Honey and Leonard (21 page)

"I'll save you the trouble. I already know. It was William Fishbaugh from the First Presbyterian Church of Indianapolis."

"He did a good job," Leonard said. "The pastor was a friend of the pilot's. The whole thing took about ten minutes. Luther Patrick was my best man and Dr. Laughlin was the maid of honor. It was a good time. We laughed a lot. We didn't have any vows written out. We just said, 'I do,' and that was it."

"Could the pilot have married you?"

"I don't know about that," Leonard said. "At this point, we're not taking any chances. We wanted it done legally and in the good old United States. I'll tell you what. We had a wonderful time in France and Italy, but it's good to be back home again in Indiana."

Honey said, "Hey, we haven't sung the song yet. Come on, we've got to sing the song. I can't believe we haven't sung it."

Honey and Leonard sang "Back Home Again In Indiana" with Crumbo joining in on the words he remembered.

"So what are your plans for the immediate future?" Crumbo asked once they'd finished congratulating each other's singing efforts.

"I'll tell you what we're going to do," Honey said, making things up as she went along. "We're going to have a big church ceremony followed by a carriage ride to the new reception hall. We're going to have a massive party and invite everybody. That's what these people want, isn't it? We can't just sit in here and hide. I'm already getting cabin fever. So, we'll give them a great big show, and hopefully, they'll be happy and leave us alone to get on with our life of wedded bliss."

Everything had changed for Gretchen once she obtained a Power of Attorney over her Uncle Leonard. That one legal document had changed her life more than she could have imagined. With access to her uncle's considerable fortune, Gretchen retired from being an educator. Her teaching income seemed a sad joke in light of the multi-million dollar estate she controlled and was soon to inherit. But leaving her students and fellow educators effectively severed her last remaining ties to society. She became more and more reclusive.

The Midas touch turned her cold as gold.

Uncle Leonard was her only companion. Once Honey took him away, Gretchen's only friend was the bottle. The drinking started as a cure for loneliness but always ended up making her feel lost, alienated and alone.

Attorney Alice Chambers had helped Gretchen file the petition to have Leonard declared incompetent and to have a guardian appointed to take care of his affairs. The case had been simple at first. Leonard was in the nursing home and Gretchen seemed to have his complete cooperation as well as control of his considerable estate. Lately, however, the case had taken on international proportions under the spotlight of the world press. Attorney Chambers found herself facing hordes of lawyers from New York and Chicago with local counsel from Fort Wayne, Indiana. Uncle Leonard was no longer cooperating. He was fighting back. She was clearly outgunned. She needed to hire a litigation team to handle what was shaping up to be an epic court battle over Leonard's mental competency and Gretchen's handling of his financial affairs.

Gretchen arranged to meet with Chambers at her hotel room in Warsaw. The attorney had only agreed to make the hotel call once she realized Gretchen would not, under any circumstances, come to her office. In fact, Gretchen had just begun to drink herself out of a wretched hangover from the night before when the attorney arrived at noon.

"You look terrible," Chambers said as she got a good look at Gretchen, who hadn't bathed or combed her hair or changed her clothes in a few days.

"I'm even worse than I look," Gretchen moaned, pouring herself another glass of whiskey from a nearly empty bottle. Her hands were shaking badly.

"Give me that bottle and the glass too," Chambers said. "I'm not going to waste my time talking to a drunk." With that, she grabbed the glass and the bottle and poured their contents down the drain in the bathroom sink. "Now get in here and take a shower while I search the room for the bottle you've probably stashed somewhere."

Chambers had plenty of first-hand experience handling drunks and she knew Gretchen well enough to take matters into her own hands. The two had taught together for several years before Chambers went on to law school.

Gretchen complied with Chambers' demands without saying a word. Too exhausted to argue, she took a shower and reemerged looking slightly more healthy and alert. She even managed a smile as she said, "You didn't find another bottle because there isn't one. I was going to stay sober last night for our meeting, but then, at the last minute, I ran out and got one last blast."

