Elizabeth 09: Legacy

"Well, then, I'll tell you what," Agnes said. "My grandmother would have been the first to deny she had anything to do with Agnes Marlston's success, but from the stories I recall about them, you're right. Grandmother was a regal lady, but she was anything but proud. But the way she used to talk about Auntie Irene and Ms. Marlston, I could tell, she was always the one in the background, inspiring the great to become great."

"That's just what I was thinking," I said. "That's why I wanted to track down more information about her."

"I don't follow, Ben," she said.

"Well," I explained, "Agnes Marlston was a war hero, Irene Wright was a hero to all those kids as you say, and Elizabeth..." my voice trailed away.

"Was a woman who loved her life and was very proud of her family and friends," Agnes said firmly. "If you're thinking she felt left out in any way, I can assure you that's not true at all."

"Oh, good," Darla and I said in unison, and I realized at once how much of this conundrum we'd created all on our own.

"I'm happy to tell you what l know about her life beyond simply being the world's best grandmother," Agnes said, opening the shoebox. "I'll start at the end." She held up a photograph of an elderly woman smiling at the camera, still with a defiant smile and a sparkle in her eye. "This is the last photograph taken of her, about a month before she passed," Agnes explained.

"Might I ask how she died?"

"Peacefully in her sleep in her room at my parents' house," Agnes said. "I was away at uni then, my second year, and I was up to my eyeballs in work, so I couldn't even come home for the wake. I'm eternally brassed off about that, but I know she understood. Education was very important to her. All four of her children got through uni, you know. I ought to tell you about them next."

She pulled out a photo of three women and one man, which looked at least thirty years old based on their clothing and hairstyles. "This is my father and his three sisters. Auntie Catherine lives in Australia and Auntie Margaret is in America, so they don't get together often. This might have even been the last time. Now, Auntie Margaret..." she pointed at the woman to her father's left, whom I instantly recognized as Elizabeth's daughter, the only one among the four with a spot-on resemblance. "She's as close to the second coming of Grandmother as you're ever going to get. She ran off to New York when it was just an avant-garde paradise, married a hipster there, became a hippie before that was even the word for it. The sort of thing parents usually dread, really, but Grandmother was always immensely proud of her. I never heard her say one word against Auntie Margaret."

"And the others?" I perused the photo.

"Aunt Lillian was a teacher, she's retired now, and my dad - his name is Theodore Benjamin, and you're probably named after the same Benjamin he is - he's in banking. I don't know just what's become of Auntie Catherine except that she moved to Australia."

Then it was Agnes' turn to ask me about Great Grandma. I answered her questions as best I could, keeping in mind that I'd been so little when she'd passed. Amidst a lot more photos and a few notes and letters she'd found, we learned a lot more, including all anyone was ever likely to learn of the late Benjamin. Naturally, I steered clear of anything the least bit salacious.

But as the conversation wound down, I just had to ask. "Did your grandmother ever tell you about the painting she was in?"

Agnes looked surprised. "Painting? No! Was she in one?"

"Apparently so, according to Ms. Marlston's papers, but we couldn't find any definite information on it," I lied.

"Well, if you ever do learn, let me know!" she said. "I'd love to see it!"

"Why did you lie about the painting?" Darla asked on our walk back to the hotel.

"If Elizabeth never told her family about it, I've got to think she didn't want them to know," I said.

"Good thinking," Darla said. "But it does seem a shame."

"Does it really, though? It sounds like she had a beautiful life, and she chose to keep parts of it quiet once they were in the past. Nothing wrong with that."

"I guess. But if it were my grandmother..."

"If it were your grandmother, would you want to see her naked, Darla? And in a condition that has most people thinking she can't even be a real person?"

Darla was silent for a few moments, then finally she said, "God, Ben, you're so right!"

And on that note, any pity I had for the elusive Elizabeth died a natural, pleasant death. I guess every generation has its own heroes, sung and unsung. My great grandmother and her friends were unsung heroes of a sort, some more than others, and I see now that Elizabeth was just as happy with her fate as her friends were with theirs - perhaps even moreso. With that, I was free to spend the rest of my trip indulging in my newfound bond with Darla, and we made very good use of our hotel room for the rest of that night and the following morning.

It was only on the train back to Westfordshire City the following afternoon that I turned my attention back to Ms. Marlston's manuscript. "I really do hope this can be published," I mused aloud as I perused it. "There's no reason not to, is there? Besides, it might stop everyone thinking the painting is a lie, or that there's anything wrong with looking like that."

"Please don't do anything without asking Ruth first," Darla said. "But I agree, such a wonderful bunch of stories deserves to be shared. First things first, though, Ben, you haven't even read most of it, have you?"

"Would you mind terribly if I got lost in it for this trip?"

"Of course not," said Darla. "I've got work I can do anyway." She took her laptop out of her carryon bag. "Enjoy it, I did!"

So I got up to go to the dining car for a cup of tea, and on my return I opened the manuscript and settled in to read the whole story.

It was nearing the end of a chilly, but not too forbidding day in Westfordshire City. Elizabeth hurried up the high street, clutching her cloak tightly around her...