, he’d acquiesced to the old man’s terms. Now he stood in front of the last house in the small village he’d trudged through during the long day. His sales had been successful, even better than he’d anticipated, but he was tired and ready for his dinner. The women he met were eager to invite him into their houses and browse through the things he pulled out of his case but they weren’t prone to buying on impulse.
Of course, maybe they just wanted to visit with a handsome young man, he thought with a grin and a jaunty toss of his head.
While he knew that his technique was good, he wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d sell a thing if he didn’t present a polished appearance that appealed to the women who answered the door. After years on the road, he’d learned to cultivate his dashing good looks. The other salesmen he met teased him about the amount of time his grooming took but he didn’t care. His sales record spoke for itself.
He smoothed down the gray suit that comprised his wardrobe and brushed his hands over his dark hair. Satisfied, he rapped on the door with his knuckles and let his lips curl upward in a slight smile as he waited.
When the door opened, his prepared greeting spilled out of his mind and landed in a heap at the feet of the young woman standing there. The late-afternoon sun glinted on hair as shiny as the sun itself. He stared at the sparkling curls escaping from the loose bun and dancing across her soft cheeks.
She tilted her head to one side and watched him, drying her hands on the apron tied around her narrow waist. Her arms were tanned and a dimple showed in each elbow. “May I help you?”
Frank cleared his throat. “I—I—I…”
A dimple appeared in the smooth skin of one cheek, matching those on her rounded arms. “If you’re here to see the reverend, he isn’t in right now.”
Frank swallowed and forced himself to glance away from the bright sheen of her blue eyes. He lowered his gaze to her soft red lips, then wrenched it back to the relative safety of her eyes. “I’m looking for the lady of the house, ” he managed in a more normal voice. “Is she in?”
The lovely creature in front of him held the door open and took a step backward, her actions inviting him into the dark hallway beyond. “I’ll see. You can wait in here.”
She ushered him into a dimly lit room. Some sort of workroom, he guessed from the sparse furniture. He wasn’t offended. Salesmen weren’t high on the social scale and while he knew that his scruples were as high or higher than any of the store owners he met, he accepted society’s judgment for now. He wouldn’t be a salesman forever.
As he waited for the lady of the house to join him, he wondered if he should start thinking about more serious work now, maybe a job that didn’t require so much traveling. For the past five years, he’d lived on the road, leaving home when he was sixteen. Twice a year, he wired his mother and gave her his current address, waiting until she responded before moving on. Each time, she implored him to come home, at least for a visit, and each time he sent back a glib answer and most of his earnings.
The creak of the door interrupted his thoughts and he jumped to his feet, hat clutched in his hand. An older woman advanced into the room and Frank knew he was looking at the young