COMMANDMENT FIVE

COMMANDMENT FIVE

     Marjory and Dennis Wilson, sister and brother, stood in front of the Karon city morgue.  They’d traveled over two hundred miles from their home in Watkinsville hoping the person they had been contacted to identify was their father, Charles. They climbed the steps to the morgue slowly and sadly. They’d made the same type of trip three times before over the past several years after being contacted by authorities. Each time, the person they viewed was not their father.

     They were greeted by the city coroner and taken to a viewing room where the body of a 60-something-year-old male lay for their identification. This time, they both immediately recognized their father. He'd been out of their lives for twelve years, but his  features hadn’t changed. Dennis comforted his sister and they went to the coroner’s office to discuss the release of the body of Charles Wilson. 

     “Ms. Wilson.  Mr. Wilson,” the coroner began his comments, “This is what we know about your father. He came to Karon about six years ago as far as we can tell. He worked as a stocker and custodian at Jannings’ Department Store. Mr. Jannings, the owner, found Mr. Wilson’s body in a room Mr. Jannings let him use as a kind of perk to supplement his small income. There is something you need to know.  Mr. Jannings knows Mr. Wilson as Charles, or Charlie, Whitmire.  I suspected that that name was not Mr. Wilson’s original name as I’d seen photos of your father at various times. We regularly receive a list of missing persons to assist the identification of persons who have no known family in the area. There is often a photo included. I recognized your father and contacted the city missing person’s bureau.  They did some research and contacted you. I’m so sorry for your loss and want you to know that at least I’m happy to know that he has a family to claim him.  There are so many who don’t. You’d be surprised.”

     Thank you for the information,” Dennis Wilson responded. “Although we’re obviously distraught at finding that our father is dead, we're glad we've finally found him. Our mother refused to have him listed as missing and it was only after her death that we made any sort of report. We’ve received calls at least eight times,and on three other occasions actually visited morgues such as this. I’m sure there is paperwork to fill out.”

     “Oh yes,” the coroner replied. “It’s going to take a little while, perhaps two hours or so, to get everything in order for your review.  If you like, you might want to go over to Jannings’ Department Store. Mr. Jannings is a  nice gentleman and I can’t tell you how overwrought he has been over this. He’d be greatly relieved to meet you. I've not told him your father’s real name. He knows your father as Charlie Whitmire. It’s totally up to you if you want to reveal his original name.”

     We’ll have to think about that.  I, for one, want to know a bit more about what happened to my father,” Marjory Wilson commented. “Dennis, let’s head over there now.”

     The Wilson siblings entered Jannings’ Department Store. It was like something from another era. The lighting, displays, flooring, really everything harked back to the mid-twentieth century.  “Can we speak to Mr. Jannings?” Dennis Wilson asked a clerk.

     The clerk led the Marjory and Dennis to an office where they met Hal Jannings. They identified themselves as Marjory and Dennis, daughter and son of Charles Whitmire.”

     “It’s so nice to meet you both. Please accept my deepest sympathy. Your father Charlie was quite a guy.  He was so smart and hard working; I couldn’t ever figure out why he seemed happy doing the basic labor he did around here. But, I never asked any questions.  He was honest, friendly, and a great worker. That was all that mattered.”

     Marjory and Dennis didn’t want to say much about their father. They actually wanted to know more themselves. “Mr. Jannings,” Marjory said, “We understand our father had a room here in the store where he lived.”

     “He sure did. It’s just a small room with a bathroom. He always ate out. He lived very simply. He loved reading. Shall I take you to the room?  I’ve tried not to disturb anything.  He was so neat and organized, it won’t take you long to look over things and take what you care to.  Please allow me to assist you in any way I can. I just loved Charlie. Just six days ago, I got concerned about him when he wasn’t on the floor when I arrived in the morning. He was always up and at’em early. I went to his room. At first, I thought he might be sleeping, but then I checked and found that he had died during the night.  He looked so peaceful. Of course, I called 911 and they took care of things from there.”

     Hal Jannings led Marjory and Dennis to their father’s room. It was, indeed, neat and organized, as Mr. Jannings had said. But although it was sparsely furnished, it didn’t look cold or austere. There were some plants on a window sill.  Marjory and Dennis both  remembered that their father was a plant lover. He was always working outside in the yard of their small home in Watkinsville. He truly had a green thumb.

    As they looked over things they discovered a box that seemed to contain various records. They also discovered an envelope. On it they found the salutation:  “For Marjory and Dennis.”  Of course, they lost no time opening it. They sat on the bed and read the letter together:

My dearest children, Marjory and Dennis –

     If you are reading this letter, I have probably passed on and you are trying to make sense of what happened to me. I can’t tell you everything. I know that your mother, my beautiful wonderful wife, passed away three years ago. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive what I did to you all. Perhaps when you have read this, you’ll be able to.That would take far too long and much is of little importance. Here are what I think are the essentials:

     Words can't express how much I have missed you all. It’s been torture for me, a torture relieved only slightly by the knowledge that when I left, it was for the best reasons. Let me explain.

