In the Dark of Night – Part 13
This story post and all those that have come before it and will come after it are dedicated to Amanda Gay Barton-Bigley Wallace.
She may not have been perfect, but she was everything that could ever have been asked of her.
Love knows no borders, not even those that separate the living from the dead.
I love you Mom.
I always will.
Story time.
In the Dark of Night – Part 13
Anizaniza’ish’s first morning as my guest was an education on resentment.
She wasn’t even unfamiliar with human necessities; she simply took each new requirement as an attack against her person. Every look was dirtier than the last, and it took all of my willpower not to stuff the shirt over her head instead of reasoning with her yet again. Mom and the spawn were waiting for the cavalry to arrive.
“No, Anizaniza’ish, for the fifth time, you have to wear a shirt to school or we will both get suspended.”
The angel, sword strapped to her hip via a leather baldric she wore through her jeans, was looking at the tie-dye shirt I was holding out to her like it was a venomous serpent.
I growled, patiently folded up the shirt, and opened the drawer to select another. The drawer, prior to that morning, had contained my motley collection of ten or so shirts.
Every time I had opened it thus far, it was full to the brim with an offering of brand-new garments. Tim did not mess around when it came to boons. I had selected a resplendent Lisa Frank unicorn print which made me smile just thinking about it.
“There, that one.”
Her finger slashed through the air, causing me to yelp as I hopped away from it. Anizaniza’ish sneered as she pointed at a plain green blouse I had completely overlooked.
“Anizaniza’ish don’t do that. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
The sneer lingered long enough to let me know she wasn’t sorry. The frown that she wore even while sleeping resumed its perch as she pulled the shirt over herself. Once it was on, she gave a single desultory tug at her neckline before letting out a defeated huff.
That was probably about as much civility as I could expect on the first morning of her pilgrimage. I snorted, then began shoving her towards the door. She sputtered in protest, squawking about respecting her dignity and if I knew exactly who it was that I was trying to herd like a mindless sheep. I ignored her and frog-marched the pair of us down the stairs and into the chaotic kitchen.
Ryan had decided his bowl of oatmeal would serve him better as a hat, and hadn’t bothered to empty the contents onto the floor before donning the plastic dish at a jaunty angle. He was dancing in place as oatmeal leaked over his back and chest. Mother had long ago learned never to shirt Ryan until the last possible second.
Since Ryan was keeping the destruction to a minimum, mom had left him to his own devices and turned her efforts to the Tweedles. She was locked in mortal combat with the twins, trying to get more food into them than got on them.
Abigail was sitting in her usual spot in the corner. She wore a meticulously clean sweater father had left behind. She chewed on the whole slice of egg toast she’d stuffed in her mouth with a look of mild fascination as she watched the mayhem unfold. Her hands were occupied with sketching the scene before her. The lines were sharp and clear; mom must’ve gotten a fresh box of charcoal pencils for her last Friday. Mother threw her an exasperated look when she managed to get a bite past the Tweedles’ defenses, but Abigail chose not to see it.
Anizaniza’ish came to a dead stop just inside the kitchen, planting her feet and crossing her arms as I came through the door behind her. I was so distracted doing my usual mental triage that I smacked right into the smaller figure. She didn’t even budge.
Her head was tilted down, her sneering anger surely locked and loaded, ready to be unleashed upon my most rambunctious sibling. She cocked her hips and leaned down towards the oblivious toddler now doing ‘my little teapot’. I rounded the angel, desperate to throw myself in front of whatever verbal bullets she was about to let loose.
“And just what do you think you’re doing, young man?”
The words brought me up short. Her words were chock-full with emotion, but it wasn’t anger.
The hands she had crossed under her chest were trembling as she fought to contain her laughter. She had to bite her knuckles as Ryan finished pouring himself out and a glop of oatmeal hit the floor in perfect sync with his actions. Ryan, detecting a kindred spirit, put forth a radiant smile brimming with pride for his performance.
Anizaniza’ish’s laughter broke free of its restraints, and she cackled as she reached out to remove the erstwhile hat. With swift motions, she scooped most of the oatmeal off his head and into the bowl. She held the bowl out to the tiny human who was now giggling.
“How about you try eating this instead of wearing it?”
He immediately waddled over to the table and climbed back into his booster-seat. With frequent glances back to ensure the dark-haired angel was watching him, he began shoving fistfuls of oatmeal into his mouth.
Anizaniza’ish shook her head with amusement as she took the paper towel I had snagged in slack-jawed silence. She wiped her hands with it and then, to my utter astonishment, bent down and mopped the floor clean as well.
Moments later, my shock turned to disgust as she tossed the towel and its contents at my chest. I caught the towel, but my shirt was splattered with oatmeal despite my success. I repeated ‘baby steps’ silently as I cleaned oatmeal off my beautiful shirt. I dropped the towel into the trash can then made my way over to relieve mom. She’d need to de-food her hair before Jacqueline arrived.
