Ithaca, NY
June 21st, 1954
Ten-year-old Winthrop Frayne clutched his father’s hand tightly as they slowly crossed in front of the Cornell clock tower. His green eyes lingered, committing each landmark to memory. He’d lived his entire life mere blocks from the campus. His first steps had been taken in front of McGraw Tower, toddling in time to the Cornell Chimes playing the alma mater. It was the botanical gardens that had provided comfort to him after his mother’s death three years earlier; he’d wandered among the greenery, absorbing the language of nature and finding peace in the soil. As the trees had turned from green to the classic autumnal reds, oranges and yellows last November, his father had walked with him along the banks of Houston Pond in the arboretum. It was there that he had broken the news: Professor Robert Frayne, his beloved father, was afflicted with untreatable cancer.
Winthrop remembered how he had stared into the pond, his eyes glazed with tears. He remembered the silver sky and the gold, rust and crimson leaves reflected in its waters.
His father’s voice had been soft and reassuring, despite the sorrowful tone. “It’s going to be okay, son,” he’d said. “I don’t want to leave you, but God has a plan. We must trust in that.”
“You’ll be with Mama,” Winthrop had managed to choke, “but what will happen to me?”
The arms that wrapped around him were still strong. “My brother, your Uncle James, is going to take care of you,” Robert assured him. “Do you remember Uncle James and Aunt Nell? They were here for your mother’s funeral.”
“She was nice,” Winthrop whispered. “Aunt Nell. She made soda bread. Uncle James didn’t smile, but he gave me butterscotch candy.”
Robert chuckled. “James is a businessman, first and foremost. He rules his realm with an iron fist. He’s always been confused by my decision to teach. After all, I defied our father when I chose this path. James only defied our father once in his life, and that was for Nell. He loves your Aunt Nell, and he loves you. When he loves, he gives his all. He’ll take good care of you Winthrop. I promise.”
Winthrop wasn’t convinced, but he rested his head against his father’s chest. “When?” he asked.
“The doctor says I have a little time,” Robert assured him. “Time enough to get things in order. We’ll finish the year here, and after graduation, we’ll be moving to Sleepyside. Our family home is there. Ten Acres. The house is plenty big for all of us, and we’ll have some time to get you settled in. It’s a nice town; I think you’ll like it.”
What could he say? Nothing. So that was what he said--nothing. By day, he was strong. Each night, he prayed to God and his mother as he wept his fear into his pillow.
Winthrop shook himself back to the present as a young woman approached them. “Professor Frayne,” she called out.
“Miss Bader,” Robert responded, “How nice to see you. Your final paper was quite impressive.”
She flushed. “Thank you, sir. And thank you for being such a wonderful teacher. I learned more from you than from anyone else.”
“You are too kind.”
She bent slightly so she was eye to eye with Winthrop. “I’m Ruth. I wanted to tell you that you have a fantastic man in your father.”
Winthrop smiled sadly. “I know,” he said. “Thank you?”
She laughed. “No, thank you. Thank you for sharing him with me and all the other students here at Cornell.” Ruth turned her attention back to Robert. “Is it true, Professor, that you’re…leaving us?”
“I’m afraid so,” he told her. “You needn’t dissimulate, Miss Bader. I’ve always been honest with Win. He knows that I have cancer, and that our time is limited. We’re leaving after graduation and returning to our family home in Westchester County. We’ll spend our remaining time together.”
Tears welled in the young woman’s eyes. “That’s as it should be.” She stretched out her hand and Robert took it. “It’s been an honor having you as my teacher. I’ll pray for you and your family.”
“Thank you, Ruth.” He released her hand.
She nodded to him, and extended her hand to Winthrop. He shook it, and she said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Win. Take care.”
She turned and was gone before he could reply. He looked up at his father. “She’s a bright one,” Robert told his son. “I think she’ll go far.” He held out his hand and Winthrop grabbed on. Together, they continued on their walk.
Ten Acres
Tuesday, February 1, 1955
Robert Frayne had always been a handsome man. Even now, with his body wasting away as the disease consumed him, his features took on an ethereal kind of beauty. He was frail, his movements slower and more deliberate, his words softer, but the essence of Robert still shone like a beacon from his failing form.
Watching his beloved younger brother die was pulling James asunder. He had hired a private nurse, but he was the one who assisted his sibling from his bed, eventually carrying his shriveling body from bed to chair and back again.
Sitting in a blue velvet wing chair, he stared into the fire while his brother slept just behind him. He had more money than any one man could spend, yet he couldn’t stop the spread of Robert’s cancer any more than he could remove the desperate, desolate fear from his young nephew’s green eyes.
“Jamie.” Robert’s use of his childhood nickname brought him out of his musing. Rising from the chair, he stepped to the bedside. “Robbie, are you in pain?” he asked, “What can I get for you?”
