Gamble Like There’s No Tomorrow

“Why can’t we just pitch everything? Do we really need fifty years of Mama’s study club programs? What did they study anyway?”

Kate straightened, mopping at her brow with an already damp paper towel. She fixed her younger sister with “the look.”

“We can’t throw everything away because there are family photos and heirlooms buried under all this crap and they studied something new every year.”

Dell grinned. “Daddy always said the club was nothing but an excuse to gossip.”

Wadding up the paper towel, Kate pitched the ball toward an empty box. “Those women didn’t need an excuse to gossip. Put the programs in the ‘keep’ pile.”

“Why?”

“Because Mama was a founding club member and the county museum might want them.”

“Right,” Dell scoffed. “They’ll look great between the two-headed kid goat and old man Whitehead’s World War I uniform.”

Planting her hands on her hips, Kate said, “Work more, argue less.”

“Fine,” Dell grumbled. “You don’t have to pull big sister rank.”

A thin breeze sighed through the open windows of the garage apartment. The women fell into a steady rhythm, periodically holding up a hoarded treasure for judgment.

“Mama died in January,” Dell said, sorting through a box of Christmas decorations. “Why did we wait until August in Texas to do this?”

Tossing a 30-year-old, dessicated homecoming corsage into the trash, Kate said, “ You’re the one who lives here. You could have done this anytime but you insisted I had to be here too.”

Dell affected an exaggerated sigh. “Because I didn't want to listen to you when I threw something away you wanted...Ouch! ”

Kate looked up. “What? You didn’t find a scorpion did you?”

“If I’d found a scorpion I’d already have put a new back door in this place. I banged my knee on something hard under these old quilts.”

“What?”

Dragging the quilts aside, Dell said, “It’s a piece of oak furniture, I think.”

Picking her way through the boxes, Kate looked over her sister’s shoulder. “Well, I'll be damned. That’s Grandpa’s roll-top desk. I thought Mama sold it. Let’s dig it out of there.”

Five minutes later, the sisters stood in front of a heavy antique desk with tarnished brass hardware. Grasping the handles, Kate lifted the lid and gasped. “All his things are still here!”

She ran her fingers along the edge of a worn leather blotter and gently caressed a fountain pen resting in a weighted base. “I remember all of this. He used to let me sit on his lap and draw with this pen. Mama would have a fit about the ink on my fingers.”

Dell sighed. “I wish I could remember him.”

“You were too little when he died. Mama wouldn’t even let you come to the church. She left you with Mrs. Smart during the funeral.”

With sentimental tears edging her eyes, Dell cleared her throat and said, “So are we just going to stand here looking at this thing or are we going to go through the drawers?"

“I almost hate to touch anything,” Kate admitted. “It’s like a time capsule. Grandpa might as well have just gotten up and gone into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.”

“We’ll be careful,” Dell insisted, easing the bottom drawer open to expose neatly labeled manilla folders resting on twin metal rails.

Kate dropped to the floor and sat cross-legged staring at the documents. “It's like a record of his life.” She read off the labels, “Utilities, Bank Statements, Charitable Contributions, Church, Men’s Bible Class...

She paused with her hand on a folder near the back. “What the heck is the B-25 Fund? That’s the bomber Grandpa flew in World War II.”

“No kidding,” Dell said, joining her on the floor. “Pull the file out."

Grasping the top, Kate pulled, but the folder resisted. “It’s stuck. Push the others back to make room.’

When Dell obliged, the file popped free and sprang open. A small black book secured with a matching elastic band flew out.

"That looks like a movie prop," Dell said. "Like that grail journal Indiana Jones’s father kept."

Curved from time in a pocket, scuffed and dented, the black book did look like a keeper of secrets. There was no writing on the cover, but when Kate slipped the strap free, the flyleaf bore an inscription in their grandfather’s careful hand.

Lt. Victor L. Wilson, U.S. Army Air Corps, North Africa Theater of Operations. If found return to my wife, Doris Wilson, General Delivery, Milton, Texas.

“Is it a diary?” Dell asked.

Kate thumbed the age-softened pages. "Kinda. He started writing things down right before he went overseas. Listen."

"Feb. 25,1943. Kasserine Pass fell. We’re headed over. First stop Ascension Island. Colonel says we miss Ascension our wives get the pensions."