“Good morning Claire! It’s good to see you sweetheart.”
She gave me a quick hug and a kiss as she passed me the toddler spoon. As I turned my attention to the Tweedles and their constant shoving match, mom made her way over to the sink. Her shoes squeaked as she went, the sound alerting me to the other things I had missed in all the kerfuffle.
Mom wasn’t wearing her usual work attire. The shoes she had on underneath the khaki slacks she wore were a brilliant new-white. Atop the slacks, mom had on a blue polo shirt. Her name was stitched in bright golden letters above her right breast.
Mom was dressed exactly like her boss.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
For the first time during breakfast, I ignored the Tweedles and gave mom my full attention. She turned from the sink, her whole body tense with excitement. Waiting for me to ask her about the change in attire must have been torture.
“Karl’s son showed up out of the blue last night and buried the hatchet! You remember Michael?”
Karl was a tall, thin man who owned the German breakfast-all-day restaurant that was the pride-of-place for our little town. It was one of the original businesses founded with the town in the early 1800’s. Michael, his only son, was a tall, burly fellow that looked like he had stepped off the Brawny package. I nodded, my hands moving up to cover my mouth as mom’s excitement claimed me.
“Well, it turns out he just bought a new place in Phoenix because he and his wife are expecting triplets!They invited Karl to live with them and help raise his grand-children, and he said yes! Eeeeeee!”
Mom reached out and I eagerly clasped hands with her while we squealed with happiness for Karl. He was a kind and friendly man, despite his gruff demeanor. Whenever a diner fell on tough times, their check mysteriously vanished before it could be paid and they always left with a full take-home container no matter how much they ate.
After we had both squealed to our heart’s content, mom continued with her explanation.
“He showed up here last night after Jacqueline left for the day, tears in his eyes as he told me the good news. He handed me a box containing the shirt, my new shoes, and his building keys. He didn’t stay long after his explanation, and before he left with his son he handed me that.
She pointed at a manila folder laying on the far end of the counter. I tilted my head curiously, but walked over and opened the folder instead of pressing for more details. My glee built with each page I turned. Tears fell onto the pages as I offered up a silent prayer of thanks to everything and everyone responsible for Tim’s intervention on my behalf.
Inside the folder was the deed for The Hanover House,
Alongside the deed were copies of all the utility bills. Mom’s name had replaced Pops in each of them, right down to the insurance and the bank accounts. It was everything, meticulous in detail, and all of it was Mom’s. When I reached the letter which comprised the last page, I sunk to my knees on the kitchen floor. Mom caught me mid-fall, squeezing me half to death as we both went to the floor bawling our eyes out. Exultant joy radiated from her every pore, and I reveled in it as I read.
The letter was written in a careful and precise script which fit the man who had written them.
Dearest Amanda,
I had originally prepared this folder for my son. His refusal to accept ownership of our families heritage with The House, and my insistence that it was his responsibility to do so, was the source of our bitter acrimony over the last decade.
My grandfather had charged me to care for our families future when I was given the keys to The House when I was a young man. However, it was only as my son stood upon my doorstep pleading for my help in raising his children that I at last understood what it was that my grandfather had truly asked of me.
My son, and his children, are the future of our family.
I had made a grave mistake, and it was only the courage of my son that made me realize that it was not his responsibility to care for The House.
It is yours.
Your quick wit and even quicker feet were made for this business. In the few years it has been my privilege to have you in my employ, you have demonstrated a hundred times over that there exist no better hands to pass my keys to than your own.
As I spent the day making the appropriate arrangements, a peace such as I have not known since Rayma’s passing came over me. My grandfather’s will has at last been realized, and I can spend the rest of my days securing our families future.
Bah! Here I am getting sentimental. What would Ray think of me in my dotage?
I have no sage wisdoms to share with you Amanda, for no scenario I could conjure was beyond your abilities. I have no doubt you shall safeguard The House with the same care and cunning you already employ there every day.
Promise me one thing, Amanda? Make sure you pass this gift on to another worthy of it when the time is right, as I have to you. For nearly two hundred years my family has served wurst mit kraut; it is my sincere hope that you and yours will carry on the tradition for the next two hundred years.
Yours, now and always,
Karl Hanover
PS: The check represents the average take each month after taxes and utilities. I figured you could use the first one up-front. It has been my experience that a primed pump works best.
Stapled to the bottom of the letter was a check for four thousand dollars. Mom was now making more money each month than she used to in three.
I looked up at Anizaniza’ish, who was staring down at us with haughty bemusement.
I had already agreed to Tim’s deal. However, as I sat upon the kitchen floor and held a woman who had been given a second lease on life and the chance to care for her family on her own terms, I swore a new oath.
Heaven had banished a demon, and if it killed me I would make sure I sent back an angel.
To be continued…
Hanoverfully,
The Unsheathed Quill
