EPILOGUE
Spring 1983.
Barkley Ranch.
The reporter and her photographer had sat most of the afternoon on the covered porch of the small house set away - ten minutes by car - from the main structures of the ranching operations: the main house, the stables, the offices, the barns which housed the heavy machinery. It was the house their hostess has grown up in though it had been through several permutations and improvements since that time.
Grace Barkley Morrelli had come out to the car to greet them and they were immediately taken by her charm. To meet the news people coming to interview her for her one hundredth birthday, Grace had worn her best jeans, work boots, a white embroidered Mexican smock top and a wide brimmed straw hat from which a white braid fell all the way to her waist. She showed them her house, the photos, memorabilia, but it was her affinity for the hummingbirds that swarmed beneath the shade trees, feeding on the multitude of red feeders, that charmed her guests the most. The woman was sharp as a tack, full of good humor, interest and vitality. They were a good half hour into their visit before they noticed her limp.
The tape recorder sat on the table amid the lemonade glasses and plate of shortbread cookies as the young reporter questioned the centenarian about her memories of her pioneering family. Yes, she remembered her grandmother well, she said, and went on to recount her personal memories of the fabled Victoria Barkley as well as the stories told to her later on. And she knew the difference. Mentally sharp with a quick intelligence and integrity, as well, thought the reporter.
She and Nick's son, Tom, had started to run the ranch together when Nick and her father were no longer physically able to be present every day. Later, she and Tom had made a very conscious and deliberate decision during The Great Depression to take in as many Dust Bowl refugees as the ranch could bear. It was, they felt, their contribution to the family legacy and she was very proud of that. She talked in technical terms of how maintaining the diversity of the Barkley's interests allowed the business to thrive throughout the changing times. All well and good, thought the reporter, and likely very interesting to the local agricultural businesses but she wanted a human-interest story.
"Miss Grace, if we can go back to the story of your aunt Audra. Did they ever catch the person who murdered Charles Lorton?"
"No," Grace said, "never did figure out who did it and, frankly, no one really cared. The bastard was dead and that was all that mattered." She leaned forward in her chair. "Are you familiar with Wheeler Ranch south of here? Did you know we're connected to them?"
"Well, uh, you alluded to it. Audra was engaged at one time to Tommy's father."
"That's right and he was widowed. They never did marry though. Didn't see any need to. Audra had a house on the ranch here and a place in San Francisco but she spent a lot of time on the Wheeler Ranch," Grace leaned back in her wicker chair, winked at the reporter, and her blue eyes sparkled with pleasure. "And just to seal the deal, Julia married Tom Wheeler."
"I didn't know that!"
"Oh, all the Barkley girls were pretty but Julia was the prettiest and I thought Uncle Nick was gonna bust wide open, he was so proud when he walked her down the aisle."
"And Caroline?"
"Caroline married a lawyer, politician. They lived in Santa Clara and raised four kids. Very involved in matters of civic importance."
"Jarrod's children?"
"Vicky was a teacher in San Francisco and later moved to Australia with her husband and kids. Ellie was a doctor, a surgeon, in San Francisco. I think her grandchildren are coming to my party so you can meet them."
"And what about that naughty James?"
Grace laughed. "Oh, he turned out all right. Kinda a serious fellow, though. He became a lawyer, like Uncle Jarrod."
"And your sister, Leah?"
Grace closed her eyes and smiled to herself. When she opened her eyes, there was a tear but she was still smiling. "My sister Leah, in case you don't already know it, and I know you did your research before coming here, became a world famous biologist, involved in discovering many of the things you learned about in your high school. She taught at The Sorbonne in Paris. Knew Marie Curie."
"What about you, Grace?" asked the Phil the Photographer. "You obviously got married."
"Oh, yeah," Grace laughed, "I married old Chuck Morelli from a local family. He was my best friend. Died twenty years ago and I still miss him."
"No children, though . . . ?"
"No," she said, "never had any kids. Never really needed any. No shortage of kids around here, ever," and she laughed.
"And Will?"
"Will managed to break away from the ranch and it took Uncle Nick years to find peace with that but he did. Aunt Em fought him hard on that, I can tell you that. He taught law at Stanford. Very distinguished career. Lovely wife, kids. Uncle Nick was proud of him but a little too proud in himself to brag about him too much."
"And what of Adam Lorton?"
Grace narrowed her eyes, teasing. "Oh, you! You know very well!"
"Tell it to the readers who might not."
"Audra's son parlayed his father's fortune into an even bigger fortune. Fortune 500 and all, up there with the Rockefellers and the Vanderbilts. He remained devoted to his mother and used his money and influence to work for women's rights. Adam probably visited this ranch more than any other Barkley grandchild. He wasn't one for working the ranch but he loved it all the same and that was clear as day. It was always a holiday when he came to visit, first by himself and later with his wife and kids. And he made sure to teach them to love this ranch and this family. The Lortons are Barkleys are far as the Barkleys are concerned"
"Lorton Enterprises continues to support women's causes. The local women's clinic is named for Audra B. Lorton. the first . . . . "
"The first woman to cast a vote in Stockton after the 19th Amendment was passed," Grace said, finishing the sentence.
