Chapter Eleven B: Date Night

Aaron dressed three times before he was ready to leave the house Saturday evening, then he tossed a change of clothes in an overnight bag, just in case they decided to go for a nighttime walk in the country.

Who was he kidding? He just didn’t know if he’d be coming home that night. He just didn’t know what to expect, or to hope.

He’d talked to Pol twice during the day. The first time was to brief her on what would be appearing in the Michigan City newspaper that morning. He certainly didn’t want her caught off-guard if she happened to get phone calls this morning. He gave her some words to use regarding being surprised by the news, but not surprised that something was going on, citing her opposition to the increased industrialization of the Lakeshore, but also committing herself to undertaking an investigation into the allegations which she sincerely hoped were not going to affect the steel industry or the thousands of loyal workers employed by it. He was thankful that she didn’t outright ask him if he had anything to do with the report, but answered truthfully when she asked if he had leaked the information that it was the Republican County Auditor who had leaked the report.

The second time he talked to Pol, the developments were obviously just an excuse to talk. Pol had called Nina in Washington to let her know the development and put the staff on alert. Aaron had been trying unsuccessfully to reach Susan for further information. They talked about where to go for dinner, opting for a quiet restaurant in Huntington instead of driving into Fort Wayne. The chances that she would be recognized there were considerably lower than if they had chosen Muncie or Marion. She laughed nervously when she explained that she just didn’t want to be bothered by business if she was out on a purely social… She stopped before she said date, but was at a loss to call it anything else.

Aaron drove out to the house in the country, passing the little church at Twelve Oaks. It was quiet, but its windows seemed to have a soft glow of their own. He shook his head. He had to be imagining things. There would certainly be no one there at this hour on a Saturday night. It must be the sunset filtering through the windows on the opposite side of the church. As he passed the spot where he’d had his accident a month and a half ago, he purposefully did not turn back to look at the west side of the church to confirm his assumption. He pulled into the big yard noting that it looked deserted, but he could see tire tracks in the last muddy bits of snow leading to the garage.

Pol had spent an equal amount of time and uncertainty preparing for the evening and was dressed in a casual dress that came to mid-calf with boots beneath it. Aaron reflected on how very rural Indiana she looked, in all the good ways that could be taken. Dinner was a delightful, long, lovely affair. They talked about nearly every subject that could come up except politics. Pol talked about what it was like to grow up in the sixties and seventies in rural Indiana, and Aaron thought how he should be recording the interview for his book. Not that he had any shortage of subjects for growing up in the sixties and seventies. If anything, that was the era that he had the most content on. But that reminded him that eventually he needed to bring up what he’d found out about Mad Aunt Hattie. He decided instead to see what she would bring up regarding her family tree. Much to his delight she had a great deal of information that she was willing to share that filled in many of the blanks that he had encountered regarding Mad Aunt Hattie’s recollection of family history prior to her own childhood.

“Well, we’ve known our family history back to the early 1800s passed down from generation to generation in a big old family Bible,” Pol said. “I guess it is sad in a way that I’ll never have children and the line will die out, but it has been a fixture in this area for two hundred years.”

“Who was the first?” Aaron asked.

“My ancestor, as far back as we know, was Elijah Strongman,” Pol began. “He was the son of a Miami Indian chief and his white wife. Now, I know that every story starts out with the son of an Indian chief, but that is what was passed down. In family legends, every Indian was a chief if he is in your family tree. You must know from your familiarity with the area that our farm was on the reservation when it was opened up for settlement. Elijah was one of the few of the tribe who filed a Land Patent in 1838. No one knows exactly how old he was or when he was born, but he signed his name with an X on the deed. The only name we have for his wife is Faith Strongman. Her headstone doesn’t have a date on it either, so we’re not sure when she died, or if she outlived Elijah and left the area. I should mention that the family Bible records that Elijah built the church at Twelve Oaks, though the notation was made long after he was dead, so we can’t be certain. It seems unlikely, however, since the church is not timber but Indiana Limestone.