“I’m fine right now,” Robert assured him. “Mrs. Willson knows how to make me comfortable. She’s a very good nurse.” He smiled a little shakily, but his sunken eyes were clear. “We need to talk, Jamie. My time is near.”
“No.” James shook his head, unwilling to give voice to what he knew to be true. “Don’t say that, Robbie. I’m…I’m not ready.”
“James.” Robert’s nearly skeletal hand gripped his wrist with more strength than James would have thought possible. “Listen to me, please.”
What could he do? James nodded. “Of course, Robbie,” he said. “Let me pull up the chair.” Robert’s hand released, fluttering feebly to his side. James turned the wing chair from the fire and pulled it to the bedside. Lowering himself into it, he reached for his brother’s hand, cradling it in his own. “I’m listening, Robbie.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, Jamie, for everything you’ve done for me, especially these last few months.”
“You’re my brother,” James told him. “This is your home.”
“Yes,” Robert continued. “But I left it. You didn’t need to welcome me—us—the way you have.”
“I was jealous of you,” James admitted. “Did you know that? You left, you followed your dreams, while I stayed here and did what I was supposed to do.”
“You’ve done well.”
“I have,” he admitted. “I have few regrets. I’m a lucky man to have found my Nell. She brightens every moment of my life.”
“As did my Alice.” Robert sighed, his eyes clouding slightly. “I’ll be with her soon enough. I’d look forward to it more, were it not for leaving Winthrop.”
“He’s a good lad,” James told him.
“I hate to leave him, but I know…I know that you’ll take care of him.”
“I’ll do my best,” James said, “I just…I don’t know what to say to him. Nell’s the one who comforts.”
“He needs you, Jamie,” Robert said. “Nell can provide the mother’s touch that he’s been lacking since Alice passed, but I know my son. Winthrop needs you, Jamie. It’s been just the two of us for so long; he’s going to need a man to turn to. Someone to guide him—to encourage him to follow his dreams and to help him make them come true. That’s you. Do for him what you did for me.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Robbie.”
“You do,” Robert insisted. “It was always you, Jamie, deflecting Father when he pushed his philosophy at me, when he told me to get my nose out of a book and study business. You followed in his footsteps, took over the business, and let me follow my heart. I owe my happiness to you. I went my own way, because of you, and then you welcomed me back like the prodigal son in my time of need.”
“You’re my brother, my family,” James told him. “This is your home. This is where you belong.”
“Yes.” Robert sighed and shifted in the bed. “I thank God for these past months,” he said. “I’ve had the time to get things in order for Winthrop, and I’ve had the time to let him get to know you and Nell.”
“We already love the boy,” James said. “He’s bright and kind. Even with all the changes in his life, he makes friends easily and has adapted so well. He’s just so quiet and…”
“…sad,” Robert finished. “He’s going to be sad, Jamie. But I know you. I have faith that you’ll show him that it’s okay to smile again. I want him to have joy. I want him to be safe and loved and happy.” His face contorted, and his eyes clouded again.
“I’ll see to it. I promise.” James would have promised the moon to bring his brother peace, but in this case, he meant his words with his whole heart. “I’ll secure his place at Kent. It’s close enough that he can come home on weekends, and he won’t start for another three years, so he won’t feel as if we’re abandoning him.”
“Tradition,” Robert whispered.
“Brother to brother. Father to son,” James agreed softly. “It served us well.”
“I know you don’t want to hear it, Jamie, but thank you. Thank both, you and Nell.”
James blinked hard. “Robert, we’ve always wanted a family, children. Each time we’ve tried, it’s ended badly. Win will be ours, I swear to you. Nell and I will love him with every bit of our hearts.”
“I know.” Robert’s eyes closed. “I’m going to sleep for a while, Jamie, and then I’d like to see Win, please.”
“He’ll be home from school at three,” James told him, feeling fear clutch his stomach. “But if you need to see him sooner, I’ll send the car for him.”
“No, brother,” Robert whispered. “There’s no need to rush. I have that much time left at least. I’ll just rest until he returns.”
“I’ll be here, Robbie,” James said hoarsely. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
“I know.” Robert’s breathing evened out as he drifted off to sleep, his hand going slack in James’ hand.
James leaned back in the chair and covered his face trying to steady himself and hold back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. “I will be strong,” he whispered to himself. “I will be strong for Win. I will.” A single tear rolled down his face.
Tuesday, February 1, 1955
The bus bounced down Glen Road with three students left on board. Winthrop Frayne sat across the aisle from Peter and Andrew Belden. Pete was in his class, and they had become friends over the summer. Andy was in first grade, but a pretty good sport for a six-year-old. They were his neighbors, along with their older brother and sister, Hal and Alicia, and baby sister, Camille. Winthrop liked spending time at the Belden house, Crabapple Farm. It was smaller than the house at Ten Acres and seemed to fit his mental model of a home. Two parents. Everyone was healthy, noisy and generally happy.