"Let's skip the small talk," Chambers said. "They've filed suit against you, claiming you've stolen nearly a million dollars from your Uncle Leonard's accounts. I only hope that number is accurate because that means you'll have plenty of money to pay your legal fees."

Gretchen said nothing. She looked like a cocaine dealer who had just snorted her entire inventory.

"Don't tell me the money's gone," Chambers said.

Gretchen looked down at the floor for the better part of a minute, then looked up and said, "It's been two years."

Chambers jumped up out of her chair, strode to the window and flung open the avocado-colored curtains. The room was suddenly much too bright for Gretchen, who shielded her eyes from the glare of sunshine. "Let's go ahead and shed a little light on the situation," Chambers said. "How did you blow through a million dollars in two years? I know some of it went to me, but I'm beginning to feel like I haven't billed you nearly enough."

"Don't worry," Gretchen said. "I'll get the money to pay you. I spent almost $350,000 paying off the mortgage on my house. I can remortgage it to get you whatever you need. I've got to win this competency hearing. I know Uncle Leonard is not in his right mind. Why else would he run off and marry that little gold digger, Honey Waldrop?"

Attorney Chambers sat back down and began to take a much softer approach. "Gretchen, I can see how hurt you are because you feel like Honey took away your Uncle Leonard. And I know that he was all you had. But don't you see? There is another way out of this. You can go to your uncle and beg his forgiveness and drop the petition for guardianship. He's a good man. He'll forgive you. It's not too late to stop the deal on the family farm, is it?"

"The housing developers own the farm. The money is in Uncle Leonard's bank account. I can't touch it. They've frozen me out. And that's not right. I closed that deal. We made $2.5 million on that deal. That's my money. I'm his only heir."

"Gretchen, Gretchen, Gretchen. You're forgetting one thing. You're forgetting one very important thing."

"What's that?"

"Your Uncle Leonard is not dead yet."

It took a while for the gravity of this comment to settle in on Gretchen, but it eventually left her dumbstruck. She looked at her attorney as if she had been gravely wounded. Attorney Chambers had seen the look before. It was the "deer in the headlights" look that alcoholics get when it first dawns on them they might need help with substance abuse.

"What am I going to do?" Gretchen moaned. "I've betrayed Uncle Leonard. He's the only man I ever really cared about. He's the only one who ever tried to teach me anything. He took care of me. Now, I've let him down. I've been so bad. I'm probably going to end up in jail. I feel terrible. The only thing that helps is the whiskey, and now that's starting to kill me. My hands are shaking and my head is pounding and my insides feel like they're trying to be my outsides. What am I going to do?" she repeated as she slid out of her chair and fell to the floor, sobbing.

Chambers let her cry for a minute, then patted her on the back and helped her up for a hug. "You don't need a lawyer," Chambers said, "you need a sponsor."

"What do you mean?" Gretchen asked.

""I mean it's time for you to check into Mapleton, my
alma mater
."

"You went to school at Mapleton? Where's that?"

"It's in Minnnesota, a little north of St. Paul. It's not a school. It's an addiction rehabilitation center. One of the best. I went there for a month, 12 years ago. I haven't had a drink since. Mapleton saved my life, and it can save yours too if you'll give it a chance."

"I don't think of myself as an alcoholic and I know I'm not a drug addict."

"Alcohol is a drug, Gretchen."

"I never knew you were an alcoholic."

"I'm a recovering alcoholic," Chambers corrected her.

"Do you think I'm an alcoholic?"

"Let's think about it this way. Say you're driving down a road and it's getting more and more narrow and it goes from blacktop to gravel and then to dirt. As you're driving, the car is running out of gas and the snowstorm is getting deeper every minute. Finally, you reach the end of the road and you're out of gas and the car is totally buried in the snow."

Gretchen was paying attention and identifying closely. "That is, pretty much, me."