“There were three children of that marriage who survived infancy. My ancestor was the eldest, named Elisha. There was a very Biblical succession in this family. He married and had just one son who inherited the property. His name was Samuel. That would be my great grandfather. His eldest son Roy inherited the property, but died without issue leaving it to his sister Claire Berne. Her husband was killed in the war and she lived with Roy for several years with her child, my mother, Allison. Mama died four years ago, but my father, Ari Stamos, is living in a retirement home in LaPorte where he was from before he moved out here with Mama when she inherited the property in 1970. Since I am not married, we are listed as Joint Tenants with Right to Survivorship on the property. Someday I suppose it will rest solely in my possession and it is sad to think that I am the last of the line. There may be distant cousins from one of Elijah’s or Elisha’s other children, but my grandmother’s siblings all died without issue as the big Bible says. Except for one who is not dead yet and may well be the right person to leave the property to since she is likely to outlive any other family members as she’s already gone past everyone but me. She’s in a retirement home in Warren.”

There it was, all the pieces confirmed as Hattie had told him. He would really like to get a look at that family Bible. He was about to tell Pol about his meetings with Hattie, but at that moment the check came, he paid it and they moved to the door. It had begun to snow while they were in the restaurant, one of those rare late season snows that come down in huge wet flakes and instantly turn to mush on the streets and sidewalks. Only where they clung to dried bits of grass and bush did they begin to accumulate.

“I think I’d better get you home,” Aaron said. “This could just be a flurry, but it could make driving hazardous if we wait any longer.” He would just have to hold that story until later, or some other time. “What denomination is the old church across from the cemetery?” Aaron asked when they were on the road.

“Oh, I don’t know that it has a denomination,” Pol said. “It’s more like a family chapel. There is a trust fund and a board of trustees that sees to its maintenance and upkeep along with the cemetery. But aside from funerals and the occasional request for a wedding, it just sits there as a monument to the faith of our fathers, whatever it was.”

“I was curious, since my recollection is so fuzzy about that night, how it came to be unlocked just when I needed to find shelter and help,” Aaron said casually.

“Could have been left accidentally open if there was a funeral that day,” Pol said cautiously. “There’s a key on top of the window ledge that people can use if they want to stop in. That’s why we keep the bell-rope tied up out of reach. Occasionally we get kids going in to make mischief. It’s not common, though.”

They chatted further as Aaron maneuvered through Uniondale and started north along the county road. The snow was coming down rapidly now and the road was covered. Visibility was low and Aaron drove cautiously. He hit a couple slick spots under the snow, but because he was driving slowly he was able to keep control of the car.

When they reached Pol’s house she had been silent for a mile while Aaron concentrated on the road. He turned into the driveway and she was instantly in command again.

“Pull over toward the barn there. I’ll open the door so you can pull the car in and keep it sheltered from the storm,” she said pointing.

“I think I’d better not stop,” Aaron said. “This could get really bad tonight.”

“Listen here,” Pol said looking at Aaron sharply. He stopped the car in front of her house and turned to her. He was taken quite by surprise by the kiss she planted firmly on his lips. “I found you with your car wrapped around a telephone pole in a snowstorm. I’m not about to send you out in another one tonight and risk losing you to the same kind of storm. Pull up to the barn and I’ll open the door.” She opened her door and walked ahead of the car to the barn and slid open the door.

The barn had the appearance of vacancy. It wasn’t derelict, meaning it was in good repair, but what machinery was in there was parked neatly at one end of the barn covered with tarps. There was no hay or grain storage and no animals. When he got out of the car, Pol called to him from the barn door.

