LIZZY Page 3

  Lizzy watched it navigate up and through the rain. Soon it was out of sight and Lizzy relaxed back into her rocker.

  “Messenger, huh?” The thought humored her but the mere possibility of this odd form of divine intervention brought a swarm of thoughts into her already crowded mind.

  “Now what, Papa?”

  She thought of her own mortality. Her life with Martin. Her four children and how they compared with the siblings she grew up with.

  Micah, who had recently consumed her thoughts, died far too soon after finally reuniting with his estranged family only to lose it fighting a battle that Lizzy still couldn’t understand.

  And then there was her Johnny Russell. Gone or merely traveling to find where he belonged. The mystery escaped her, but she could only hang on to the hope that someday, somewhere, her long lost little brother would reappear just as Micah did in ’66.

  Yes, Lizzy, it could happen. It happened then and it could happen again.

  Lizzy’s face lit up and a smile appeared. She thought back on her younger years and of her family growing up.

  Momma’s been gone for a while now and . . . and now Papa’s gone too. Lizzy felt her chest tighten.

  It’s up to you now, Lizzy. Another bolt of lightning, followed by a thunderous boom that jarred her from her chair. She looked up to the sky and shook her head in defiance. You’d better get your act together, ’cause your family’s going to need you, girl.

  Lizzy settled back into her chair. Another bolt of lightning flashed followed by the rumble of thunder, but this time it was farther to the east. Lizzy thought about the look she had seen in Martin’s eyes. It was a scared look, a look of concern and helplessness.

  I need to show him that I’m going to be OK. That “we” are going to be OK. The Monroe family and our own little, well not so little, family are going to be just fine.

  The thought of the size of her family made her laugh.

  I know you’d be happy hearing that, Papa. But, yes, we are going to be just fine. You just watch.

  The rain began to simmer. She could still hear the rushing waters of the Ohio but the stillness of the air made her think. She thought about the little bird who had just recently flown away. Lizzy lowered her head and sniffed in hard. She wiped her nose and looked for the little bird again.

  “I sure look forward to learning more about your grandmother, Papa. And, yes, I am mad at you for rarely talking about her. But, Papa, I think she has a plan for me and for my girls. You just wait, Papa . . . you just wait.”

  Lizzy stood up, her quilt dropping to the porch floor. She walked to the porch railing and looked up. She smiled up at the sunshine peeking through the clouds and thought again of the family that she grew up with and the family she now was blessed with . . . and the woman she still wanted to learn about. She thought of the diary now resting on her night stand upstairs with the name HANNAH written on it.

  “Yes, Papa, I’m going to get to know your grandmother a whole lot better . . . I promise you that!”

  She felt an urge to go upstairs and retrieve the diary. A renewed spirit filled her as she walked swiftly towards the back door. As she opened the door, she stopped and looked back at the yard. To her amusement, the little bird had returned.

  Lizzy smiled and spoke directly to the bird. “I love you, Papa; you sleep well now, you hear?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Moving On

  1881

  I’ve been grieving because I’ve lost my father, but you seem to be doing exactly the same thing, yet, without the loss of anyone!”

  Lizzy’s voice was to the point, frank and crisp. Martin looked at her over his wired rim glasses and smirked the best he could. The noise from the outer room was loud, yet the two were quite used to it. Lizzy and Martin’s children never ceased to amaze them with their ability to make enough noise to interrupt the deepest of conversations.

  “William Fester McKeever!” Martin yelled.

  “William!” Martin yelled once more, noting that his first attempt had fallen on deaf ears.

  “Yes, Papa,” the fourteen-year-old laughed.

  “William, will you do your mother and father the favor of your presence, unless, of course, your brother and sisters can’t separate themselves from you for just a few moments. We’d like a word, if you please.”

  Lizzy giggled softly when she heard William whisper something to the other children.

  “Yes sir, Papa, uh, be right there,” William yelled out. “Come on, Nellie; give me back my shoe . . . now!”

  Lizzy smiled, listening to William’s struggles with her youngest. She sat back and watched Martin straighten as he prepared himself for what he needed to tell his oldest son. The scene in front of her brought with it the warm and comforting feelings of family. She had long ago realized that she’d always love and miss her father, just as she had lived through the loss of her mother back in ’53. The only difference was now she had her own family to brighten up her spirits and at this very moment they were doing a great job at it.

  “I, I’m sorry Papa,” William stammered as he rushed into the room, nearly tripping over the stool Martin had rested his feet on. “It’s just, well, it’s just that Nellie hid my shoe and wouldn’t let me find it. I’m telling you, Papa, if she was a boy, well I. . . .”

  “You would do no such thing, young man!” Lizzy interrupted loudly as she leaned forward. “I’ll have none of that talk in this house; you hear me, young man?”

  “I’m sorry, Momma; it’s just, well. . . .”

  “Son, your mother’s made her point, now just abide by it,” Martin said sternly.

  William lowered his head and turned to walk away.

  “Hold on a minute, son,” Martin began. “Please, sit down.”