     When I was a teenager, I fell in with a rough older bunch. My mom was divorced and I had no contact with my father. Mom did her best to raise me to know right from wrong.  Unfortunately, when I fell in with this bunch, doing wrong was more common than doing right. We broke into places to get stuff and money, or just for the heck of it. The leader of the bunch was a really smart guy, or so I thought at the time. He treated me like his little brother. 

     One afternoon, we broke into a house we thought was unoccupied at the time. It wasn’t.  The family that lived there was all upstairs. The father of the house came down when we made a noise.  He was carrying something. Nick, our leader, thought it was a gun. He got nervous and shot the man. We ran for our lives, but we were quickly caught. I opted to plead guilty to the crime of felony manslaughter and waived trial. I didn’t want to put my mom through a trial, and I didn’t want to put the family I had helped destroy through one, either.  When I was sentenced to forty years in prison, I was shocked, but I could only think of my mom and the family who had lost their husband and father.

     In prison I kept my nose clean and remember what my mom had said about do right even if it isn't easy, especially when if isn't easy. I was a model prisoner. After about five years and a spotless record, I was made a trustee.  That meant that I could go outside the prison grounds on work details. One day, we were working in a warehouse. The guards were very lax and spent most of their time playing cards. There was an exit door that was out of the sight of the guards. One of the workers motioned for me to join him in an escape.  It seemed easy.  Forgetting my mom's words, I chose easy over right and I joined him. 

     We got away. I couldn’t believe it. We parted ways and I kept myself low to the ground for what seemed to be over a week. I just ran and ran.  I lived an underground life for over five years. I grew a beard, which I always kept neat and trimmed.  I changed my hair style and found some glasses. Somehow I blended in and stayed off the radar, although I knew the police had to be searching for me. I remember reading where the guy I escaped with had been found and sent back to prison.

     After five years of running, I was tired and I was miserable. My easy choice turned out to be neither easy or good. I was ready to turn myself in. Then, I saw a help wanted sign at the entrance to this farm. I figured that the worst that could happen would be for the farmer to contact authorities and have me turned in. I truly wouldn’t have minded that one bit.

     Oh, let me back up. All during this time, including my prison time, I never forgot my mom and I especially never forgot the Phillips family. I made a little spending money and sent every penny to either my mom or the family. Of course, my mail was always checked, but I found out a way to get the money out. My mom helped me. When I was on the run, I’d do lots of day-labor work and would send what money I could spare to mom and the family was well. I never forgot my debt to them.

     Okay, so I saw this “Help Wanted” sign and went to the farmhouse. The gentleman who answered the door was very kindly looking. He invited me in and his wife fixed me some coffee and cake. It seemed to me that I was more of a friend to them than a down-on-his-luck vagrant looking for work. I referred to myself as Charles Wilson.  

     We talked about the job and I couldn’t wait to start working.  You know how much I always enjoyed gardening and working outside. This job had my name on it.  Anyway, the farmer offered me the job and even a place to stay. He and his wife even insisted  I eat with them. They were on the farm by themselves and said they needed a little help, now that they were getting older.  tell you, Marjory and Dennis – oh how I love your names!—they were both in their eighties and worked like they were in their twenties. They were an inspiration. I did start to tell the farmer a little about myself and he shushed me up immediately. He said, “Your past is your past, son. Keep it there. Jesus said, ‘In as much as ye have done it to the least of these, ye have done it unto me.’ God has been really good to me. He’s not going to fail me now.”

     I worked on that farm for five years.They were wonderful years.Of course, I still felt tortured by my past, but that farmer and his wife did a lot to help me heal. Then, as I guess so often happens to couples who’ve had a long and happy life together, they both passed away within days of each other. Their relatives were anxious to sell the farm. They were good people, too, but not as good as the farmer and his wife. That couple actually left me a good bit of money, under the table so to speak. I gave most of it to the Phillips family.  My mom had passed during this time and I was so grieved that I couldn’t go to her funeral. That would have meant turning myself in. What was the easy thing to do had become a very hard thing to do. I rationalized that I was doing more for the family whose lives I had ruined outside prison than rotting away in prison.

     Following the deaths of the farmer and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Gandy by the way – Josiah and Beulah – I found myself on the road again. So much time had elapsed, over ten years since my break from prison, I somehow felt less anxious. I looked pretty good for a man who’d been through what I’ had.  