“Bring your bag. You’re staying the night.” Aaron blushed to think that she had seen or known that he had an overnight bag with him, but he grabbed it none-the-less. They closed the door and marched to the house. Inside they pulled off coats and boots and made their way into the kitchen where Pol put water on the stove. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked. Aaron nodded, still not quite able to anticipate what was about to happen under these circumstances. “If you’d go into the living room, there’s a fireplace. I’ve had it rewired for gas so I don’t send a lot of wood-smoke into the air. The switch is to the right of the fireplace, you just have to flip it on. It really puts out quite a lot of heat and will warm the room up quickly.”

Aaron went into the living room to find a comfortable seating area with big sofa’s around the fireplace. The walls and shelves of the room were covered with family photographs that it appeared went back a hundred years. He flipped the switch and the gas log ignited. He could feel the instant rush of heat on his back as he turned away from the fireplace to survey the room.

Pol was standing directly behind him and he nearly stepped on her as he turned. She looked at him and he leaned forward slightly to kiss her forehead gently.

“Do you mind if we just sit and talk in front of the fire for a while?” Pol asked.

“I’d love to,” Aaron said. His confident and take-charge congresswoman and sometimes guardian angel looked wary, perhaps a little scared. It was suddenly obvious to Aaron that she didn’t entertain men in her home very often, if ever. “Can I help with the tea?”

“Oh the kettle hasn’t come to a boil yet,” she said. “Go ahead and have a seat.” She was suddenly more light-hearted, much more like she had been earlier in the evening.

“Are these all family photos?” Aaron asked.

“Yes,” Pol answered as she retreated back to the kitchen. “When you inherit a home that has been in the family for nearly two hundred years, you inherit the family with it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you stumbled on Grandpa Elijah’s tin cup somewhere in this place.”

“I can well imagine,” Aaron said as he walked around the room looking at photographs. What a treasure this was. What a great genealogical find it would make. He paused in front of one photo and picked it up. It could only be one thing. An elegant young woman, stood next to a little girl, age perhaps 12. They stood in front of an old car and Aaron recognized it as the Roadster from the picture that Jack had shown him. It could only be Aunt Hattie.

“I should have known that the historian in you would be all over the pictures. I suppose you want to see the family Bible, too,” Pol said coming into the room with two steaming mugs. Aaron could see the teabag tabs hanging draped around the handles as she set them down on a coffee table in front of the fire.

“I’d love to see the Bible,” Aaron said setting the picture down. Pol glanced over at the picture he had set down.

“That’s my only living relative aside from my father,” Pol said.

“Mad Aunt Hattie,” Aaron said softly.

“How did you know?” Pol laughed. “That’s been a family pet name for her from as long as I can remember. God knows I tried to use Aunt Mattilda as her name when I was in school. It seemed so politically incorrect to use the Mad Aunt Hattie handle. So have you been researching my family tree?”

“I actually met her before I met you and only found out last week that you were related,” Aaron said. “It was actually because of her that I was out here on the night of the accident.”

“Oh my,” Pol sighed as she sank into the sofa. “She told you it was a space ship didn’t she?”

“Well, she hadn’t yet at the time,” Aaron said. He started to sit in the chair opposite Pol but she patted the sofa next to her and Aaron gladly moved to sit with her. Pol sat upright for a moment as she pulled the teabags out and placed them on a saucer then handed Aaron his tea. Then after a moment’s hesitation she settled back leaning against him and he put his arm around her.

“I’ve always loved Aunt Hattie,” Pol started while sipping her tea. “She was quite the smash on the Vaudeville circuit and actually was successful on Broadway and regional theaters. She’s got a great voice, even today. It’s so strange that a person who is in every way completely normal would have this one aberration floating around in her mind. Why would she think she was lovers with a man from another world who used an old church as a space ship?”

“Well, people hang on to strange things. Probably it was a result of telling the story once and being labeled as crazy, then needing to stick by the story in a desperate attempt to prove everyone wrong.” They sat in quiet contemplation for a moment. Aaron could not remember a time when he’d felt more contented, just having his arm around Pol.