  William sat across from his father in an old family chair. The material on the back of the chair had been crocheted with a large white “M.” No one could remember who’d done all the fine work, but it was the oldest piece of furniture they owned, other than Great-grandpa’s portrait and the old musket that hung above the mantel in the living room.

  Lizzy relaxed while William fidgeted in the elaborate chair. She was enjoying her cup of coffee as she watched her two men. The parlor was octagon in shape with two doorways, one leading towards the kitchen and one to the hallway and the stairs to the upper level. It was Lizzy and Martin’s favorite sitting room, dark and cozy and equipped with a large fireplace, which was empty on this July night.

  Martin began slowly. “Son, you know that when I’m gone, you are the man of the house, right?”

  Lizzy felt a sense of pride as she watched her son nod and puff out his chest with an abundance of confidence.

  “Well, I’ll be needing you to do just that.”

  “Are you leaving again, Papa?” William asked. “Back to Washington, D.C. again?”

  Martin nodded in response. “That’s my job, son, and that’s why I need you to look after the other children and after your mother until I return. Can I count on you?”

  “Yes, sir; you surely can!” William excitedly stood up from his chair.

  “I’m counting on you, son,” Martin added. “Now, you go back to the others and let your mother and I talk.”

  William smiled broadly and practically skipped out of the room. He nearly knocked over a vase in his excitement and gave his mother a sheepish grin as a way of apology.

  “He’s growing up way too fast, Martin,” Lizzy said, once William had gone. “I will always want my little Willie Boy running around here even though he still seems to be the one that knocks everything over.”

  Martin laughed in response. “They all are growing up too fast, Lizzy. It just makes me feel like I’m getting that much older.”

  “Oh, you’ll always be young at heart, dear. That’s not age; that’s just you.”

  Lizzy noticed that Martin didn’t react to her comment. “What’s troubling you, Martin?” Lizzy leaned forward. “I know you too well, you know?”


  Lizzy waited patiently for an answer.

  “Is it because you have to leave again?” Lizzy studied his face for a response. “What’s the dire need in D.C. that you have to make this trip in the middle of your recess? I thought you were going to tour your district and get a pulse on how the people were judging the new president.”

  “Oh, it’s not that.” Martin brushed off Lizzy’s question. “I’m not too worried about how the people are judging President Garfield.”

  Martin rose from his chair and moved over to a crystal carafe sitting on the mantel, half full of brandy. He breathed in deep, picked up the carafe and poured himself a glass from the snifter collection. He took a small drink, looked up at the portrait of Lizzy’s great-grandfather and slowly shook his head. “It’s kind of funny when you think of it. I was the one who was fighting so hard for Blaine during last year’s convention. The whole damn thing even took me by surprise, me of all people and I pride myself on never being surprised. You should have seen the jaws drop when the convention started to place Garfield’s name on the ballot and then actually voted him in as our candidate. It’s rather strange in a way, but I soon realized that the man was the real deal; genuine, caring and definitely not a politician and that’s exactly what the country needed.”

  “I don’t really know him as our candidate; I still remember him from back in the ’60s,” Lizzy interjected. “I knew him as the man who helped us provide shelter for those two families. You remember; don’t you? In Ohio, back in ’64? Mister Garfield was instrumental in guiding us to the local affiliate of the Railroad.

  Lizzy paused in reflection then added, “It was so odd though, that he suddenly vanished. We sheltered two families, got them safely through to the next stop of the Railroad, and then the man was nowhere to be found.”

  “He’s like that, Lizzy,” Martin said through his brandy snifter.

  He finished up the last sip and placed it on the side table and adjusted the light. “I can’t tell you what a godsend he’s been. You saw me last year, remember? I mean the whole mess with dealing with Conkling and the whole Tammany Hall group, it was like I was the only one in Congress who didn’t have his hands in somebody else’s pocket. God, it was ugly.”

  Lizzy took her last sip of coffee and put her cup down. She turned to her husband and looked at him with admiration. The two had now been married nearly fifteen years and their love as well as their friendship grew stronger each day.

  Martin, much to his dismay, showed signs of balding and he’d gained a dozen pounds or more, but Lizzy still loved the man who had swept her off her feet on the front porch of her home in Fredericksburg, Virginia. At that time, it was just her, her younger brother, Johnny Russell and her father, but the connection between her and Martin was like a giant magnet, both eager for a cause and always supportive of the passion the other held.

  They became heavily involved in the Underground Railroad until the war was over. When they felt it was safe, they moved back to Wheeling to be close to her father who had embraced his own role as the town’s pastor. It didn’t take long for Martin to become active in politics. He first won the election for town council, then it was the state assembly and, shortly thereafter, he ran for the House of Representatives and won on his first attempt. He was active in trying to help pass bills for President Hayes, even though he detested the way the man had been elected.

  Lizzy remembered the many times Martin would come back from Washington in a fit of rage about how tied his hands were regarding the South. He so wanted to follow Lincoln’s vision, but he just knew that some kind of a deal had been made in Washington that was holding him back. After eight trying years with Grant as the president, Hayes was elected to replace him and in Martin’s opinion, the South’s future would take generations to recover.

  As he often told Lizzy, “Only the hope of Hayes’ successor will bring any kind of positive change to a country that he loved so much and the freedoms that it was built upon.”

