Chapter 21

Ann Arbor, March 2005

[—begin Journal entry—]

It is not often that people manage to surprise me, but Edna has been doing so almost from the day we met. I was wary of her at first, then fascinated by her as I learned more and more of her life.

She once was a pilot, learning to fly when she was barely twenty years old, and she and her husband pursued that with a passion, barnstorming across Pennsylvania in an old Jenny bi-plane. She flew aerobatics and did wing walking in daredevil shows, always describing those as some of the best days of her life.

Eventually she settled down and had three children, Joshua the youngest having been born in 1940. When World War II enveloped the United States her husband enlisted immediately, being selected as a trainer for the Army Air Corps due to his extensive piloting experience. Not to be outdone, Edna dropped her children with her mother and sought out an opportunity to do her part, eventually becoming a member of the Women’s Air Service Pilots ferrying bombers and fighters for the Army. She once confided to me that flying the twin-engine P-38 fighter was the “the most fun I ever had with my knickers on.” More than once she was reprimanded for tearing up airfields to the delight of onlookers before bringing her plane in for delivery.

I wish I had known her back then. We would have had much fun together. Throughout her life she always faced things head-on and never looked back in regret, and it is to that she credits her long life. Battles are to be fought and won: that is her belief and her motto. Her son Joshua was learning just what that meant firsthand.

“Edna, I do wish you would let this be,” I pleaded, knowing how useless it was. “Just let Joshua figure this out on his own. I hate the idea of causing so much strife between you.”

“Oh, this is nothing,” she laughed, and I could visualize the lines of her face crinkling as she chuckled. “You should’ve seen us back when my Henry died and he wanted me to move in with him so he could ‘take care’ of me. And he wonders why I spend time with my niece?”

I chuckled at that.

“Anyhow, he’s still waiting on the results of those tests on the hair he found in that letter you sent to great-grandma. I think he was hoping they’d tell him they couldn’t do it, not that I really understand it, but he thinks it’s important…”

Edna went on at length about how Joshua had seen all the police reports and photos from the accident in Denver and admitted to her that he had no explanation for what they said versus what he saw when we met. So every day she called him and acerbically queried him as to when he was going to “pull his head from his hindquarters and admit that he had to accept the truth.” I could only imagine Joshua’s reaction to that kind of pressure, but there was no telling Edna to back down. She was on a mission.

I had to wonder if he might welcome a call from me at this point. I had left after he had approached me with a request to do a DNA test against a lock of hair found in a letter from Elaine McAllister to Catherine Tremblay. Catherine had been the last member of the family I had known before Edna- the letter was written in 1852. I remembered plucking those hairs and curling them up, wrapping them in a blue ribbon as a sort of keepsake for her. How could I have known how important that little gesture might be in the future?

After I had acquiesced only a little fearfully to Joshua’s request—I am still unused to submitting myself to such scrutiny—Edna suggested I return to Ann Arbor.

“Let me deal with my son,” she’d insisted. “You don’t need to be around all this foolishness while you’re recovering. So you go relax and work on your book with that young man in Michigan.”

Still, it had been more than a month, and each day I considered again whether I should call Joshua. At worst he might refuse to speak with me, which in itself would be informative. I had never actually considered confiding in him and if he chose to be intransigent… I knew I could never bring myself to harm him or Edna. If things continued to be difficult, I resolved that I would find a graceful way to extract myself from the situation, although that would break Edna’s heart.

And perhaps my own I confess. Which was part of my trepidation.

Finally I succumbed to my impulse and dialed up his office. The secretary answered and I asked if Joshua was available. She put me on hold and I counted the seconds until…

“Genevieve?” Voices over the phone are usually very hard to read, but his tone was unmistakable and I felt myself relax just a bit.

“Yes, Joshua, I’m wondering what you have discovered.” I strained myself not to sound anxious.

He sighed, then said, “It’s like you said in my office, more questions than answers. At least, more questions than answers I know how to accept.”

“Tell me.”

“The DNA test was an absolute match. I thought I’d have the hair carbon dated, but that… hell, I remember seeing that letter and that hair back when I was a kid, when my mother took over the Historical Society in fifty-three. I’ve checked as much as I can without drawing too much attention. From what I can tell you’re not a wanted criminal and your money is very, very old… investments that go back a century or more…”

“Which is what you would expect, were I telling the truth,” I finished for him. “What now?”

“I don’t know as I need to believe you fully, but I’m still your attorney for what that’s worth.”

“Joshua, that’s worth a great deal to me. More important to me, though, is that you make peace with your mother. I hate the thought of her getting upset over all of this.”

“Upset? My mother? She hasn’t been this happy in ages. Do you have any idea how much she enjoys having the upper hand?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do. Do you have time to discuss a few matters? I want to tell you what I am planning for the Foundation. It goes to the heart of why I returned to Pennsylvania.”

For the next hour I went over my plans with him, and it was somewhat of a relief. Joshua was the first truly skilled attorney I had ever confided in and I was somewhat surprised at how desperate I was to hear his opinion on my plans. He listened carefully, asked pointed questions and forced me to go into whatever detail I could.

“I think you need to accept that depending on how your story comes out, you may not be able to reasonably expect your civil rights to be respected. Hell, even under the best of circumstances you have problems. My investigation didn’t turn up any anomalies with your identity, but a criminal probe… how secure is it?”

“Not that secure, I am certain.”

“Okay, so a false identity, lots of money from sources that are not easily rationalized, and a history of frequent traveling. Any decent prosecutor who wanted to could get you locked up without bail, at least for a while. Everything you’re doing here could possibly help you out in the long run, but short term it’s pretty useless. You would be forced to prove in court that you are what you say you are.”

“You have amassed that kind of evidence…?”

“Not enough to satisfy a real court. The chain of evidence is compromised to say the least. We need to stop thinking in terms of Civil Rights. For you it’s not clear to what extent they exist and I’d hate to be the judge on that one. But I’d guess it’s worse if your cover is blown early. You’ll get a fair trial and all, but you’d possibly be charged with identity theft and fraud, maybe land in prison or a mental hospital.”

“I could wait that out if I had to, but…”

“I’d be a lousy attorney if I suggested that,” he laughed, “No, I have an idea how you can prepare to prove what you are and protect yourself at the same time…”

—[End Journal entry]—

Posted on September 19th, 2007 by Zsallia
Filed under: The Novel