A fictional genealogy story for the new year (2009), compliments of GOGS newsletter editor.
A Stranger’s Gift
Lisa Stewart looked at her watch, hesitated, and then began winding the microfilm back onto its spool. Though she was inclined to stay longer, her eyes were telling her that it was time to quit. What little she had left on the spool could wait until tomorrow, she decided. Since retiring from her job a few months ago, she had been coming to the Family History Center almost every day. Certainly she was spending far more time here than she had spent when the kids were at home and she was working-and she was enjoying every minute of it.
“I’m leaving now,” she informed anyone who could hear her. Placing the film in the refile basket, she added, “See you tomorrow.”
A few goodbyes followed her to the door.
On her way home, she smiled slightly as a somewhat ironic thought dropped into her mind. Thomas Edison was once asked if he was making any progress on his light bulb invention. “Yes,” he replied with confidence, “I’m making good progress. I’ve discovered a thousand things that don’t work.” Lisa reflected that if anyone could relate to what Thomas Edison had experienced, it was her. Eighteen years spent searching for her great grandmother, and she was no closer than when she had started. “A thousand things that don’t work,” she mused slowly and without animosity, “and a thousand sources that have come up empty. Thomas…I know exactly how you must have felt.” She knew she had other ancestor lines that had proven productive over the years-spectacularly so, in some cases.
Just not her great grandmother’s line.
A blizzard was on the way-not a major one, but strong enough to make traveling by foot a slow moving experience. The old woman paused along the side of the lightly traveled county road, thoughtfully scanning the horizon ahead of her. Practiced eyes and intuition told her that she would not arrive at her destination before the storm hit. Not that it mattered, really. Her mission was too important to let a little wind and blowing snow stop her when she was so close. She looked down with pleasure at the small package that was cradled in her arms. About the size of a cigar box, it was carefully sealed and coated with a heavy layer of wax to protect the contents. How did the saying go? Cast your bread upon the waters and it will come back buttered? At the end of her journey waited a person who had buttered the bread of many people over the years. And now, the time had come for a little bread-buttering in return. Actually, more than just a little, thought the old woman with a smile-much, much more. Energized at the thought, she resumed her journey, quickening her pace as she did so. She reflected that it was not really butter she was carrying. To the person receiving her unexpected gift, it would be more like pure gold.
Lisa Stewart stepped into the entryway of her home and closed the door behind her, cutting off the invasion of snow and wind that had forced itself briefly through the doorway.
“Hello…?” queried a masculine voice from the adjoining room.
“Just me,” replied Lisa, removing her coat and walking into the living room.
“How was the Family History Center?” asked her husband with a smile.
Lisa thought for a moment. “Well,” she said, “I devoted the afternoon to looking for Great Grandma Harris. And, once again, she proved that she’s a better hider than I am a seeker. But the afternoon wasn’t a total loss. I was able to help some others find an ancestor or two while I was there.”
Her husband looked at her with a touch of pride. Though he was not really into genealogy himself, he was pleased that she had become so well-known locally for her research skills. She couldn’t go to the Family History Center anymore without at least one person seeking her help on something. Occasionally, when someone had a particularly sticky problem, one of the FHC staff would suggest that they talk to Lisa about it. And, it was not uncommon for the staff member to go with the person and listen to what Lisa had to say.
“You know,” her husband said thoughtfully, “with all this bread you’ve been casting upon the waters, Great Grandma Harris’s slice is going to come back to you one of these days-piled with butter.
Lisa snorted. “Great Grandma Harris’s bread isn’t coming back,” she said, “piled or otherwise. I think she absconded with her slice 18 years ago as soon as I cast it.” Her tone turned to mild despair. “I mean, how could someone disappear so completely from the records? Eighteen years, and not a clue. Not a single clue.”
