Hope's Imperfection

Chapter 17: Pieces

A couple of weeks after my triumphant return to Maryland, Olivia, Frances, and I visited my father's sister's house in Virginia to unveil our family story to Aunt Shirley, Uncle Peter, and Grandma Stanhope. On this occasion no third-rate break-in was required to breech the perimeter.  By now, I had become far more expert at retelling the tale. At home in the evening, in between playing my guitars, I had reviewed the diaries regularly and had now become intimately familiar with their contents. Thanks to Sarah and her research I could tell the story with great flair. Though I would never admit to embellishing the tale I often found myself inserting drama into the re-telling as I anticipated how Richard and the other characters would react to the historical context of their age.  As always, my ever-expanding story ended with Richard leaving California and arriving in St. Ignace, Michigan, in 1861 to provide his mother a proper burial and build a church in her honor. The way I told the tale, it sounded like the perfect literary denouement.

For the remainder of the evening the conversation turned to my father. It was a topic that in the past made me want to leave the room but now I was open to the reminiscence. His sister, Shirley, was the greatest culprit, telling stories about the "great" man but with just enough irreverence to make him seem human to me for the first time.

"Phillip, that is a terrific adventure," said Shirley. "Mom, do you remember when John planned his great summer between the end of high school and the Naval Academy?"

Grandma Stanhope snickered.

"At his high school graduation he hatched a plan whereby he and a few of his pals were going to tour Europe, the Middle East, and China!" stated Shirley. "The gang slept over at our house and spent the whole night scheming, pooling money, and deciding on travel arrangements. As there was no internet at the time, they were flying blind; all they had to work with were a few encyclopedias and a map of the world. They worked all through the night and the next day until it was time to go to their baseball practice, at which time they thought it was better to spend the summer chasing fly balls at the ball park than making connecting flights from Baghdad to Beijing.  They never mentioned it again, although ... I brought it up to him frequently over the years. I dare say, Phillip, that you have outdone your father with your summer of adventure, following your senior year."

I felt chuffed at the thought of besting my dad.

"He would have been proud," Shirley smiled.

I smiled back.

The only topic that could never be brought up in my presence was my father's illness and subsequent passing.

"1861 is an interesting year for your story to conclude," stated Uncle Peter.

"Why is that?" I answered innocently.

"The Civil War," he declared.

I bit my lower lip. I hadn't really considered the timing before. I stayed quiet, thinking of how the event would have played out in Richard's life. The obvious connection was his children. His son, Rupert, was a soldier in the Union army and his son-in-law, Todd Fraser, was a representative from the state of Georgia who I assume would have been a key figure in the Confederacy. Given the politics, it would have been an interesting time for the family.

"Phillip, your father was a Civil War buff," declared Grandma Stanhope.

"Really?" I asked excitedly.

"Oh yes, he spent years working out the cast of characters who fought in the war. I believe that he could trace his ancestry back to the war," she recalled.

"Grandma, that is sensational. Did he keep any records or memorabilia from the era?" I continued.

"Oh yes, I have a number of boxes back at the house," she stated.

"I would love to get a look at that material; it could lead me to the destinies of Richard and his children," I declared, with excitement.

"I can take you back to the house tomorrow and we can have a look," Grandma answered.

"Amazing, that would be great." I looked over at Olivia. "Could you come with me and help me go through the files?"

"I guess I could try to fill in for Sarah," she replied, with a smile.

"Awesome, thanks." I answered.

It was one of the few evenings I had spent with my family where I did not leave the room early or make an excuse to leave the house. Things were not the same after my trip and, although no one had verbalized the difference, the change in my behavior was obvious since I'd returned from the west coast.

When the evening did wrap up I reached for my iPad and started a dialogue with Sarah who had just returned for the evening to her house in Milwaukee. We picked up right where we'd left off, and the news of potential records relating to Rupert and Todd from the Civil War era was enough to make her scream. She proceeded to give me a rundown on everything that I might find the next day. I told her that it might be nothing at all, as my Grandmother did not know what some of the records might contain.

"How R U?" typed Sarah.

"Fantastic," I responded.

"I miss you L," she answered.

"Same," I replied.

The next day Grandma Stanhope, Olivia, and I headed a few miles down the road to where Grandma lived. Grandma had started to spend more time at Shirley and Peter's since her husband had died. I felt sad for my grandmother, having lost both her son and her husband. I thought about Richard losing both his parents on his journey out west. It is amazing how people deal with grief and loss. My grandmother seemed to handle the transition very well. She was strong and happy yet I'm sure that in her private moments she must have despaired, though I could not tell from the way she conducted herself.  I realize now that I dealt with the death of my father by climbing into a shell that I could not walk away from until I met Sarah in Chicago and my life changed. I had emerged.

Grandma, Olivia, and I arrived at Grandma's house. It was familiar but, now, essentially lifeless. The air smelled stagnant when we entered. The furniture, like relics, was ready to be donated to an antique shop very soon. It is always sad when you visit an old person's home. This was not where my father had grown up, as his parents had moved to Virginia shortly after he had gone to the Naval Academy, but his presence was evident as the baseball trophies and pictures told a story of a rewarding life of family.

Grandma seemed almost to forget why we were there as soon as we arrived. She began to water plants, check the dishwasher, and find Olivia and me some drinks. Eventually Olivia sweetly reminded Grandma of the purpose of our trip and she snapped back together in an instant. She led us to a room upstairs that was impeccably organized. It contained Rubbermaid tote boxes adorned with labels that denoted their contents. On two of the boxes were the words "John C.W." which I dutifully took from their place beside the wall and placed in the center of the room.

Olivia and I removed the tape that secured this box. It had not been opened in well over a decade. I was prepared to hunt all day through its contents to see if there was any indication of Richard or his family. We would not have to wait long. As soon as the box was opened, the first item on the top of the pile was a faded piece of paper, framed and under glass. It was a personal letter written by Lieutenant Colonel Rupert Stanhope, dated June 29th, 1863, which stated:

"It is not important how long a man lives; what matters is what his life stands for."

Olivia and I were shocked. The story would continue.  Even if the other boxes contained nothing more significant, Sarah would need to be contacted!

I looked at Olivia and announced: "The date!"

"What?" said Olivia.

"Gettysburg."