No father slowly dying in the upstairs bedroom.
He bit his lip to keep from crying. Men don’t cry, he told himself sternly.
“You okay, Win?” Pete asked, a look of concern in his dark eyes.
“You gonna frow up?” Andy asked, the look on his face more excited than dismayed at the prospect. The younger boy’s sandy hair and blue eyes were a stark contrast to all of his darker complexioned siblings. He alone looked like their father.
Winthrop forced a half-hearted smile. “Nope. I’m fine. I was just thinking about something.”
Peter understood. At eleven, he knew that Winthrop’s father was ill. The two boys didn’t speak of it, but the knowledge was there, silent and heavy. Winthrop thought that his friend might speak, but in the end, Pete grinned and quipped, “I thought I smelled something burning.”
Winthrop laughed, appreciating the change of subject. The bus pulled to a stop at the end of the long drive and he rose. “See you tomorrow.”
As he turned to leave, Pete grabbed his arm. “If you want to come over later, we could play Monopoly.”
“You just like being the banker,” Andy chortled.
“He’s good at it,” Winthrop said as Peter reached over and pinched his little brother’s leg. Andy yipped and fell silent. “Better than Hal and Alicia, and they’re in high school. Thanks, Pete, but I have homework, and I want to spend time with my father. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Peter responded easily, “You could come over on Saturday and we can play with my new Erector set. Dad found his old one up in the attic and gave it to me, too. It has side panels so you can make skyscrapers. We could build a city and have Godzilla destroy it!”
“That sounds like fun.” The doors opened, and Winthrop gave his friends a wave as he disembarked. Hank Reynolds, the handyman who lived in the apartment above the barn, had cleared the snow from the driveway. Mr. Hank, as he’d asked Winthrop to call him, took care of the grounds, the car, and any other maintenance required around the mansion.
It was a mansion. Uncle James simply called it “the house”, but Winthrop had grown up in a three-bedroom bungalow. Ten Acres was definitely a mansion. He lived in fear of getting lost, but he had also enjoyed exploring the many different parts. Towering three stories into the sky and composed of four different wings, it was huge. The servants lived on the third floor, in the west and north wings. There were three of them. Mrs. Lenz, the cook, Mrs. Green, the housekeeper, and Candace, the maid who took care of the tidying and the laundry. The east wing was used for storage, and the south wing had been made into a playroom. Winthrop’s papa said it had been a schoolroom back when he had been a boy. Papa and Uncle James hadn’t gone to school in Sleepyside like Winthrop did. Instead, a tutor had lived in the house and taught them until it was time for them to go off to boarding school. Now, it was filled with games and books. Sometimes, on rainy days, he and Pete would spend hours making tents and reading comic books.
The family lived on the second floor. Uncle James and Aunt Nell had their suite of rooms in the east wing. Aunt Nell said she liked to waken with the sunrise. Winthrop and Robert shared the south wing. Uncle James said it was because the southern exposure gave his papa the best daylight, but Papa had told him the truth. There was a secret passage between their rooms. It was narrow, dusty and dark, and Winthrop had thoroughly enjoyed exploring it. The entrance was hidden behind a bookcase in his room. It had been late June, and he held tight to his father’s hand, vibrating with excitement as Robert showed him how to release the lever hidden behind a leather-bound copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
Once released, it was easy to push the bookcase aside and open the door concealed behind it. Using a small flashlight to guide them, they had made the trek from Winthrop’s room to Robert’s, opening a second door concealed behind a mahogany wardrobe. Then, Robert had shown him the secret staircase. Going up, it ended in the coat closet of the playroom. Going down, it ended in the butler’s pantry. “I used to sneak down here with James and snatch cookies,” Robert confessed in a conspiratorial whisper. “I wanted to share it with you. Your new home has many secrets.”
“Uncle James snuck cookies?” Winthrop couldn’t believe his stern, all-business uncle could do such a thing.
“Of course,” Robert assured him. “He was quite the hellion when we were boys. “When he took over the business, he built himself a façade, but underneath, he’s still the same brother I love. You’ll love him, too. I know it.”
That had been seven months earlier, and Winthrop still wasn’t sure how he felt about his uncle. Aunt Nell was easy. She was warm and welcoming, always ready with a hug or a cookie. Uncle James was…austere. Winthrop rolled the word around in his head. Yes, he thought. Austere. Strict, stern and unemotional, except… There were those times when he was with Aunt Nell. Then he seemed more approachable. He even smiled. And, as his papa grew weaker, Winthrop had watched his uncle care for Robert with a gentle touch. So, maybe austere wasn’t quite the right word.