The wind was blowing in small gusts now, the falling snow swirling across the landscape and occasionally obscuring the old woman’s view of the house. She looked down at the small box that was sheltered in her arms, glad that she had sealed and covered it as well as she had. She supposed that an ordinary plastic bag would have worked just as well-maybe better-but she couldn’t bring herself to transport a gift so special in such a common looking package. So she had done the job herself, maintaining the aged look of the small box. Wrapped with love, she thought. Her attitude towards the gift reminded her of a story she had read as a child, about a young boy on a small island who decided one day to give his school teacher some flowers as a gift. When he presented the flowers to her the next day, she thanked him.
“Don’t these flowers only grow on the other end of the island?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied the boy.
“How did you get them?” she inquired.
“I walked,” he said.
“That’s a long walk,” she commented in surprise. “You could have taken the bus, you know.”
“I know,” said the boy, smiling, “but long walk part of gift.”
The old woman supposed that sealing and coating the box with wax was part of her gift also-as was her walk in the snowstorm.
Lisa quickly scrolled through the list of emails in her in-box, looking for any with the word “Harris” in the subject line. For quite a few years now, she had belonged to several genealogy lists, and it was not uncommon for her to receive upwards of one hundred emails a day. Over time, and because of her years of experience as a genealogist, she found that she was giving far more help than she was receiving. That was okay with her, though. She enjoyed the roll she had grown into. Besides, receiving so many emails every day was like playing an exciting game of chance: the feeling was always present that even though you had struck out this time, next time you were going to hit it lucky.
Lisa reached the bottom of the email list and sat back in her computer chair. No Harris listed this time. On occasion the name did show up in the subject line. And when it did, she carefully researched it using the sources the sender had documented. In each case however, the name had proven not to be hers. She was beginning to believe that “next time” would always remain at next time.
With a sigh, she decided that it was time for another email to Great Grandma Harris.
She had been sending emails to her Great Grandmother for years now, usually when she was feeling more frustrated than normal. The emails always came back undeliverable, as she knew they would, but venting her frustrations on occasion helped her maintain her determination.
“Dear Great Grandma Harris,” she typed after opening a new email. “This is getting really, really, boring and really, really, frustrating. WHERE ARE YOU??? Love, Lisa.” One click on ’send’, and the email was off on its futile journey. “Take that,” she mumbled.
Lisa saved a copy of every email she sent to Great Grandma Harris. Not only serving as an incentive to continue looking for her, the emails were also a diary of sorts. In them she expressed her personal thoughts and feelings as they related to genealogy research, told Great Grandma Harris of any new ancestors she had found, and otherwise shared whatever items of interest genealogically that she felt in the mood to put down. The tone of her emails ran the gauntlet of emotions, from a plea for help to a few that were actually quite funny. One particular screamer she remembered writing threatened self-inflicted obesity: “Dear Great Grandma Harris,” it said, “If you don’t show yourself, I’m going to stuff myself with chocolate until I’m too fat to get through the door of the Family History Center and it will be all your fault! Love, Lisa”.
An hour later, Lisa closed out her email program and leaned back for a moment, rubbing her eyes. More bread cast and no Harris slices coming back buttered. For her, it was another typical session at the keyboard.
The old woman paused at the gate, savoring the pleasure of fulfillment almost at hand. Before going through the gate, she tilted her head upwards, looking for signs of any change in the storm. There were none. The storm showed no signs of worsening-and no signs of letting up anytime soon, either.
“Perfect,” she exclaimed in satisfaction as she opened the gate and began the last small segment of her journey.
“Hey, that smells good,” commented Tom Stewart as Lisa laid the plate of food in front of him on the dining room table.
“Well spoken,” joked Lisa as she disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a plate for herself. Setting it on the table, she sat down and looked at Tom questioningly. He smiled at her unasked question.
“I’ll say it,” he commented as they both bowed their heads.
“Oh Lord,” he began, “we thank thee-”
Three firm knocks sounded at the front door. Tom raised his head and looked at Lisa.
“Are we expecting anyone?” he asked.
“Not that I know,” she said, returning his look.