"So, you hear a knock on the car window. You try to use the automatic window, but it won't work because the car's not running. You open the door and you see it's a woman in a furry parka. And the woman asks you if you'd like a new road, a full tank of gas and sunny weather."

Gretchen raised her eyebrows hopefully, silently asking her attorney to continue.

"I'm that woman in the furry parka, knocking on your window."

Going to the grocery store proved to be a nearly impossible task. Rude, excited people kept pressing microphones and cameras in their faces. Maxwell's bodyguards couldn't keep them away. One photographer popped out of a cooler and got a tremendous shot of a horrified Honey with her mouth and eyes open as wide as they could be.

On day four of their return to Indiana, Honey and Leonard managed to sneak out of the house, undetected, in the back of a plumbing truck. Luther had a car waiting for them at the edge of town.

"What did we do to deserve the never-ending kindness of a man so wonderful as you?" Honey asked.

Luther laughed gleefully as he handed the car keys to Leonard. It was plain to see that the captain of
The Sinbad
got a major kick out of any caper involving his famous friends. "Nice work, sneaking out of your own house. You can pull this car back into your garage anytime. The door opener is in the glove box."

"We might not be back for a day or two," Leonard joked.

"That's fine by me. Just remember, Dr. Laughlin's got both of you scheduled to be at the Mayo Clinic on Sunday for complete physicals."

"You're asking an Alzheimer's patient to remember his doctor's appointment?"

"I'm talking to Honey."

"Don't worry, father," Honey teased Luther, "I'll have us both home by dinner time. There will be no more running away for us."

Leonard drove Honey out to the family farm for a visit. He was having an excellent day. He wasn't repeating himself at all. No one else was in the car, although they both knew that Maxwell's men had to be nearby. They talked about how strange it was to have achieved such sudden fame and how even more strange it was to have one of the world's wealthiest men taking care of them.

"I think Luther might have been getting a little bored with his life before we came along," Honey mused. "Plus, I think he feels good, rolling up his sleeves and getting dirty to help someone else."

As Honey was speaking, Leonard came to a complete stop in the road before making the turn down the lane to his old farmhouse. He almost didn't recognize the turn. On either side of the road were huge billboards proclaiming the area as the future site of the Silver Creek Housing Addition. The mighty oak tree that had been a roadside landmark was gone.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked as he slowly turned down the lane. "Somebody took down the oak tree. What kind of fool would do such a thing? That tree's been around since before I was born. And what are they calling Silver Creek? There's no creek on this land, just the lake we built. Who thinks he can put a housing subdivision on my farm?"

"I don't even see a stump," Honey mourned as they rolled by slowly.

Leonard didn't say a word for at least 100 yards. He finally broke his shocked silence by muttering, "I thought the lawyers said they could stop this from happening."

"Maybe they haven't done anything except put up the signs," Honey said.

Driving down the lane, hoping against hope, their worst fears soon came true. They heard the engines first and then they saw what was making all the noise. It was a grim parade of giant, earth-moving machines. From a distance, they almost looked like the vehicles of harvest. But that was wishful thinking. These were not combines and grain wagons. They were road graders and front-end loaders and bulldozers.

The elegant and endless cornfields had been graded into piles of dirt and long stretches of flat, naked ground. The smell of freshly turned soil clogged the air. A silent scream of sorrow filled the sky.

The farm had been raped.

Leonard stopped the car in the middle of the lane and got out to stare in disbelief at what had happened to his cherished heritage. He'd known every furrow and slope of that ground. He'd plowed and tilled every inch of it hundreds of times. Now, he barely recognized the land. The gentle rolls of the terrain had been flattened. The only thing that allowed him any perspective was the forest in the distance to the west. The maple trees were turning red and orange and gold.

Honey got out of the car to join him as he began walking into what had once been his most fertile cornfield. He couldn't let her hold his hand. His fists were clenched in rage. He was breathing hard. He choked back a sob. 

