Chapter Twenty-Six Marion
twenty-six MARION
One week after the funeral, everyone mentioned in Jim Rankin’s will was called to a lawyer’s office. Tom drove, and though Marion wasn’t officially invited, she went just to be with Sassy. From the back seat, she watched her friend stare out the front passenger window as they drove. She could practically feel the longing in Sassy’s chest, her desperate need for life to go back to what it had been.
Marion and Tom stayed close to her, but there was only so much they could do. The person Sassy needed the most was the person they had buried only days ago.
The lawyer’s meeting room was dark and formal, with old wood floors that creaked underfoot. Deep oak wainscotting lined the walls beneath perfectly stacked bookshelves, and many of the book spines glimmered with gold lettering and lines. Everything looked as if it came from the last century. Smelled that way, too. Sweet. Like the wood had been cured by old pipe smoke.
The lawyer, Mr. Godfrey, sat on a tufted leather chair behind an ornate walnut desk. A number of forward-facing, wood-framed chairs had been arranged for the guests. The whole room radiated wealth and history.
Sassy was led to the front row of chairs, along with Tom and Marion. At the side of the room, Marion spotted another couple she remembered from the funeral. The man was propped on a stack of pillows, his wife at his side.
After they sat, Sassy leaned toward Marion. “That’s the Moores,” she said, in case Marion didn’t know. “They live down the hall.” She frowned. “See the man just coming in? Sitting beside Mr. Moore? I’m pretty sure he’s one of the three men in my dad’s photo. From the war.”
Marion glanced over, and her heart stopped. “No… that’s my dad.”
Sassy stared at him, then at Marion. “Your dad knew my dad?”
Marion couldn’t take her eyes off her father. As if sensing her stare, he lifted his head and gazed directly back at her. She didn’t recognize the taut expression on his face, and unease coiled in her belly.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Godfrey began, jerking Marion’s attention forward again. “May we begin, please?”
He welcomed them, offered condolences, then he said something legal-sounding that Marion didn’t catch. After that, he opened a file folder and pulled out a few sheets of paper. Marion glanced back at her father in confusion, but he was watching Mr. Godfrey.
“Before we begin the reading of the will, I have a letter that the deceased has requested I read in advance to everyone here.”
Beside Marion, Sassy seemed to burrow deeper into her chair. Someone cleared their throat. Mr. Godfrey observed them all, then nodded to himself before he began.
Dear friends and family,
There are some things you need to know.
If he is here today, and I really hope he is, there is only one person in this room who knows the secret I have kept for the past twenty or so years. I apologize from the bottom of my heart to him and to any others present who have been affected in any way by what you are about to hear.
Over the years, I have received honours and privileges based on my actions in Italy during the war. I am grateful for all the attention. My business has prospered in large part due to the opportunities those accolades have provided me. After so many years, to my great shame, I had almost come to accept the story as truth. Do not think I am being humble when I confess to you now that I deserved none of those tributes.
On July 17, 1943, one week after Operation Husky brought me and over twenty-five thousand other young men to Sicily, my brothers-in-arms and I found ourselves in a bitter engagement with the Germans while fighting to liberate the small village of Valguarnera.
Marion heard a long sigh from across the room. When she looked, her father had closed his eyes, and his head hung over his chest. Beside him, Mr. Moore observed Mr. Godfrey with interest. Sassy had gone even paler than before. Marion clutched her friend’s hand, needing her to know everything was all right. Sassy didn’t respond.
The lawyer continued.
It was a long, difficult battle, but in the end, we were victorious. Victory in those days did not always taste sweet. We had lost many friends, and though there was relative peace where we were, there was a lot of work still to be done. The heat was sweltering, and we were all beyond exhausted. If he is here today, my friend Hank Moore will remember how the two of us stood alone on that hot, dry street corner, complaining about our thirst and dreaming about a nice cool beer.
Everyone turned to look at Mr. Moore, who wore a quiet smile. Sassy slipped her hand from Marion’s so she could wipe tears off her cheeks.
Hank joked about heading to a local restaurant, then he stepped into the street and onto a mine. I saw it happen. I stood in a daze and saw the pool of blood spreading from where his leg had been. I saw the odd angle of his body. And I did nothing.
“What?” Sassy sat up tall, heat suddenly radiating off her. Her grey cheeks blazed red.
Mr. Moore was shaking his head. “That’s not true,” he said to his wife.
Everyone else held their breath.
Hank was unconscious, and he was rapidly losing blood. My friend was dying right in front of me. The explosion drew enemy fire, and despite all my training, I did not move to help my friend. I was paralyzed with panic. Only one thing could make me move, and that was the voice of a man I have betrayed for years. He ran toward us, screaming at me to move Hank to safety and tie up his leg, all the while returning fire, protecting all three of us. I heard a bullet hit the wall by my head. I still remember the sound it made. It would have hit me if that selfless man had not shoved me away. That was the moment I finally came back to life and dragged Hank out of the way.
I apologize to you, Hank. You have always believed that I was responsible for saving your life. Afterward, when we joined the others, Hank sang my praises, and a legend was born. The other man, the true hero, did not ask for credit. In fact, he did not want it.
In the years that followed the war, the third man withdrew from society, and he seemed content. He was a good man, but reserved. When I repeatedly offered to tell the truth, he said he saw no point in doing that. He said he would not benefit from the story being retold, and my business and I would suffer. My conscience did not allow me to rest completely, so we struck a deal. I kept the medals, but I also paid for his daughter to go to medical school.
Marion felt a tingling down her spine, a numbness in her lips. She turned to look at her father.
He gazed back, his eyes shining. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed.
She didn’t understand. She waited until she could feel her body again, then she rose and went to his side. She knelt beside his chair, holding his gaze and shaking her head with disbelief.
Mr. Godfrey cleared his throat. “If I might continue. There’s not much more, then I will get to the will itself.”
Marion’s father gripped her hand, and together they listened.
I owe Marcus Hart my life, and I have tried to live in a way that he would approve of, though he never asked for anything. When last we spoke, he asked if I could find his daughter a good place to live. I suggested the same apartment building where Hank was living with his lovely wife, and where I later sent my daughter, Susan. It fills my heart to know our two daughters are now close friends.
To everyone in this room, again, I apologize. I lived a lie, and I pulled you all into it. I hope you will someday find it in your hearts to forgive me.
As far as my will, Mr. Godfrey will tell you that I am bequesting generous sums to the Canadian Legion and the Canadian Red Cross. Mr. Godfrey is in possession of a cheque for Hank Moore. It is a hollow apology for letting him live in the dark for so long.
The rest is as follows:
I apologize to my partner in business, Tom Duncan, for allowing you to believe you worked with a war hero. You have more business acumen than I ever had, and I am proud to leave the business to you. I wish you great success.
For my son, Joey. I’m tortured by the thought that you went to war because of me. That you saw me as some kind of hero and decided you should aim for that as well. If that is why you went, I pray to God you someday understand that you were so much more courageous than I. When you come home, you will have half of my wealth to do with as you please. I know you will do something good with it, because you have a heart of gold.
Lastly, I ask forgiveness of my remarkable daughter, Susan. In the past year or so, and increasingly so after her brother’s decision to go to Vietnam, I have become selfish. I chose my own misery over her happiness, and I regret that deeply. To you, my wonderful, spirited, talented Sassy, I bestow all the rest, including the house, knowing that all you ever really wanted was my time. I hope you will use this money to make yourself happy, and I hope that means you will play your guitar and sing like a nightingale for the rest of your days.