Secret to Tell You

9780373654154_PL.inddExtracted 1 threads from 9780373654154-exw.PDFUntitled Article 01: UntitledDust f lew everywhere as April Trents circular saw bit into the lath and plaster wall of the sixty-year-old Shenandoah Valley farmhouse she was remodeling. Seeing a f lash of red and white in what should be empty space, she shut off her saw and set it down on the f loor. Then she care- fully pulled free a ragged chunk of wall. April shoved her safety glasses into her hair so she could clearly see the item wedged between two-by-four-inch studs. Since being awarded her contractors license at twenty- four, this was the sixth Virginia home between Harrisburg and Staunton that shed purchased and renovated. She always lived in the houses she was renovating; and had managed to accumulate a tidy nest egg. At thirty-one, she was a woman of independent means. Her first project shed bought with a trust fund left by her paternal grandmother, Dixie. Early on, shed struggled to be taken seriously in a largely male-dominated field. Now things were going well. No thanks, though, to her prominent family who, outside of her grandmother, saw her interest as merely an aberrant whim that would pass. Rather than being happy for her and wishing her well, they considered her an embarrassment. Especially her Dad and her brothers. April plucked out a dusty, rectangular package wrapped in red-and-white checked oilcloth. Bits of fabric, brittle with age, broke off, even though she took care lifting it out. Her pulse beat faster. Generally all she found was crumbling grout, cobwebs or the skeletal remains of long-dead mice. Coleman Trent, her lawyer daddy, might not be so quick to denigrate her profession if she found a cache of stolen money. Excited, April carried her treasure around the plastic sheeting that cordoned off the kitchen, one of the rooms shed completed. A corner nook near the window offered better lighting, and she identified the wrapping as oilcloth of a type used to line kitchen cupboards at the time this home was built. Twine holding the covering in place snapped easily. Darn! Not money. Letters, bound together with a red satin ribbon. Letters addressed in precise script to a woman named Norma Marsh, at an address in France. On a self-imposed timetable to complete the house but tempted nevertheless, April couldnt resist tugging open the bow. She eased the top letter out of its envelope. The ink was faded and the handwriting looked like that of a man. Yes, it was signedErge ben, Heinz.April was disappointed when she realized none of the letters were in English. No, theyd been written in German. Shed taken a smattering of college French and high school German, and from the little she could translate, it appeared Heinz was devoted to Norma. April couldnt help a poignant sigh as she refolded the letter. Shed love to pour a cup of coffee and take a break, try to decipher whatjudging by the salutationwere ob- viously old love letters. But she needed to get that wall down and cleaned up, since she had carpet-layers sche- duled the following week. Although she did most of the work alone, a few tasks she subcontracted out on an as- needed basis. Leaving the letters, she returned to the dirty job at hand. By one oclock she was exhausted. But the wall was down. Only the promise of coffee and a closer inspection of the letters gave her the final burst of energy she needed to dispose of debris and sweep up. She was pleaseFox, Roz Denny is the author of 'Secret to Tell You ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373654154 and ISBN 0373654154.