"They've killed me."

She grabbed his arm and they walked on, across the uneven ground, in a pallbearers' shuffle, as though they were carrying a casket of grief. It was hard for Honey to imagine the barren landscape had once been a successful farm.

She stumbled on a dirt clod and almost took Leonard down with her until he managed to keep them both from falling. He was still a sturdy man. His shoulders were broad and his back was strong. Honey kissed his hand, partly to thank him for keeping her upright and partly to comfort him from the trauma he was facing. His hand had character. The fingers were long and thick with calluses. The knuckles seemed swollen. Dark blue veins wound down from the top of his hand like ivy branches. Age spots on his skin could no longer pass for freckles. The hand was rough but clean. His fingernails were precisely clipped.

She held his hand to her cheek. He was her hero in so many ways. It was hard to watch him suffer such obvious pain. He winced to hold back tears as his gaze took in the entire panorama of developmental devastation.

Leonard reclaimed his hand and broke their silence when one of the road graders passed by about thirty yards away. "What are you doing?" he yelled.

The operator held a hand to his ear, obviously unable to hear over the din of the thunderous engine. Leonard walked toward him with Honey close behind. The man kept driving away, unwilling to be interrupted from the task at hand. Leonard waved his arms at the driver until he reluctantly brought the machine to a creaking halt.

"What can I do for you?" the driver said, trying not to be too annoyed at having to halt progress.

"You can tell me who you work for."

"Why should I do that?"

"Because this is my farm you're destroying."

The driver sat up straight in his seat, realizing he had trouble on his hands. "Hey, buddy. I'm not looking for trouble. I work for Briggs Construction. I'm just doing my job. I'm just doing what they tell me to do."

With that, he put the machine in gear and drove away. Leonard could see him talking into his radio.

"He's calling his boss," Leonard said, "and his boss will call the cops and they'll come arrest me for trespassing on my own property."

"Maybe we should leave," Honey suggested.

"You can leave if you want to. I've got some looking around to do."

Honey stayed by his side as they continued walking deeper into the farm. They came to the top of a hill and saw that the lake on the other side had been mostly filled in and was being turned into some kind of artificial creek.

Leonard looked at the scene in shocked silence and fell to one knee in anguish. He looked like he'd been shot. 

Honey grabbed his shoulder and tried to comfort him. All he could do was breathe heavily, making loud, sighing sounds of disbelief. When he finally turned his head to look up at Honey, his eyes were full of tears. "That was where I lost my daughter," he said, putting one hand to the ground for balance. "All that empty bowl of ground used to be a lake. That was the lake that took my daughter. It wasn't a bad lake. That lake used to tell me everything was going to be all right, even after my daughter died."

Leonard hung his head and sobbed. He could hold back the tears no longer. His entire body shook with a lifetime of grief as Honey got down on her knees on the moist ground and put her arms around him.

Leonard shook his head and tried to regain his composure. His eyes were still streaming tears when he looked up at Honey and asked, "Has Gretchen done this to me? How could she?"

Honey looked at him helplessly. She didn't know what to say. Leonard had told her so many stories about the farm. She had walked through rows of corn with him and seen how he came alive talking about the secrets of growing corn and beans. This farm had been his life. Now, it was gone. Or was it?

"Don't give up, yet, sweetie. We can still get this land back. We can buy it back if we have to. We'll replant the fields and fill the lake back up and make it even better than before."

Leonard tried to smile.  Honey could feel him trying to shake off his sadness.

"I love you, pumpkin," he said as he got up and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "I love your spunk. You make me feel resilient, even in my most crushing moments of defeat. They can't keep a good man down as long as he's got a good woman by his side." He squeezed Honey hard and added, "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll plant this entire field in pumpkins. We'll call them Honey pumpkins and sell them for $20 a piece."