Tom rose from his chair. “I’ll see who it is,” he said. “Back in a second.”
The old woman could not help but smile when the door began to open.
“You must be Tom,” she said before the pleasant looking man on the other side could open his mouth to speak. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“Well,” chuckled the gentleman, “You’ve certainly got the best of me there. I’m Tom alright. Won’t you please come in? We’ll talk in more comfortable surroundings.”
“Why, thank you,” she replied with a twinkle in her voice. “I never turn down offers from good looking young men.” She stepped into the entryway of the home. “Actually,” she informed him as he closed the door, “I’ve come to see your wife.”
“Please sit over there on the couch, then,” he instructed her, “and I’ll get her.”
The old woman sat down, placing her gift on the coffee table in front of her. She examined her surroundings, and nodded in approval. It was just as she had imagined it would be. From the dining room came the sounds of quiet talking, then the sound of a chair leg sliding on linoleum. The old woman arose from the couch.
“Lisa Stewart,” she said slowly, the satisfaction obvious in her voice, “you don’t know how much I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Before the woman she had addressed could recover from the surprise, the old woman walked directly up to her and wrapped her in a hug.
Lisa stood unmoving, not sure how to react. There was certainly no mistaking the genuineness and warmth of the hug. Lisa had about decided to return the embrace when the woman released her. “Forgive an old woman’s forwardness,” she said, “but I feel that I already know you.”
“Have we met before?” asked Lisa, curious. Her memory revealed nothing familiar physically about the old woman, and yet…”
“In person, no,” replied the old woman with an impish smile. “But you belong to the Hide-n-Seekers email list. I’ve read all your emails, you know.”
The mystery explained, Lisa wrapped her arms around the old woman in a quick return hug. “This is marvelous,” exclaimed Lisa excitedly as she let go of the hug. “I’ve never met anyone from my email lists in person before.” A few ideas crowded into Lisa’s mind, all clamoring for attention. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” she asked, speaking quickly. “And what about tonight? It’s snowing and it’s getting dark outside. You can stay here if you’d like.” A pause, then, “On second thought, I’m not asking, I’m telling. We were just getting ready to eat, and it will be no trouble at all to set another place at the table. We’ll discuss sleeping arrangements after dinner. I insist.”
The old woman gave Lisa a mischievous look, as if she had expected just such an offer. “Well,” she replied pleasantly, “since my protest about not wanting to trouble you would have been quite insincere anyway, I will save us all time and graciously accept.”
At the table, Lisa looked at their guest. There was an utter genuineness about the old woman that captivated her. “By the way,” Lisa said, “I don’t think I caught your name…?”
The old woman chuckled. “Well done,” she said. “That was a very polite way of reminding me that I’ve forgotten my manners. I respond best to ‘Effie’. It’s a nickname that I was given as a child.”
“Okay,” returned Lisa, “Effie it is. I’m Lisa, as you already know, and the old but still gorgeous hunk over there is my husband Tom.”
“Rats,” exclaimed Effie in mock disappointment. “I always get attracted to the younger men who are already taken.”
Most of the talk during the meal involved Effie quizzing Lisa about her genealogy life-how she got started; her successes; what kept her doing it. Tom was not left out of the conversation either, as Effie also questioned him, mainly about the support he was providing Lisa. Lisa found it odd that under the same circumstances with someone else, she probably would have considered the questions as highly invasive. From Effie, though, they came out as merely innocent inquiries, born from a desire to know Lisa better.
After the meal, they adjourned to the living room and sat down. Lisa immediately noticed the aged box sitting on the coffee table in front of her. Her look of curiosity did not go unnoticed by Effie.
“The box is for you,” she told Lisa without any preamble.
Lisa leaned forward, hands reaching out, but was stopped by Effie’s next words.
“Before I let you open the box,” Effie said, “there are a few things I want to tell you.” She paused, then smiled mischievously. “And trust me-once you do open it and discover what’s inside, you’re going to lose all interest for awhile in talking to an old woman like myself.”