"Can you imagine how scared he must have been? "Dell said, leaning against the wall and stretching out her legs. "He was just a boy from a little Texas town going halfway around the world to fight a war."

“He’d probably never even left the state before he volunteered," Kate said, still reading. "He sure played a lot of poker over there.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He wrote down how much he won,” Kate said, handing the book to her sister. “Look at those two pages. Those are all card games and crap shoots.”

Dell did the math in her head. “My God. This adds up to $1,500. I wonder what Grandpa did with all that money?”

Kate pointed to a line at the bottom of the right hand page. “He sent it home. See. ‘Wired money to Doris from Casablanca.’”

“Wow, like in the movie,” Dell said. “I wonder if that’s where this was taken?”

She held up a cracked black and white photo wedged between two of the pages. Their grandfather, thin and handsome in his uniform, stood with his arm around another man’s shoulders. The background showed what looked like an open air market.

“It’s hard to think of Grandpa going to such exotic places,” Kate said. “He didn’t talk much about the war. Mainly he told funny stories or described daredevil stunts in his plane. How long did he write in his book?”

Turning pages, Dell said, “Until sometime in 1944. This page says, ‘Taking U.S.S. Horace Mann home. They’ve got chocolate!’”

“Is that the last entry?””

“No. This one is from 1946. ‘Withdrew poker money to put downpayment on hardware store. Took out G.I. loan to build house. Doris is pregnant.’”

Kate’s eyes widened. “He won enough money playing poker to buy the family business? That’s amazing. I wonder if Mama knew that?”

“If she did,” Dell deadpanned, “I’m positive she never let the preacher find out.”

The sisters dissolved into giggles. “Well,” Kate said, wiping her eyes, “this book is definitely a keeper. Let’s put it back in the folder. We can go through the rest of the desk when we make a dent in all Mama’s junk.”

“Wait a minute, Katie. I think there’s a pocket attached to the back cover.”

“Really? Is there anything inside?”

Running her fingernail under the thick lining, Dell pulled the flap open and drew out two folded sheets of paper. Carefully opening the first creased document, she stared at an ornately printed certificate and made a strangled sound.

Alarmed, Kate said, “What is it?”

“I have no idea, but I think it’s worth $20,000.”

Kate reached for the paper. “Let me see that.” Flipping the sheet over, her eyes scanned rows of small print. “It’s something called a bearer bond.”

“I have no idea what that means.” Dell admitted.

“According to the terms and conditions this certificate is worth $20,000 to whoever presents it to the company for cash.”

“Oh come on. That can’t possibly still be valid.”

“Well,” Kate said, taking out her cell phone. “There’s only one way to find out. I recognize the name of the firm. They’re still in business.”

Dell listened as Kate described the document to the woman on the phone, supplied the bond number as requested, and waited.

When Kate spoke again, she sounded stunned. “You’re absolutely certain?...Yes, ma’am...Yes, we’ll be over Monday morning. Yes, it is a shock. Thank you.”

Ending the call, she looked at Dell. “The bond is still good. They’ll give us the money when we come to the office.”

The sisters stared at one another in silence until Kate remembered the second sheet of paper. Carefully smoothing the thin, onion skin, she read:

“This is the last of my Air Corps poker money. The rest paid for my dreams. Use this for yours. I won this money off a lot of boys who never made it home. I didn’t figure I would either so I gambled like there was no tomorrow. Turned out my number wasn’t up. I was 21, had a good opinion of myself, and tried not to think about the people I killed when I dropped those bombs. It was a hell of a war. I think we were the good guys. - VLW”

“He thought they were the good guys?” Dell said. “Grandpa was part of the Greatest Generation. Didn’t he know that?”

“I don’t think he did,” Kate said softly. “I think he was just what you said he was. A scared boy from a little Texas town who was lucky enough to make it back.”

Neither woman spoke. Outside the window a mockingbird trilled a long series of notes. As the last one died away, Dell said, “We can’t keep the money.”

“No, we can’t.”

“What should we do with it?”

Kate caressed the cover of the little black book before tucking the note back into the pocket. “This book and what Grandpa wrote are the real treasures. He meant the money to go to someone who has a dream they don’t believe can ever come true. We have to find that person and give the money to them.”

“How?”

Both women jumped when they heard a plane engine fly over the house. “Oh,” Kate said, smiling and looking up, “I think we’ll have help figuring that part out.”