He’d reached the door. Taking a deep breath of the crisp, cold air, he opened it and stepped inside the huge house that still didn’t quite feel like home.
First, Winthrop removed his toggle parka and Buster Browns and then walked quietly across the highly polished wood floor to the grand staircase. The house was quiet, although he thought he heard Aunt Nell playing records in the parlor. He climbed the stairs and went into his room. He hung up his coat, placed his shoes on the shelf in his closet, and divested himself of his sweater, button-down shirt and school pants. The pants and sweater joined the coat, and the shirt went into his hamper. From the second drawer, he pulled out a plaid flannel shirt and a pair of dungarees. Once changed, he slipped on his house slippers and headed back downstairs to the parlor.
Aunt Nell was sitting in her favorite chair, knitting and singing along to Cole Porter on the stereo. Winthrop had to grin. Aunt Nell didn’t sing well, but she was very definitely enthusiastic about the idea of singing. She looked up and stopped her singing. “Winthrop, darling,” she said, “How was school?”
“It was good, thank you.” He shifted side-to-side on his feet.
She set aside her needles, rose and held out her hand to him. “Why don’t we go and find you a snack? I was going to make some tea for your papa and Uncle James. Would you like to join them?”
“Yes, please.” Winthrop took the offered hand and let her lead him into the kitchen. Perched on a kitchen chair he nibbled on a cookie while Mrs. Lenz and Aunt Nell made up a tray of tea. The kitchen smelled of spice and roasting meat, and the cookie was warm and full of chocolate bits. Here, he felt comfortable, or he would have, if not for the shadow of his dying father.
He carried the tray up the stairs, careful with his steps and proud when he reached the door without mishap. Aunt Nell opened the door and ushered him in.
“There’s my boy,” Robert said, his voice somewhat more robust than his appearance. “How did you fare in the halls of academia, laddie-o?”
Uncle James took the tray and set it on the side table, allowing Winthrop to walk to his father’s bedside. “It was a good day, Papa,” he said, struggling to smile. “Miss Clayton says I have better penmanship than most of the eighth graders, and we started building terrariums in science class. Right now, we’re just preparing and studying the different kinds of soil, but in a few weeks, we get to plant seeds and seedlings.”
“Public school,” Uncle James said with a snort. “They’ll make a farmer out of the boy, yet.”
“A botanist or biologist, more likely,” Robert responded, his eyes warm as he looked at Winthrop. “Win has an affinity for all things in nature.”
“Hmph!” James grunted. “Well, we certainly have enough nature around these parts. Will you take your tea as you are, Robert? Or would you prefer the chair?”
“I’d like the chair, James, but I’m not ready for tea just yet. I’d like to talk with Win first, please.”
“Very well,” James said. “I have some papers to look over.”
Winthrop stepped back as his uncle lifted up his papa, helping him out of the bed and to the wing chair in front of the fire. “Go,” Robert told him. “Go and do business. Win and I will be fine. I’ll send him for you or Mrs. Willson if I need anything.”
Uncle James nodded and held his arm out to Aunt Nell. As the door closed behind them, Winthrop pulled the footstool up close and sat, leaning against his father’s leg. He gazed up at him and whispered, “Is it time, Papa?”
“Oh, my son,” Robert said, one frail hand resting on Win’s head, “my brilliant, sweet son. It is time.”
His eyes filled with tears; he could feel them burning as he tried to blink them back. “Shhh,” Robert soothed. “We knew it was coming.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Win choked back a sob. “What will I do without you?”
“What will you do?” Robert mused, his hand stroking his son’s curly red hair. “Well, I would think that you’ll be sad for a while, but you’ll live here with Nell and James and go to school. You’ll laugh and play, and run wild in the woods with your friends. You’ll grow tall and strong; you’ll study hard, and when you’re ready for high school, you’ll go off to Connecticut, to Kent, just like your Uncle James and I did. You’ll make friends and connections, and get into a good college. You’ll come home to Ten Acres, to your aunt and uncle who love you, for weekends and holidays. You’ll fall in love, maybe have your heart broken or break a few yourself. You’ll get married, have children, make a difference in the world. Then, when you’ve lived a hopefully long and fulfilling life, your mother and I will welcome you home to Heaven and tell you how proud you’ve made us. That’s what you’ll do.”
He stopped trying to hold back the tears, letting them stream hotly down his cheeks as he wrapped his arms around his father’s knees. Robert’s hand moved down to rub his back. “I know, son,” he whispered, “I know it won’t be easy, but you’re so brave. Be my brave boy, and know that I love you very much. I didn’t choose this, Win, but I have faith in you, my precious son.”