Lisa sat back in the couch, listening attentively.
Effie continued. “I’m aware of your efforts to find your great grandmother Harris. Very aware.”
At the mention of her great grandmother’s name, Lisa sat up straighter on the couch, her awareness sharpening by several degrees. She also noted with interest that Effie had noticed this small reaction of hers. Nothing seems to get past this woman, thought Lisa.
Effie’s voice softened, a visible peacefulness settling over her. “You have no idea,” she said, softly, “absolutely no idea, of the good you have done for others over the years.”
Lisa felt her eyes brimming, but made no attempt to hide the fact that they could spill over at any moment. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tom looking at her with pride.
“Cast your bread upon the waters,” Effie quoted reflectively. “A lot of bread has been cast your way over the years, Lisa Stewart, and a lot you have returned, amply spread with butter.” Effie paused and gently pinned Lisa’s eyes with her own, as if she were looking directly into Lisa’s heart. “I think it’s fair to say that the amount of bread you have sent back buttered far exceeds what you have gotten on the bread you yourself have cast.”
That’s certainly true, thought Lisa, who noticed Tom also nodding in agreement.
Effie continued. “So. I’m going to answer the question you haven’t asked yet: what am I doing here. I’ve-” Effie blinked back several tears, then reached into her pocket for a tissue. After daubing briefly at her eyes, she continued. “Forgive me,” she said. “Just an old woman being sentimental.” Effie put the tissue back in her pocket. “I’ve brought you a gift,” she said, her voice returning to its usual impish self, “that is going to make up for all the years you’ve cast bread in search of your great grandmother Harris and gotten nothing back.” At this, she sat back and folded her arms. “Now you can open the box.”
Lisa stared at the aged box for a few seconds. With slightly trembling hands then, she picked it up from the coffee table. Examining it closely, she noted that it was quite similar in make to an ordinary cigar box. The lid was hinged just as similarly, and the entire box had been coated with a heavy layer of wax, effectively sealing the contents from any outside elements. She reached into her purse and found her nail file, then slowly pried up on the lid until it had safely broken free from the seal. Carefully, she swung the lid away from the box.
One look inside brought a sharp gasp from her mouth, and a short but emotional “oh” from her lips. She reached inside the box and carefully lifted out a very old but well taken care of journal. “The Diary of Fanny Elizabeth Harris,” she read reverently. Looking up at Effie, she brought the diary up to her bosom and held it tightly, tears running freely down her face.
“You don’t know what this means to me,” she said to Effie.
Effie, whose eyes were sparkling in satisfaction, said, “Oh, I think I do.”
Lisa’s husband Tom pressed his lips together firmly, blinking back tears himself as he nodded his approval of this very deserving reward his wife had received. Looking over at the old woman, he said simply, “thank you”.
“Go on with you two,” she replied, lightening the mood somewhat. “You have made an old woman very happy. Now I know that my gift will be treated with the care I hoped it would.”
“Of that you can be sure,” answered Tom with a grin, picking up on Effie’s clue. “If I know Lisa, she’ll probably want me to build a gold-plated, climate controlled box to keep it in.”
Lisa looked at him, wiping the tears from her face. “I think this wax covered box will do just fine for the job,” she said seriously.
A few moments of quite comfort ensued. Then Effie yawned, covering her mouth as she did so. “My goodness,” she said, “but all this excitement on top of my journey here has tuckered me out. I wonder if I might get a look at that bed you said you had for me.”
“Of course,” they both said in unison.
Lisa sat up in bed for several hours into the night, consuming her great grandmother’s diary. The further into it she went, the more excited she became. This thing is a literal wall buster, she thought. Great grandmother Harris had been very meticulous about recording the events that had affected her life: names, dates, places-it was all there. She would have liked to read the entire diary that night, but the emotional excitement was catching up to her, so she reluctantly but carefully laid the diary aside. A few minutes later, she was sound asleep.
