Chapter XI
Jamie’s mom, Georgia, once a month, helped her parents with chores around the house. The home had been in her dad’s family since it was built just after the Civil War. It was a grand place with two floors, a downstairs parlor, living room, dining room, eat in kitchen, a back covered porch with laundry and the primary bedroom and bath. Beautiful woodwork and architectural details adorned the walls. All that woodwork required lemon oil every three months.
During the once-a-month cleaning day, Grandpa George went over to the grocery where Jack, Jamie’s dad, had been managing since George retired. Georgia’s parents treated Jack as if he was their son. With “The boys” out of the house, Mother and daughter were able to clean, and chat, or just chat, or sometimes sneak off on a quick shopping trip.
Clare insisted on aprons even though Georgia showed up in her Saturday Work Clothes. In appropriate attire, Georgia, dusted upper shelves, and light fixtures in the old house. It was a lot of house for two people, but such a beauty. They mostly didn’t use the upstairs rooms: where George and Gerald had their childhood bedrooms; where Georgia had her bedroom before she married.
Georgia climbed the steps to the upper floor so she could evict dust bunnies and spiders. The fifteenth step creaked. Georgia had a wave of nostalgia, remembering hearing the step in the middle of the night and being convinced the house was haunted. It wasn’t until she was an adult and mentioned it to her dad that George admitted to going up and checking on her. He did so every night. Regardless of how old she got, he insisted she was his baby girl.
When the basics were complete, Clare suggested they clean and organize the linen closet at the end of the hall. Ever since she was a child, Georgia loved the smell of the cedar lined closet. Unafraid of step stools, and not wanting her mother on one. Georgia climbed up and started handing down the various sized boxes that took up the top shelf. In the very back she found a shoebox and as she turned, almost lost her balance tipping the contents of the box all over the hallway. Scrambling down, she found at a guess 45 or 50 letters, all but one sealed. She looked to her mom for explanation.
“Oh my, these totally slipped my mind” Clare said. Gathering letters and randomly putting them back in the box. “I found these in your father’s things after we married. These are letters from his brother. He wanted me to throw them away and I just couldn’t.”
“But they’re unopened” Georgia said with disbelief. “Why?”
“I know your dad has talked to you about taking a road trip when he was seventeen. He went to California and then took the train back? That trip was with his brother. That was when his brother moved to California to go work for that Taylor fellow.”
“OK, I always thought Dad had gone on that trip with a buddy, a friend, I didn’t even know I had an uncle until that DNA test came back. And it still doesn’t explain a box of unopened letters.”
“Your father only talked to me about this once when we were first married. He told me about the trip and that his brother had disclosed something so horrible, it changed the relationship between them. We know now that Gerald only lived another three or four years after that trip, and that it really did change things forever.”
“What could possibly be so horrible?” Georgia asked.
“I think Gerald told George he was gay on that trip. I think George never forgave his older brother for what he considered a breach of trust.”
“But that’s crazy, Mom. Why would it be such a big deal?”
“You forget, sweetheart, this was 1957 or 1958. Being gay wasn’t something people were. It was not only a crime, it was also listed as a mental illness. People were actually committed to institutions to be “treated.” People were jailed.”
“And you know this how?” Georgia asked.
“I was a nurse. I listened to doctors providing counsel to family members. I read books. People were ignorant. Most of that kind of negativity stems from fear.”
“So, Gerald was writing to his brother, probably hoping for a response, and Dad never wrote back. How horrible for the both of them.”
Clare took the shoebox into the bedroom and set it on George’s side of the dresser.
“Your father might not want to read the letters, but I think your son could learn more about his uncle. Let me talk to your father and see if he’ll let Jamie and Helen have them. Let’s put this other stuff back. I think we could use a cool glass of tea.”
— Lkai
Jamie’s mom, Georgia, once a month, helped her parents with chores around the house. The home had been in her dad’s family since it was built just after the Civil War. It was a grand place with two floors, a downstairs parlor, living room, dining room, eat in kitchen, a back covered porch with laundry and the primary bedroom and bath. Beautiful woodwork and architectural details adorned the walls. All that woodwork required lemon oil every three months.
During the once-a-month cleaning day, Grandpa George went over to the grocery where Jack, Jamie’s dad, had been managing since George retired. Georgia’s parents treated Jack as if he was their son. With “The boys” out of the house, Mother and daughter were able to clean, and chat, or just chat, or sometimes sneak off on a quick shopping trip.
Clare insisted on aprons even though Georgia showed up in her Saturday Work Clothes. In appropriate attire, Georgia, dusted upper shelves, and light fixtures in the old house. It was a lot of house for two people, but such a beauty. They mostly didn’t use the upstairs rooms: where George and Gerald had their childhood bedrooms; where Georgia had her bedroom before she married.
Georgia climbed the steps to the upper floor so she could evict dust bunnies and spiders. The fifteenth step creaked. Georgia had a wave of nostalgia, remembering hearing the step in the middle of the night and being convinced the house was haunted. It wasn’t until she was an adult and mentioned it to her dad that George admitted to going up and checking on her. He did so every night. Regardless of how old she got, he insisted she was his baby girl.
When the basics were complete, Clare suggested they clean and organize the linen closet at the end of the hall. Ever since she was a child, Georgia loved the smell of the cedar lined closet. Unafraid of step stools, and not wanting her mother on one. Georgia climbed up and started handing down the various sized boxes that took up the top shelf. In the very back she found a shoebox and as she turned, almost lost her balance tipping the contents of the box all over the hallway. Scrambling down, she found at a guess 45 or 50 letters, all but one sealed. She looked to her mom for explanation.
“Oh my, these totally slipped my mind” Clare said. Gathering letters and randomly putting them back in the box. “I found these in your father’s things after we married. These are letters from his brother. He wanted me to throw them away and I just couldn’t.”
“But they’re unopened” Georgia said with disbelief. “Why?”
“I know your dad has talked to you about taking a road trip when he was seventeen. He went to California and then took the train back? That trip was with his brother. That was when his brother moved to California to go work for that Taylor fellow.”
“OK, I always thought Dad had gone on that trip with a buddy, a friend, I didn’t even know I had an uncle until that DNA test came back. And it still doesn’t explain a box of unopened letters.”
“Your father only talked to me about this once when we were first married. He told me about the trip and that his brother had disclosed something so horrible, it changed the relationship between them. We know now that Gerald only lived another three or four years after that trip, and that it really did change things forever.”
“What could possibly be so horrible?” Georgia asked.
“I think Gerald told George he was gay on that trip. I think George never forgave his older brother for what he considered a breach of trust.”
“But that’s crazy, Mom. Why would it be such a big deal?”
“You forget, sweetheart, this was 1957 or 1958. Being gay wasn’t something people were. It was not only a crime, it was also listed as a mental illness. People were actually committed to institutions to be “treated.” People were jailed.”
“And you know this how?” Georgia asked.
“I was a nurse. I listened to doctors providing counsel to family members. I read books. People were ignorant. Most of that kind of negativity stems from fear.”
“So, Gerald was writing to his brother, probably hoping for a response, and Dad never wrote back. How horrible for the both of them.”
Clare took the shoebox into the bedroom and set it on George’s side of the dresser.
“Your father might not want to read the letters, but I think your son could learn more about his uncle. Let me talk to your father and see if he’ll let Jamie and Helen have them. Let’s put this other stuff back. I think we could use a cool glass of tea.”
— Lkai
Wow! What a find! This is great! AND... I wish I lived in that house. (Macoff)
ReplyDeleteYes, a wonderful turn. Looking forward to what comes next.
ReplyDelete