“I’ll make you proud, Papa,” Win sobbed, “I’ll be brave, I promise. I love you.”
“Winthrop.”
He raised his tear-streaked face, struggling for control. His father gently cupped his face with trembling hands, his voice quiet but powerful. “I am always proud of you, Winthrop. You are my shining light, and I love you, my brave, brilliant son. Never forget that.”
“I won’t,” he managed to say. “I won’t forget, Papa.”
His father’s hands dropped, his voice weakening. “I love you, Win. Always.”
“Papa?” Fear struck deep. “Papa? Are you okay? Papa! Should I get Uncle James?”
“Please.” His voice was faint, and that made Win even more fearful.
He stumbled to his feet and ran for the door, “Uncle James!” he yelled, wrenching it open. He opened his mouth to call out again, but it was unnecessary. James was there, the white uniformed Mrs. Willson hot on his heels. Win huddled in a corner of the room, watching as his uncle gathered Robert in his arms and carried him back to the bed. Mrs. Willson bustled around with various pieces of equipment, starting the oxygen flow and speaking in a low and soothing tone as she placed a mask on her patient’s face.
“Winthrop, darling, come away.” Aunt Nell knelt down beside him, her hand outstretched, concern in her pale blue eyes. “Let Mrs. Willson and your uncle take care of your papa. Come.
He let her lead him from the room, his heart breaking a little more with each step.
Win lay in his bed, curled in a tight ball. Dr. Graham had arrived twenty minutes after Aunt Nell had led him away from his father’s room. Win saw the grim look on the doctor’s face as he left, and his heart felt…frozen. After a dinner that no one ate, he’d done his homework sitting at his father’s bedside. Mrs. Willson hovered, flitting in and out, her rubber-soled shoes silent on the plush carpet. He had stayed there, holding his father’s hand and listening to him breathe until bedtime. Aunt Nell had tucked him in, her blue eyes bright with unshed tears. Together, they had said a prayer under the heavy shadow of the man dying in the next room. Aunt Nell’s voice was soothing and kind, but Win’s heart was too numb to respond. Even his innate politeness was frozen into nonexistence. He rolled over, stiff and still until she finally kissed his cheek and left him in silence.
He swore he could feel death approaching. The pall that enveloped the house was suffocating, sending out icy tendrils of dread into each and every corner. Suddenly, he could stand it no longer. Throwing back the covers, he headed for the bookcase with the secret door. With his flashlight in hand, he crept through the passageway. Releasing the door behind the wardrobe, he slid it slightly to the left and peered around it.
His position allowed him a clear view of his father and uncle. He stayed in the shadows as his father spoke, “Jamie?”
“I’m here, Robbie.” There was something in Uncle James’ voice that Win didn’t recognize.
“Win.” His papa’s voice wasso weak Win could barely make out the words.
“He’s in bed, Robbie. Do you want me to get him?”
“No. Just…I…love him. You…please…love…him.”
“We already do, Robbie. Both of us.”
“Tell…him. Show…him…you.”
“I’ll try; I will. I promise.” From his hiding spot, Win could see tears running down his uncle’s face, even as he leaned closer, stroking Papa’s hair.
“Thank y…uh…Alice!” Papa gave a gasp and spoke no more.
“Robbie? Robbie!” Uncle James’ voice rose, and Mrs. Willson rushed over, her stethoscope at the ready. As she ministered to Papa, Uncle James staggered back, dropping into the same wing chair Papa had sat in when he and Win had talked earlier.
Mrs. Willson pulled the blankets up to Papa’s chin and said to Uncle James. “I’m sorry, sir. He isn’t breathing, and I can’t find a pulse. I’ll go call Dr. Graham.”
Uncle James sounded calm and very matter-of-fact. “Thank you. Will you please inform my wife first? I’ll sit with him until you return, and then I need to tell Winthrop.”
Frozen in place, half behind the wardrobe, Win simply stared. His head spun and his body trembled. Papa is dead, he thought. Papa is gone, and I’m alone. He wanted to scream. He wanted to kick the wall and pound the wardrobe with his clenched fists, but he was unable to move. And then, something happened that shook him from his stupor.
Uncle James roared.
Just like an angry lion, or a wounded bear. The sound that was wrenched from the throat of his staid, intimidating uncle was animalistic. It echoed off the walls, redolent with the same pain and grief that Win, himself, was feeling. Uncle James managed to vocalize it, dropping his head into his hands and sobbing in deep, anguished moans. Win moved forward then, his shaking legs propelling him toward the grieving man. The footstool was still next to the chair. Win knelt on it, placing his icy hands on Uncle James’ knees. James raised his head, and as nearly identical green eyes met, Win found himself wrapped in his uncle’s arms, drawn close to the man’s heaving chest. As his own tears soaked the front of James’ shirt, he gave over to his grief. For the first time since his father had escorted him into the house at Ten Acres, Winthrop Frayne truly connected with his uncle, accepting the refuge of his arms as they shared their sorrow and loss.
