he gradually slipped from her most intimate grasp, she watched quietly as he fell to sleep. She was grateful that having a son hadn’t taken away their passions for each other. She rolled over, kissed Terry’s cheek, and pulled up the covers.
It was exactly midnight in La Jolla when Celia Martin finally turned off her television. The network news had spent the better part of her last hour covering the events surrounding the Soviet Union’s vice president Gennadi Yanayev’s attempt to remove Mikhail Gorbachev from power. Gorbachev was placed under house arrest and Yanayev’s coup leaders quickly issued an emergency decree suspending political activity and temporarily banning all newspapers. While international uncertainty was at the forefront of most of the world’s citizen’s minds, Celia couldn’t get on the same page. For now, her thoughts were of her daughter. In two days, Jonna Marie Martin-Lundgren would celebrate her first birthday.
Celia’s single life was already a distant memory. Initially, she found juggling motherhood with her career difficult but, after an exhaustive search, finding a nanny eventually changed her life. Stacey Blick was more than a nanny. Barely nineteen years and straight out of the prairies of Wyoming, she was not only a friend and a companion for Jonna, she had taken full control of their household. Jonna’s father’s financial support had come voluntarily, making it possible for her to purchase a new condominium and use part of her salary at Signal Pharmaceuticals to add Stacey to the equation. There were no guarantees but, in Celia’s eyes, all was well in her world. Like all parents, she felt her daughter was extraordinary, even gifted in her progress. Jonna was special. In time, the world would know how special.
Chapter 16
January 1, 1992
Austin, Minnesota
Just after dawn, Trent donned his parka and knit hat and stepped outside into the face of a biting, wind-blown snowstorm and ran into the barn. He backed out his Jeep, not bothering to close the barn doors behind. He watched through the rear view mirror as the barn’s weathered façade slowly disappeared through a thick snowfall and marveled how little things had changed. When he inherited his boyhood home, the farm meant nothing more to him than a weekend getaway from his responsibilities as Chief of Staff at the Mayo clinic. His time at Mayo had always been at a premium and, even though the farm was only forty miles away, the isolation always provided both him and Mary some much needed personal time together. When he lost Mary to cancer within a month of his retirement, moving back to his boyhood home seemed to be the most natural place for him to spend the remainder of his life. The farm had a sense of peacefulness from times past, helping to comfort a guilty conscience that had persistently made his life miserable. Tonight, he felt his circle of life beginning to complete itself. He could feel it. The end was near.
Two miles down the road, he set the 4-wheel drive and turned onto a narrow unplowed gravel road that led up a slight hill to the cemetery. He passed through the arched entryway and stopped. Rows of snow-covered headstones laced the hillside without a trace of any visitor’s footsteps. The misfortune of losing a loved one could not be measured by an outsider, and he felt a twinge of guilt for not having more reverence for all the others that lay near his family. Only those who had experienced the loss of a loved one could truly feel the tragedy of their own mortality. He was no exception.
Strong winds slammed snow hard into his face as walked up the hillside toward his parent’s graves. After offering his prayers, he stood and trained his eyes further up the hill. A crooked and barren oak tree about forty paces away swayed as the wind gusts grew even stronger. Two tombstones, an arms-length from the tree, were barely visible through the falling snow. Plodding and kicking, he slowly made his way toward them and gently brushed the snow from the face of each headstone until both inscriptions were legible.
Mary Olsen Trent, a loving wife and mother
John William Trent
A familiar, stinging pain ran through his heart. He brushed back the near-freezing tears from his eyes and sat on a snow-laden bench between the two tombstones. It was the word mother in the inscription that he couldn’t bear. He had accepted his wife’s premature death as a natural life event, but failing her in her time of need was, for him, an egregious sin for which he prayed that God would grant him grace. Even with grace, he knew there could be no penance that would ever appease the guilt he carried in his heart.
He never blamed the war for preventing him from ever seeing his son again. Even though Mary kept her sorrow to herself, he was sure that his own unwavering rejection of having another child after John’s death had broken his wife’s heart. Only the years eventually convinced him that his unilateral decision not to father another child was unconscionable. He never confessed to Mary why he refused to father another child. The truth would have been too cruel. He kneeled, placing his hand on his son’s headstone. Asking his forgiveness seemed selfish but, for now, it was all he could offer.
Later that night Trent sat by the fire in his parlor. A self-imposed guilt he had subconsciously buried since 1927 was surfacing and it wasn’t going away. For the first time in his life, he realized that attempting to correct a wrong for which he believed he may have been directly or indirectly responsible was no longer optional and feared he may have waited too long to start the process of self-redemption. Every bone in his body was finally beginning to hurt. At ninety years of age, time was running out.
Chapter 17
March 1, 1992
Angels Camp, California
Gently placing the phone back in its cradle, Crockett sat back in his den chair and stared at the ceiling. His spirit had just been torpedoed for only the second time in his seventy-two years. He looked down to the framed photo on his desk and read the inscription. It was a ritual he had followed every morning for the last twelve years…With love, Shirley. His wife had not only been his partner for life, she was his best friend. After her death, he eventually worked through some of the pain but it had taken years. While he managed to regain much of his lust for life, there was an emptiness inside that never went away. Today, more than any time since she passed, he wished she were still alive. There was battle to fight and he needed her help.
The call he just received from Elena had punched a large hole is his lifeboat and he was sinking fast. His grandson just had been diagnosed with an affliction that he thought only other people contracted and he had no words of comfort to offer his daughter. He needed help. He yelled downstairs. “Anna! Are you around?”
A voice filtered up the stairwell. “Yes!”
Crockett sighed deeply. “Come on up. I’m afraid I need a little help.”
Anna Johnson had worked for the Crockett family ever since she graduated from high school thirty-four years earlier. Initially hired to assist Shirley after Elena’s birth, the family somehow always found solid excuses to keep her on the payroll. During that time, Anna simultaneously raised her own family while expertly managing the entire Crockett household. Since Shirley’s death, she served a dual role, managing both the house and virtually every aspect of his life. When Anna’s husband was killed in an auto accident three years earlier, they were both alone. He was delighted that she accepted his suggestion to sell her house and move into the Crockett home. When Shirley died, Anna pulled him through the saddest time of his life. He returned the favor a few years later when Anna lost her husband. Now, they were like brother and sister, sharing an unspoken bond of trust that could never be broken.
When Anna reached the top of the stairs, Crockett made no attempt to hide the tears in his eyes as she sat down on the small sofa in front of his desk. Anna had become his crutch in a time of need, and he needed her now. He watched as Anna nervously fidgeted with her hair and marveled at his friend’s strengths. Fifty-two years old and barely over five feet tall, Anna was barely a hundred pounds. From the time they first met, he never had any doubt that every single ounce of her was tough as nails.
Crockett forced a smile, rubbing his eyes. “Anna, you know I’ve always tried to joke my way out of a sticky situation by saying something clever or silly but, right now, I am afraid I am at a total loss for words.”
Anna smiled. “I remember you