     I found a job and decided to get back on the legal side of life as Charles Wilson. While working, I still kept a low profile. I got my GED  and even took some courses at a community college. Eventually, I found myself with a degree in agronomy and went to work for a large nursery.  It was there that I spotted your mother. She was the sweetest, most likable person I’d ever met.  We’d  have lunch together every day. Finally, she asked me if I’d like to go to a play with her.  I’d never been to a play in my life, so I said yes.  It was, of all things, a play about a fugitive from justice!  The thought occurred to me that she might somehow know more about me than I thought she did.  Women, smart women like you mother, don’t just take a guy at face value. We began dating. 

     One night, we were talking on her front porch. I was tired of keeping my past from her.  When I began to speak about my past, she put her finger up to my lips.  “Charles Wilson, I’ve known you for two years now. I noticed you the first day you began working at Cleland’s. I knew you were the man for me. That was all I needed to know then, and I need to know now.” 

     We got married. For a while, we lived in the house her folks had bought for her. Neither she nor her family didn’t seem to mind, but I wanted to get my bride a house. I also stayed off the radar as much as possible, so I didn’t have a bank account, a credit card, or anything like that. I paid my taxes and that was it. I still wanted to buy this house all on my own. I found a little house. It was not nearly as nice as the house we were living in, but I could afford it.  I had kept some of the money and farmer and his wife had left me, and now I knew why. Keep in mind that I still kept sending money to the Phillips family. 

     We enjoyed that little house, and when you two came into our lives, I added onto it myself. We had over ten years of wonderful living in that house. I hope you two felt that way.

     One day a letter as handed over to me at work. I opened it. All it said was, “I know who you are. I know where you work. I know where you live.” I knew what that note meant.  Someone knew about my past. I immediately called your mother. She now worked for another firm. I simply asked her how she was, and she said that she was fine. I didn’t let on about the letter. That night, everything seemed fine at home. The next day, I got another letter at work. It said about the same thing the first one had said. I knew it was only a matter of time before more would happen. I might be blackmailed; my past might be revealed. The police might even show up one day. I couldn’t deal with it. Everything we owned was in your mother’s name. Although I didn’t have a personal bank account, I did manage to save some money over the years from doing odd jobs for people. And I was still sending money to the Phillips family. 

      Not wanting your mother or either of you to be dragged into any of this and to have to suffer because of my past, I decided to leave. It was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. I wrote your mother a note and asked her not to report anything. I had submitted my resignation from work. From all appearances, I had walked out on my family.  I wished I’d never made that prison escape. I might have even been released by now had I stayed.  But, I did what I did.

     I returned to my underground life. Believe me, it was harder at fifty-something than at twenty-something. Eventually, I found myself in Karon. I went into Jannings’ Department Store. Out of the blue, Mr. Jannings came up to me and asked me if I needed a job. How could he have possibly known?  I tried to keep myself presentable. I guess I just looked lost. I was lost. He knew me as Charles Whitmire. Oh, what a tangled web!

     He gave me a room to live in and I worked harder than I ever had in my life. 

     They had just about finished reading the letter when Mr. Jannings came in.  “I don’t mean to intrude, but I just wanted to know if I could help you in any way.”

     “Thanks, Mr. Jannings,” Marjory replied. “I think we’ll get some boxes and pack things up. There’s really not much here.”

     “I’ve got some boxes you can use.”

     “Oh, Mr. Jannings,” Marjory added.

     “Yes?”

     “There’s something we need to tell you.”  Dennis was both curious and concerned about what his sister felt she needed to say about their father.

     “Mr. Jannings. Our last name is ‘Wilson,’ not ‘Whitmire.’  I thought you might be curious about that.”

     “I know,” Mr. Jannings replied.

     “You know?” Dennis reacted in disbelief.

     “Then,” Dennis said, “You know that our father’s real name was Charles Wilson, and not Whitmire.”

     “In reality, his name was Marcus Davenport. Yes, I’ve always known. Let me explain.  Many years ago, my father-in-law was killed in a break-in at my wife’s childhood home. The felons were caught. All went to trial, except one. It seemed that he just wanted to own up to his crime and do his time. My wife and her family also heard that he didn’t want to put either his mother or my wife’s family through the anguish of a trial. My wife told me all about this when we were dating. She also commented that someone almost immediately began sending money to her mother. Sometimes, it was just a dollar or two, sometimes more, but the money came on a regular basis.

     As you might imagine, her mother was completely grief-stricken over the death of her husband and was also quite angry for a long time at those who had broken in. However, over time, when she realized how sincere at least one of the young men was, she softened. Nevertheless, she never spent any of the money. She gave it to charity. She did keep an account, though She told my wife and her brother that she was pretty sure she knew who was sending the money, the young man who had waived trial. 