They buried Robert on Saturday. It was a small service, just Win, his aunt and uncle standing at the graveside while Reverend Parker read from the prayer book. Clutching tightly to his aunt’s hand, Win held a lily as white as the snow that blanketed the ground. Before the mahogany casket was lowered into the grave, he placed the flower on top of the gleaming wood. Aunt Nell followed suit with a similar flower, while Uncle James paused, his large hand resting on the top as if in prayer. Finally, he placed his own bloom, a hothouse flower, due to the season. Long stemmed with blood red petals, the American Beauty rose stood in stark contrast to the lilies. With a final stroke of the coffin, Uncle James turned and held out his hand to Win. He took it, blinking back his tears as they walked across the lawn to the car.
At Ten Acres, the memorial was larger. Aunt Nell’s friend, Mrs. Vanderpoel, had organized their friends and neighbors. The large dining table was spread with a burgundy cloth and covered with food brought in for the mourners. Win stood stoically, accepting the condolences of everyone who passed through the hall. Some of them he recognized: Mr. and Mrs. Maypenny, with their son, Jacob, who was a bit older than Win, and their daughter, Rebecca, who was of an age with Andy Belden; Mr. and Mrs. Spencer and their daughters, Evelyn and Mary; Mrs. Vanderpoel and her husband, George, and the Belden family from next door. The rest were friends and business acquaintances of the Frayne family, who passed by in a blur of names, faces and words of sympathy that rolled around him like a cloud.
He knew he should be grateful for the compassion, but he was just very tired. Finally, he made his escape, seeking refuge behind the settee in the parlor. He could hear the people in the great room, but the cool, dark room beckoned him with its promise of solitude. Wrapping his arms around his legs, Win rested his chin on his knees and closed his eyes.
“You okay?” a voice asked.
Startled, Win looked up. Jacob Maypenny was looking over the settee at him. “Wh…what?” he stammered.
“Never mind,” the older boy said. “It was a stupid question. Of course you aren’t okay. Your dad died.”
Win bit down hard, swallowing the pain that Jacob’s blunt words and honest sympathy brought forward. “It’s all right,” he told him. “I just was tired, and there are a lot of people out there.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Jacob agreed. “May I join you?”
“Uh…okay…I guess.”
Jacob’s head disappeared, but his body popped around the corner to join Win on the rug. They sat in silence, and then Jacob spoke, “I’ve never lost my mom or dad,” he said, “so I can’t say I know how you feel, but my grandfather died two years ago, when I was twelve, and my little brother died when I was five. I think it gets easier, after a while.”
“What if I forget him?” The words tumbled out. “I don’t want it to get easier if it means I forget him.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Jacob told him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “I just meant that right now it hurts because it just happened, but after some time, the pain kind of gets less. It’s kind of like when you hit your elbow. You know how, at first, it hurts so bad you can hardly breathe?” Win nodded, and Jacob continued, “But then, it sort of fades until it’s just a dull ache. Y’know?”
“Yeah. I guess so.” Win chewed on his lower lip. “My mama died when I was eight and I haven’t forgotten her. Sometimes I can’t remember her face, but I have pictures of her, and that helps.”
“Exactly! I bet you have pictures of your dad, too, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes. They’re in a box up on the third floor, and I know that Uncle James has more. He has some from when he and Papa were growing up.”
“You should ask him to share them with you,” Jacob suggested. “Maybe it will help him, too. I mean, your dad was his brother. I only knew my brother for a couple of months, and it hurt when he was gone. I suppose it would be worse if I’d known him as long as Mr. Frayne knew your dad.”
“How did they…die?” Win asked. “Your grandfather and your brother, I mean.”
“Granddad had a heart attack. Joey and Mom were in a car accident. He was only a few months old.” He shook his head. “Mom was in the hospital for weeks, after. It was a scary time; I was only Becky’s age, and I still remember it.”
Win didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, his stomach growled. Jacob snickered. “There’s enough food to feed an army,” he said. “Why don’t we go raid the tables?”
“I am a little hungry,” Win said.
“I’ll stick with you,” Jacob assured him. “I saw Pete Belden looking for you about the time I saw you sneak in here. You two are friends, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Pete and I are buddies, too,” the older boy told him, getting to his feet and holding out his hand. “Hal has his own friends, and Alicia’s a girl. Our dads are friends, and he’s only a little older than Joey would have been, so I kind of started thinking of him as a little brother. His dark blue eyes looked at Win and grinned. “You’re about the same age as Pete. If you need a big brother, come find me, okay?”