A man in a suit, wearing a hard hat, came walking through the dirt to ask if he could help them. He was already on his radio, calling for help. It looked as though the elderly man might be having a heart attack. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"No," Honey said. "This is Leonard Atkins, and I'm his wife, Honey Waldrop. . . . I mean Honey Atkins. Excuse me. We're newlyweds and I keep forgetting I've got a new last name. Anyway, he doesn't need a doctor. He's just upset, that's all. This is his farm."

"Oh, my God," the man said. "It is you." He held out his hand to Leonard, "I'm Don Granger, sir, and I can't tell you what an honor it is to meet you. My wife and I have been following you two on the news since you ran away to France. Are you sure you're okay?"

Leonard shook his hand and said, "Nice to meet you, but as you can see, I'm having a terrible time here. I thought we were coming out here to visit my farm."

"You mean you didn't know about the development?"

"We thought it was in the middle of a legal battle," Honey answered. "We didn't realize things had gotten this far out of hand."

"I am so sorry to hear that," Granger said. "This must be quite a shock. I work for the developer, Wabash Homes, and they're in a hurry to get this thing going before the ground freezes."

"Is the farmhouse still standing?" Leonard asked.

"Yes, the house and all the barns are still intact right over that hill. I'm not supposed to let you on the property, but considering the circumstances and who you are, I don't think there will be any problem letting you look around."

"If anybody gives you trouble," Leonard said, "you can tell them I'm considering repurchasing the entire development."

"Oh, my, are you serious?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure yet. But thank you for letting us look around and reminisce. I promise we won't steal the barn."

Granger laughed and turned to walk away but then stopped. "Let me ask you one thing while I've got you all to myself."

"Go ahead," Honey said.

"Okay. Here it is. What's the real story on how you got out of the hospital jail in Paris?"

"You have been following us in the news," Honey said.

"You want the real answer?" Leonard asked.

"Yes, of course."

"The real truth is we walked out the door and there was nobody in the hall to stop us. Then we got into an empty elevator and went down to the basement to walk out another empty hall and into a car that was waiting for us."

"Where were all the guards?" Granger asked.

"They all took a break at the same time," Honey giggled.

"I see," Granger nodded knowingly as he walked away.

Once Granger was back in his truck and out of hearing distance, Leonard said, "I guess celebrity does have its privileges."

"Yes, but don't you think it's funny what interests people?"

"At least he didn't ask about our sex life."

"What would you say if he did?" Honey asked.

"I'd tell him I can't keep up with you."

Leonard brightened considerably as they walked over the hill and saw the farmhouse, looking exactly as it had looked since he grew up there as a child. It had been at least temporarily spared since it was located in a wooded area on the edge of the farm. He quickened their pace as they walked to the house.

"Maybe they'll turn it into a museum now that we're so famous," he joked.

"Don't laugh," Honey said as she turned the handle on the side door. "Look, it's open. Can we go inside?"

"Without hesitation," Leonard said as he led the way. 

"This is the kitchen," he said as he went over to the cupboard above where the stove used to be. "Ah, I can actually smell my mother's bacon and eggs in the morning. She used to mix in Parmesan cheese and parsley. They were delicious. She called them 'French eggs.' We never had anything like that in France, did we?"

"No, we didn't," Honey said.

"The sad thing is, she never made it to France."

"I would love to have met your mother. She must have been quite a woman," she said, wrapping her arms around Leonard's waist. "She certainly did a fine job on you."

Leonard hugged her back and then continued the tour. "Come on, I'll show you the studio where she used to paint. It's in the next room. Here it is. Look at this bay window. Talk about letting in a lot of light. See that love seat right over there? I used to sit there and watch her paint for hours in that wonderful light. Evenings when the sun got low was always her favorite time to paint. The light was 'rich' then she used to say. It was the best time to watch her paint because I could smell dinner in the oven."

Leonard lingered for a moment at the bay window. He was listening to something. He went into a trance, transfixed before the glory of the window light, which seemed much more brilliant than it had moments earlier. Honey stepped away.