By the next morning, the storm had abated, leaving everything covered in a fresh layer of white. Tom and Lisa walked Effie to the front gate.
“Are you sure we can’t give you a ride?” Tom asked once again.
“I’ve been enough of a burden as it is,” said Effie with a grin. “And besides, I enjoy taking in nature, even when it’s clothed in snow.”
“You take care of yourself then,” Tom said, offering his hand.
“By the way,” Effie said to Lisa as they both embraced as friends, “I left a little surprise for you in the box. It’s a puzzle of sorts. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
A smile, a wink, and then she left.
They watched her until a bend in the road about a mile down caused her to disappear from sight.
Tom expressed what both were thinking. “What a wonderful, extraordinary woman,” he said.
“I won’t argue with that,” Lisa replied. “That diary is pure gold. I’ve got a lot of information to put in my computer now.” Reaching for his hand, they turned and walked towards the house.
The box was still on the coffee table where Lisa had left it the night before. Tom watched as Lisa opened the lid, as curious as she was about the puzzle Effie had said she left.
The picture Lisa removed from the box was obviously old, but in excellent condition.
“What a sweet lady,” commented Lisa. “She left us a picture of herself.”
Tom shook his head in admiration. “A truly marvelous person,” he stated. “Just a few minutes with her, and you feel like you’ve known her all your life. It’s too bad that we didn’t think to get her address. We could have invited her to stay with us again. I don’t suppose-”
Tom cut his thought short in mid sentence out of total surprise. Lisa, being the experienced genealogist that she was, had turned the picture over to see if there was any information written on the back. Her face had turned an ashen gray, and her hands were trembling.
“What’s wrong?” demanded Tom with obvious concern.
“Fanny Elizabeth Harris!” said Lisa, reading from the back of the photograph.
Tom was confused. “I don’t understand. Your great grandmother is Fanny Elizabeth Harris. Is Effie is related to her?”
“No,” Lisa said emphatically, the color coming back to her face now, though her hands were beginning to shake almost uncontrollably. “Fanny Elizabeth Harris! Fanny Elizabeth! The puzzle is in the initials!”
Tom was still confused. “But-” he began, then stopped, a small light of realization beginning to dawn. Before he could put everything together, however, Lisa interrupted him again.
“F. E. Harris! F.E.! Don’t you get it?” Lisa was very animated now. “Effie, the woman who just spent the night in our home, is Fanny Elizabeth Harris, my great grandmother!” At that declaration, Lisa’s legs seemed to lose all strength and she slumped to her knees on the floor, bursting into tears.
Stunned, Tom stood quietly for a few moments as chills coursed their way up and down his back. He opened his mouth to speak, but could not produce any sound. Kneeling on the floor beside his wife, he gently put his arms around her, holding her until her sobbing had calmed.
“Remember what I said a few days ago about your bread coming back sometime, piled with butter?” he asked, finally getting his power of speech back.
Lisa looked at him. “I know,” she said, her voice small, “but I’m not worthy enough for an experience like this.”
Lovingly, Tom smiled at her. “Someone must have thought you were, because it happened. It’s a little late to have it taken back now. I certainly think that you deserved it.”
Lisa returned his look, then threw her arms around him. “You beautiful man,” was all she could manage.
“Dear Great Grandma Harris,” began the email. “This is probably the last email I will send you, but I know you will understand. You have some very interesting ancestors, you know. Thanks to you, I will be getting to know them for a long time to come. I’m looking forward to it. What can I say but ‘thank you’? Love, Lisa.”
After a pause, Lisa clicked on the send button and sat back, smiling in total satisfaction.
Somewhere in cyberspace, there is an email floating around, addressed to GreatGrandmaHarris@heaven.org. It should have returned to Lisa Stewart as undeliverable, but never did.
As for Lisa, she wasn’t surprised that it never came back.
She has her own theory of where it went.
-End -
Copyright © 2007 by Terry Tippets