“Seriously?” Win let Jacob pull him to his feet.
“Seriously.” Jacob gave him a knuckle rub. “C’mon. Mrs. V brought Windmill cookies, and if Andy manages to reach them, there won’t be any for us.” He slung an arm across Win’s shoulders and they rejoined the crowd.
Wednesday, February 9, 1955
It was his third day back at school, and Win wanted nothing more than to find a quiet place to hide from the continuous pitying looks and empty platitudes. It hadn’t been too bad until Hal Belden had picked up Peter and Andrew early from school for dentist appointments. Now, Win was alone in the crowd of students waiting for the buses to show up and take them home.
He was leaning against the wall of the covered play area, eyes closed, when someone sidled up next to him and sneered, “Hey, Loser, you’re taking up my space.”
Karl Tillman. Win opened his eyes and closed them again with a silent sigh. Karl Tillman was the class bully. He had the dubious distinction of being the only thirteen-year-old sixth grade student—having been held back in both the first and fifth grades. He also thought he was hilariously clever and funny when he called the new kid by the opposite of his name: Loser. Most days, Win ignored it. Today, though, he wasn’t sure what Karl was doing in the bus area; he usually walked home, since he lived only a few blocks from the school.
“You know, Loser, I think you might need a new nickname,” Kurt sneered, his breath hot and sour on Win’s cheek. “Sleepy?” he suggested, evidently noting Win’s closed eyes. “Nah. I think Annie.” Win opened his eyes and stared at the bully. “Yeah,” Kurt continued. “Annie. Like little Orphan Annie.” He laughed meanly. “You’ve got her red hair, and no parents, just like Orphan Annie. You even live with your own Daddy Warbucks, don’t you, Loser?”
“Stop it.”
The girlish voice took both boys by surprise. Win looked down at his defender. She was tiny, no more than seven, if that, with blond braids tied with pink ribbons, and wide, indignant blue eyes. She pushed herself between Win and Kurt, her creamy skin flushed with her anger. “You’re a mean, mean boy,” she told Kurt. “It isn’t funny to be an orphan; it’s awful. My daddy died in Korea, and it’s sad. You go away!”
“Make me, munchkin,” Kurt sneered again, bending down so his face was even with hers. “I’ll snap you in half and feed you to Orphan Annie here.”
Before Win could say a word, the girl let fly with her fist, catching Kurt right in the nose and knocking him on his backside. She looked ready to leap on the bigger boy and continue the beat-down, so Win instinctively grabbed her arm and thrust her behind him.
Kurt sat on the concrete, his hands cupped around his nose. “You’ll pay for that,” he threatened.
“No,” Win told him with a shake of his head. “She won’t, and neither will I. Not unless you want everyone to know you just got whomped by a girl half your size.”
He thought he saw uncertainty in the bully’s eyes, but at that moment, Mrs. Green—the bus monitor—blew her whistle, and the kids lined up and started to file on to the busses. She spotted Win and the little girl with Kurt, who was still on the ground. “Hurry up, children,” she called as she hurried toward them. “What’s happening over here? Are you hurt, young man?”
Kurt looked as if he might say something but stopped, simply shaking his head. Win had an idea and ran with it. “Kurt came over to ask me about our math homework, Mrs. Green,” he said. “There must have been some water on the ground or something, because he slipped and fell. You’re okay, right, Kurt?”
“Yeah,” the boy answered, not meeting the eyes of either Win or Mrs. Green. “I’m fine. I need to get home.” He rolled to his feet and started walking away.
“Bye, Kurt,” Win sang out with far too much glee. He turned and hastened to the bus, the little girl right behind him.
He sat down on the seat and she sat beside him. As the bus pulled away from the school, he looked at her and said, “Thanks. That was pretty keen. You can really pack a punch. I’m Winthrop Frayne.” He held out his hand.
She shook it, her hand tiny but strong. “I know,” she said, “Andy told me. He’s in my class. I’m Katie. Katje Arabella Vanderheiden. My Mama and I moved here last week. She got a job at the doctor’s office, so on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, I get to ride the bus to Tante Judith’s until Mama’s done with work.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Tante Judith makes the best cookies.”
“Oh!” Win put two and two together. “You mean Mrs. Vanderpoel?”
“Yes,” she answered, nodding vehemently. Tante Judith and Oncle George. They aren’t my real relatives, but Oncle George and my opa went to school together. We’re living with my grootmoeder.” She wrinkled her nose. “Mama says she’s old school. That’s why I go to Tante Judith. Mama says she’ll let me be a child.” She cocked her head. “I don’t know why she wouldn’t. I am a child. But Tante Judith is nice. She lets me help her make cookies, and she has all kinds of fun things to explore. Hey! You should come over, too. We can play in the attic! There are lots of things up there.”