     Then, her family learned that this man had escaped from prison. My wife’s mother’s anger returned with a vengeance. Her brother, who was only about five at the time of the break in, was even angrier. He vowed to track Marcus Davenport down. And yet, the money kept coming. The amount even grew over the years. My wife’s brother noticed the postmarks and tried to track Mr. Davenport down using them, but was unsuccessful. 

     Once again, my wife’s mother, by this time by mother-in-law, mellowed once again. She even began feeling affection for Mr.  Davenport. My brother-in-law couldn’t understand this, and felt that his mother was sullying the memory of her husband. His desire for vengeance grew even more fierce. Both my mother-in-law and my wife tried to calm him down and even demanded that he get over it. He refused.

     When my mother-in-law passed, my brother-in-law was convinced that Mr. Davenport had sent her to an early grave. This was despite the fact that my mother-in-law was in her eighties when she passed away and that she had written an absolutely beautiful note to Mr. Davenport. In the note, she thanked your father for his steadfastness and his sacrifices.  She also commented that she knew Mr. Davenport's mother had every reason to be proud of the son she had raised, even though he made  some huge mistakes early in life. I’m telling you, this note was almost biblical in its phrasing. 

     One day, my wife and I were eating dinner when her brother stormed in. He had finally determined that Marcus Davenport had changed his name to Charles Wilson and also discovered where Charles Wilson lived. He had even seen him to verify that it was the person who had killed his father. He also knew that your father had married and had children. Of course, we all knew that Marcus Davenport had not pulled the trigger that killed Mr. Phillips and that he was a seventeen-year-old boy. 

     My brother-in-law disgusted us when he told us of his plan to make your father squirm for a while. At the very least, he figured, your father would turn himself into the authorities and be returned to prison where he belonged. His wife and children would suffer the same pain that his family, at least in his mind, had suffered. My wife was beside herself. She told her brother that if he did not stop the harassment, she would have nothing further to do with him. We were both outraged and demanded that he seek counseling. He was destroying himself and the whole family with his vitriol.

     He grudgingly met with our rabbi.  After only one session, my brother-in-law’s attitude changed completely. He let go of a life of resentment and anger that had eaten him up. We asked the rabbi what he had said that could possibly have turned this man around so quickly.He simply asked him if he believed in the Ten Commandments and tried to follow them.  My brother-in-law, though a secular Jew, said he basically did. He considered them to be good practices to follow.  The rabbi then told him to ‘honor his father and his mother.’  Apparently, my brother-in-law then realized that Mr. Davenport, or Wilson, a convicted felon and accomplice to a murder, had not only tried throughout his life, to honor his own mother, he also wanted to honor the wife and mother of the family whose lives were damaged by his thoughtlessness. He became ashamed at how his anger and desire for revenge had so dishonored the very people whose lives were the most affected by Mr. Davenport. He looked at the account book his mother had kept and discovered that Mr.  Davenport had sent money to his mother over two hundred times and that the amount he had sent over the years amounted to over ten thousand dollars. It was not the dollar amount that impressed him; it was Mr. Davenport's steadfastness.  

     When your father walked in my store, I recognized him immediately. My brother-in-law had taken pictures of your father when he lived in Watkinsville. I was a bit stunned to see him, but also in an odd way, relieved. I don’t think he ever knew  I was the son-in-law of the man he had helped kill. Surprisingly, my brother-in-law would come into the store from time to time. I introduced him to Charlie, but only used the first name. My brother-in-law never said anymore and merely treated your father, now going by the name of Charles Whitmire,with the greatest respect and affection. It was as if he were atoning for things he had felt toward the man in the past. But it was true atonement in that my brother-in-law saw this not as an obligation, but as a wonderful opportunity to finally honor his father and mother.”

     Mr. Jannings then retrieved some boxes and helped Marjory and Dennis pack up their father’s belongings. As they were packing, a card slipped from one of the books as the placed it in a box. Mr. Jannings retrieved the card and gave it to Marjory. She looked at it, and then asked Mr. Jannings if he would read the inscription on the inside. The card was given to Charles Wilson from Josiah and Beulah Gandy, the elderly farm couple who had taken him in. Hal Jannings smiled as he read the note: 

     Oh Charles, what a blessing you have been to us!  If we had been blessed with a son, we could only hope that he would be like you. 

     “You know, I feel sure that’s what upset my brother-in-law the most. His mother grew to love and respect Charlie more and more over the years while her sadness at her own son's choices fueled his anger. Happily, my brother-in-law finally got it.”

     “Thank you for all that you’ve done for us, Mr. Jannings,”  Dennis commented.

     ”Hal, please,” Mr. Jannings replied.

     “Dennis,” Marjory Wilson then said, “Let’s take our father home.”