The sound of horses and a wagon was heard growing closer and Grace looked out at the road and stood up, hands on her hips, and laughed. "Well, I don't believe it!" The wagon, carrying a small group of teenagers, was festooned with helium balloons of different colors. Grace stepped off the porch to greet the wagon, the reporter and photographer behind her.
The driver set the brake and jumped down. "Aunt Grace! We've come to bring you to your party in style!" The young man was about twenty, long hair in a ponytail, cowboy hat.
Grace turned to her guests and explained that these were some of Tom and Jack's grandchildren.
The young man shook hands with the reporter and the photographer and introduced himself as Jesse Barkley, then added, "I am great-great-great grandson to the first Tom Barkley, great-grandson to the second Tom, Nick's son, and grandson to the third. You know, just to be clear about things."
The other kids were filing into the house and helping themselves to lemonade and cokes from the refrigerator, each offering a kiss to Grace first.
Grace smiled and said, "Hard to keep 'em all straight sometimes but they're all mine. All family."
"Grace is great for family stories and you can believe everything she says," offered a petite brunette in faded jeans and a Grateful Dead T-shirt named Pilar.
The reporter turned to Grace and said, "I didn't ask you about Daniel. What happened to Daniel?"
Grace looked down at the tile floor and the kids got quiet, waiting for the story they'd heard before.
"Daniel was working for the Army Corps of Engineers in Washington, D.C. right after the Great, er, World War One, when word came that he had died in the Influenza Epidemic. Aunt Em always knew when her kids were sick 'cause she'd get sick at the same time. So, she was also sick with the Influenza. Uncle Nick didn't tell her Daniel had died. He waited until she was fully recovered and then he told her. The next morning, he woke up to find her cold and dead in his arms. She had died in her sleep next to him just as she told him she wanted."
"My ma and pa, they moved right into the big house. We were all very worried about Uncle Nick. My pa never left his side, he was afraid Nick'd go off and shoot himself in the head or something. He didn't but he was never the same and he died of a broken heart about a year later."
The room remained silent for a moment before Pilar said, "Come on! Grandpa Tom's got the barbeque going and people are arriving already!"
"Let me grab a shawl," Grace said, "and I've invited these folks to come, too."
"The more the merrier," said Jesse, and he talked the reporter and the photographer into riding in the wagon. "Someone will take you back to your car, no worries."
Tom Barkley, along with his brother, Jack, was in charge of the barbeque as they were in charge of the ranch. Both of them tall men, both in good shape for men of seventy years, and both of them sporting cowboy hats and cowboy boots and the relaxed demeanor of people who know they are exactly where they want to be.
Tom's wife, Rosa, and Jack's wife, Linda, had prepared a feast for the dozens of guests who came to celebrate Grace Barkley Morelli's 100th birthday. There were games and dancing and a Mariachi band.
The reporter put her tape recorder away but wrote down notes as they occurred to her. She met Ellie's grandchildren, who had driven in from the Bay Area, and she met the descendants of Adam Lorton, some of whom came all the way from New York City. Julia's son, David Wheeler, was there. Her son, Jeffrey, had died the year before, and Michael was killed in World War II. The reporter felt drawn to David and kept remembering the stories Grace told about the lively little girl this old man's mother had once been. She felt she could sense the spirit of the mother in the son; he told great jokes.
But her favorite person of the evening, aside from the inimitable Grace, was Tom, the current patriarch of the family, of the ranch. He was affable and effusive though one sensed you didn't want to get on his bad side. He showed her the inside of the big white house, the house where he'd grown up, where his father had grown up, and his father before him. It felt warm and safe in the house, but the reporter sensed something more.
"Do you ever think this house, as old as it is, and as much life as it's seen, is haunted?" she asked.
"Haunted? No, not in the eerie sense of the word," he looked at her with squinting hazel eyes, "but I do sometimes feel as if someone's watching over me."
As he walked her over to where Phil the Photographer waited by a Barkley truck to take them back to their car at Grace's home, he stopped a few young men and suggested they start wrapping up the party. "We have an early day tomorrow and don't forget this is a working ranch!"
The reporter turned to him and asked if Grace wasn't going to need a ride back to her house, too.
He smiled. "No. Grace will stay here tonight. Grace has – and has always had – a room of her own here."
The reporter searched the dwindling crowd for Grace and waved good-bye when she caught the woman's eye. Grace waved back, smiling, and then returned to showing a group of young children how to throw a lasso.