“Umm…” Win wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She was a very spunky little thing, but eleven-year-old boys didn’t usually play with seven-year-old girls. Still, she’d rushed to his defense against Kurt, without any thought to how much bigger the bully was. “Yeah,” he said. “That could be fun. I’ll ask my aunt and uncle, okay?”
“Okay!” She bounced with excitement at the idea, her blue eyes bright. “Oh! This is my stop.”
And she was gone like a whirlwind, leaving him with an honest grin on his face for the first time in a long while.
Kent School
Kent, Connecticut
August, 17, 1958
Win set his suitcase down and looked around his new room: two identical beds, one on each wall; two dressers; two bookshelves and two desks with ladder-back chairs. A decent-sized window stood opposite his position, the royal blue curtains pushed to the sides.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and Uncle James said, “Looks like you got here first. That means you get to choose your side of the room. Tradition, you know.”
Tradition. Win had to smile. Kent Prep was a Frayne family tradition. He’d been hearing about it since he’d turned ten. Now, at fourteen, he was standing at the door of the place he would call home for the next four years. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the situation. Excited? Yes. Scared? More like terrified. Part of him wanted to stay in familiar Sleepyside and go through high school with his friends. The other side wanted to conquer Kent and honor his father’s choice for his education. The future sat like a lump of lead on his heart.
“Which side would you like, Win?” Aunt Nell’s softer voice inquired. “They seem fairly identical. Perhaps you should test the mattresses.”
“That’s a good idea, Auntie,” he said, moving fully into the room. He took her advice, stretching out on each mattress for a count of fifty, testing the comfort. “I’ll take this one,” he told her, pointing to the right side.
“Good choice,” she told him. “Why don’t you unpack your trunk and I can make up your bed while you and Uncle James put away your clothes?”
His uncle was already two steps ahead. He had opened the closet door and unlocked the steamer trunk Win had found in the attic at Ten Acres. By the time Aunt Nell had covered the mattress with new sheets, plump pillows and the quilted blue and green bedspread Win had chosen from Crimper’s, he and Uncle James had made short work of hanging and storing his clothing and had moved on to putting books on shelves and organizing Win’s desk.
“We’ve already signed you up for the laundry service,” Nell said. “All you need to do is put your dirty clothing and bedding in the laundry bag and leave it in the hall each Thursday. They’ll wash the contents and the bag and then return it to you, all folded.”
“Beats taking it to the laundry in town,” James added, sliding open a desk drawer and depositing a calculator and a slide rule. “I’d forgotten how small the first year rooms are. Oh, well, as you grow, the size of your room will, too. That’s also…”
“…tradition?” Win finished with a grin.
“Indeed!” Uncle James said, matching his grin, “Tradition.”
“We have this for you, too, Win, my love,” Aunt Nell said, handing him a package wrapped in shiny red foil. “James tells me that the Freshman dorms can get a little chilly in the winter.”
He tore off the paper to reveal an afghan knitted out of the softest yarn he’d ever felt. Aunt Nell had knit it in a zig-zag pattern, alternating shades of blue and green. “Thank you,” Win said, clutching the blanket to his chest and letting its softness caress his cheek. “It’s beautiful, Auntie. I love it.” He threw his arms around her waist and squeezed, resting his head on her shoulder.
“I know this is a new adventure for you, love,” she told him quietly. “Kent is a lovely place, and your father and James had a wonderful time here. I expect you will, too, but if you don’t, I promise that you can always come home. We’re only an hour away, and Ten Acres will always be your home.”
He hugged her harder. “Thank you, Auntie,” he whispered, grateful for her empathy, and suddenly felt less trapped by his future.
“Of course it will,” Uncle James interjected, his voice gruff. “Nell’s right, my boy. Ten Acres will always welcome you. All I ask is that you give Kent a chance. We aren’t banishing you; you can come home every weekend, if you like. I’m just betting you won’t want to. All your father wanted—all Aunt Nell, and I want for you is a great education and a good start in life. Are we understood?”
The rest of the weight evaporated. “Yes sir, Uncle,” he said, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I really do want to follow in yours and Papa’s footsteps. I’m just a little nervous.”
“Understandable,” James acknowledged. “Perfectly understandable. Why don’t we go explore the town? Maybe by the time we get back your roommate will have arrived. What was his name again?”
“Matthew,” Win answered, “Matthew Wheeler.”
Matt & Win
Author’s Notes
Thank you all for reading. This is the first installment in the Frayne section of the What if ...? Universe.
Special thanks to Susansuth and MaryN for editing. Without you ladies, commas would take over the world.
Wow. Eleven years is a long time. I don’t regret a minute. I just wish I published more often.