  Lizzy was just as pleased as Martin when James Garfield was elected president. She immediately saw the change in her husband’s countenance in his work but more so, in his demeanor at home. In Lizzy’s opinion, he had his spunk back. The man who talked her into supporting a cause to help runaway slaves was back in her life again. She was able to lean on him again and could feel his strength and support. Especially during the time when her father became sick and eventually died, Martin had always been there for her.

  “I really hate leaving you and the children like this, Lizzy,” Martin confessed. “I’ve been dwelling on it for the past several days but I knew there was no way around it and so here I am, begging you to forgive me and for your patience once again while I traipse off to the great Potomac.”

  Lizzy stood and moved closer to Martin. She put her hand up to his cheek and rubbed it gently.

  “I will always be patient, dear. There will never be a need for forgiveness when it comes to your duty and your causes,” Lizzy said as she picked up the carafe and handed it to Martin.

  “What are you going to do to keep you busy while I’m gone?” Martin asked in a teasing manner after he poured himself another snifter of brandy. He smiled to himself, knowing full well that she wouldn’t have a moment’s peace.

  Lizzy turned and looked up at the portrait of her great-grandpa Jacob. The laughter down the hall only made her smile. She cherished the sound of children laughing; she always had. As she admired the portrait, she thought of the diary and was suddenly anxious to continue reading what mysteries it might hold.

  “Oh, you know me, dear,” she said while still staring up at Jacob’s portrait. “I’ll do a little knitting and a little darning and if I get bored, I’ll do a little mending.” Lizzy laughed when she turned and saw the expression on Martin’s face.

  “Actually, I’m dying to read more of my great-grandmother’s diary; you know, the one I told you about; the one I happened to find when I was looking through some of my father’s things up in his attic. I tell you, Martin, it’s the oddest thing; but I think for some reason she had always wanted one of her female descendants to get their hands on it. The thing I don’t understand—and maybe never will—is why my father rarely talked about her. He talked a lot about Great-grandpa Jacob, but rarely about Great-grandma Hannah. Just from the little I’ve read so far, it’s as if she’s writing directly to me. It’s so odd; I just can’t explain it.”

  Lizzy’s eyes diverted over to the window. She could see the moon in the second pane above the latch. It was bright and full and she tried to envision what her great-grandmother looked like; how she talked, what her values were, how she was able to raise her grandfather Zachary. “Martin, there’s so much I want to learn from her . . . from Hannah. For the most part, I’ll only have her diary to go by and the rest will just have to be what my own mind will decipher. I do know, but from what little I’ve read, it’s like she wants me to stand up for all women. It’s a little ironic when I think of it though. In a way, that’s right up my alley, you know? You yourself helped me realize my ability to stand up for the needy, the helpless, the weak. We did it together, through the Railroad. It just seems to me that Hannah is asking me to do just the same, but I’ve only read the first few pages so I’ll have to see what it truly means.”

  *  *  *  *

  The next few days had flown by. Martin was busy organizing material he would need for the various meetings he had on his calendar. Lizzy had packed his luggage which included three extra pairs of socks. She knew her husband had always felt best when he wore a fresh set of socks on each and every day.

  She even hid a little note for him deep under his trousers:

  My dear husband,

  Thank you for lifting my spirits these past weeks. In your own special way, you loved my father because I loved him. You brought me out of a state of remorse and gave me a renewed spirit. You can rest assured that Hannah and I will be busy getting to know each other better while you’re away. I know I can always count
on you for support and for your never-ending encouragement. You have always been my inspiration and rock.

  I will always look for your strength, wisdom and guidance and hopefully you, too, will look to me for the same.

  Always know that I love you bigger than the world . . . it’s a Monroe thing, you know. . . .

  Your Loving Wife,

  Lizzy.

  Lizzy closed the latch on Martin’s third suitcase and placed it by the front door. She looked outside and could see that he’d almost finished hooking up the horse to their carriage. She scanned the condition of the framing of the carriage and snickered out loud. Hope it gets him to town. She whispered a quick half-comical prayer and then envisioned the last leg of his trip. I’m sure the train into D.C. will be much more enjoyable for him.

  She watched as Martin turned and looked at her from his side of the carriage. She stood in the parlor doorway while he stood next to the carriage. As their eyes met, the love between them could be felt by both. Martin walked around the lead horse and began to walk up the steps of their front porch. He stopped at the sound of a rider coming down their drive. The pace of the rider created a cloud of dust that caught Lizzy’s attention. She walked out to the edge of the porch and shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun.

  Martin walked out to meet the rider who was pulling hard on the reins to control his mare. He reached out to receive a note as the rider leaned down towards Martin’s outstretched hand. Martin nodded his thanks as the rider whipped his horse around and galloped off. Lizzy watched Martin open the telegram and was excited to hear what the news might be.

  Lizzy could see a shocked look cover Martin’s face. His shoulders slumped and the skin on his face grew tight. He stared out into the yard for a second and then back down at the telegram. He then slowly turned his gaze and searched for Lizzy.

  “What was all that about?” Lizzy asked in a raised voice.