“She was already old by the time I remember her,” Pol said. “What… maybe 60 years old or more? I thought she represented every adventure that the world had known. She was the very symbol of independent womanhood, successful in her own right and able to make her way without needing a man to fend for her. She was my ideal. I guess she still is in some way.”

“How did you find out about her story?” Aaron asked quietly.

“Oh she told me. Said she’d told my mother too young. She’d tell me only when I was old enough to understand,” Pol said. “I was fifteen. I already knew I was different than other kids in that I had absolutely no interest in the wild things kids were doing in my teens. I avoided drugs and those who had them. I didn’t date. I was working toward a scholarship at Vassar already when I was fifteen and I think Hattie thought I was ready. Of course, Mama had told me her version of the story when I was younger, but it was very different hearing her tell it herself. She is one of the best story-tellers I’ve ever heard. I would listen to her read the telephone book I loved her voice so much.”

“I’m on the receiving end of that every Friday afternoon,” Aaron said. “I met her while I was doing interviews at the Home for an oral history of what it was like to be a teen in rural Indiana in each of the decades of the twentieth century. Of course, I got a late start to be able to include anything before 1920, and it was shear luck that I ran into Hattie.”

“I was having tea with her one afternoon,” Pol continued. “She loved to have company for tea and I’d go up to her apartment in Fort Wayne whenever I could. Mama dropped me off there one afternoon when she went shopping and Hattie used the opportunity to tell me the story of Harper MacKenzie. What a story! She had been dribbling it out to me for months telling me a little bit at a time. She made it sound like she was a daring, do-as-she-will kid from the very beginning. Then that day she told me the part about my grandmother’s birth and that she was really my great-grandmother. Even knowing what to expect, I was completely sucked in by the story and fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

“You believe you are her great-granddaughter?” Aaron asked surprised.

“No, that I’m an alien.” Aaron choked on his tea and turned to stare at her. “I’m kidding, silly,” she laughed. “Yes,” Pol continued, “I believe it is very possible that I might be her great-granddaughter.”

“You could find out,” Aaron said.

“How? Samuel Strongman is long-since dead,” Pol said. “He and his sons would be the only ones who could corroborate her story.”

“DNA testing,” Aaron answered. “It’s pretty well-established as a means of determining grandparentage as well as parentage. It would be worth a try if you’d really like to know.”

“I don’t know,” Pol answered. “It seems pointless to try to prove something that won’t have any effect on anyone. I don’t thing Aunt Hattie would really care anymore. What do you think.”

“I think you are an alien,” Aaron laughed. “Therefore you are afraid to have your DNA tested for fear of what it would reveal.”

“Or not reveal,” she said pensively. “What if it showed nothing out of the ordinary at all? I’d be so disappointed to find out I’m not an alien at all.” She laughed then, but oddly to Aaron it sounded forced.

“Let me see your feet,” Aaron said abruptly. Pol pulled away from him and scowled.

“Six toes does not an alien make,” Pol said. “Two out of every thousand children are born with extra digits, in some populations the percentage is higher. It doesn’t mean anything.” She reached down and pulled her socks off her feet and Aaron counted six toes on the left foot. The right had a normal five.

“Was your grandmother’s extra digit on her left foot?” Aaron asked.

“Yes,” Pol answered, “but mother had no extra digits at all. It’s just a fluke. Marilyn Monroe had six toes on one foot.”

“I always thought there was something other-worldly about her,” Aaron laughed.

“Now my feet are cold. Toss me that afghan would you?” Aaron handed her the afghan and she pulled it over her feet and draped it across the two of them. Aaron relaxed back into the corner of the sofa resting Pol’s head on his chest. Pol lifted her head enough to kiss him softly and tenderly. Aaron stroked her cheek as he looked into her eyes. “And the children of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful,” she quoted softly. “And, oh, so were their sons!” She kissed him again, this time with passion.

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