Grandfather's Secret

“This can’t be the place,” I protested as my husband pulled into the drive.  We had been driving for hours only to arrive at the burned out shell of an old country farmhouse.  Several people were milling around a pile of goods in the front yard.  They waved as we approached.

“You must be Bonnie,” they said as I exited the vehicle.

“Yes,” I began slowly.  “How do you know my name?”

“The older gentleman who lived here said he was expecting a Bonnie would come to visit him sometime soon,” they explained.

Confused, I looked at them and asked, “This older gentleman you speak of.  What was his name?”

“Elint Chokovits,” came the reply.  “He has been staying with some friends since this place burned last week.”

“And why did he expect someone named Bonnie would come to see him?”

“Here,” a man in well-worn overalls said, pressing a parcel of old letters into my hand.  “Take these with you and go to see Elint for yourself.”

After taking down extensive directions we were on our way once more.

I sat in silence starting at the tied bundle of letters.  “I wonder what this is all about.”  Randy mused, nodding towards the yellowed papers in my lap.

“I can’t even begin to imagine,” I answered weakly.  Ever since I was little I wondered about my family, my past, and my heritage.  My first memory is of waking up cold and hungry with a letter pinned to my sweater and a tiny key and locket tied on a ribbon that was pinned deep inside of my pocket.  I couldn’t have been much more than two years old at the time. 

“Ouch!” I cried, coming out of my thoughts as my head hit the window.

“Sorry about that, Honey.  I didn’t see that hole until it was too late.”  Randy put his hand on my shoulder comfortingly.  “You okay?” he asked, knowing exactly what I had been thinking.

“Yes,” I sighed sadly.  “Just wondering if I’ll ever really know who I am and where I came from.”

“Don’t worry too much.  This Elint Chokovits is still alive and his friends back there knew your name, so we must be on the right track.  If he knew your name, he must know more about you.”  He switched on the radio to distract me.

It seemed like hours, but when I looked at the clock only twenty minutes had passed.  We pulled into the stone driveway and up to the neatly kept gray frame house with a red door. 

“May I help you,” a kind-faced older lady asked as she opened the door.  She looked at me for a moment.  “You are Bonnie,” she exclaimed in a sob.  “Elint!  Come quick!” she called.  Turning back to us she said, “Oh, come in, come in!”

As we entered I saw two older gentlemen seated on a sofa in front of a large window that overlooked a beautiful garden.  They both rose with the help of their canes to greet us. 

“I am Emma,” the lady said.  “This is George, our dear friend, and this is my husband Elint…your grandfather!”

I looked into the old man’s eyes and saw my own eyes looking back.  His hair, though gray and thinning, still had a touch golden reddish blond that would have matched my own when he was younger.  “My Bonnie,” he whispered, holding me close.  “My Bonnie has finally come home.”

We sat down and I handed the man the parcel of letters that had been given to me.  He untied the strings and fingered them gently.  “From my father,” he began.  “When I was 7, my father left me with his sister and came to America.  He became a citizen and went off to war before he had a chance to send for me.”  Tears filled his eyes as he talked.  “He sent me these letters during the war.  My aunt was all the family I had.  She died during the war, and my father was killed as well.  I was 10 years old and on my own, so I gathered what little was left of my family’s possessions and stowed away on a ship for America.  When I arrived in New York I was processed through Ellis Island.  I told them I had family here.  I searched for anyone who had known my father but I found no one.” 

He paused for a moment and squeezed my hand.  “I wanted to see the country so I would hang around the freight yards and climb into box cars heading west until I finally reached California.  I sold what few things I had brought to America except for a small locket with a photograph of my parents inside.”

As he spoke I pulled my locket from inside my blouse, undid the clasp, and cradled it in my hand.  “Is this the locket?” I asked gently.

His blue eyes grew large as he looked at the silver locket in my hand.  “And the photograph?” he inquired breathlessly.

“Safe inside,” I assured him, opening the locket so he could see.

“Do you have anything else?” he asked; a knowing hint in his voice.

“Just this key,” I replied, holding it out to him.

He softly kissed the photo and clicked the locket closed.  “This key,” he went on, dangling the key by the ribbon, “unlocks our family’s fortune.”  He leaned hard on his cane to get up from the armchair and walked across the room to a grandfather clock that was taller than he was.  The key slipped perfectly into the lock and the door creaked open.

“My father sent me this cash and these war bonds while I was still in Croatia.  He deposited much more in a bank in Washington.  I locked everything I had in this clock when your mother got involved with an unscrupulous man who married her because he thought our family had a large fortune.  Your mother ran away with you in order to keep you safe.  He threatened to kill all of us.  One day we received a letter containing a photograph of you.  All it said was that you would be safe, she had given you the locket and the key, and left instructions that when you were grown up, you should be told to find me.”

As he told me these few details the story of my life became a little clearer.  “I had always wondered,” I began, “but my parents told me I would know when it was time.  When I got married they gave me the key and the note that had been pinned to my sweater.  That is how I learned your name and knew to look for you.”

“You have found me, my dear Bonnie,” he said softly, embracing me once more, “and you are home at last.”

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