CHAPTER 7

PRESENT DAY, CHICAGO

Tassie stood by the fountain in Grant Park. The wind caught some of the spray and sprinkled her face. Moving a few feet away, she glanced around for an available bench, so she could munch her sandwich and decompress. High-powered lunches with senior partners and clients made her relish the days of simple lunches and walks to the fountain.

If she had extra time she could walk along Lake Michigan to lower her stress level, not to mention help her maintain fitness. Although she worked out at the gym near her office and in her apartment, nothing matched a fresh air walk.

She allowed the glistening rainbows the fountain created to mesmerize her. A familiar voice startled her from her reverie.

“Hello, Tassel. How are you?”

She almost dropped her sandwich. “Why, Hector, what a surprise. And disappointment.”

“Have you done your background check of Omar?” The straggly little man acted like her boss.

“Where do you get off, telling me—”

“I know you’re falling in love, Tassel.”

“What of it? It’s a free country.”

“He’s not from this country.”

“So, what, Hector? He has every right to be here.” Tassie threw her hands in the air. She didn’t have time for him today.

“True, but the country of his heritage does not like Jews.”

“Oh, please. We are both contemporary. In case you didn’t know, multi-culturalism is in vogue right now.”

“He covers his hatred well, Tassel.”

Tassie struggled not to yell. “Hatred? What are you talking about.”

“Before you give him your heart, Miss Tassel, press a little further.”

Tassie shook her head and turned to stare at the fountain. Feeling the anger subside a bit, she turned back to Hector. He was gone. She stood, knowing in the vastness of this park, he should still be visible.

“Sheesh, he’s like the invisible man.”

Tassie sat back down to finish her sandwich but had lost her appetite. She tossed it in the trash can and walked back to her office.

“Honey, could I tell you a little bit more of what I’ve learned in my research? On Blood Moons?”

“Mother, I . . . ”

“Sweetheart, just pretend I’m a boring witness, but you’re required to listen.”

Tassie closed her eyes and shook her head. “Fine, Mother, I’ll be polite.”

“Wonderful! You’re a gracious daughter.”

Tassie pulled out a chair, turned it around, and straddled it. “Hector will be glad.”

Her mother whirled around. “Who? What did you say?”

“Did I say that aloud? It’s nothing, Mother, nothing important.”

“No, please, what was the name you used?”

Tassie lowered her eyebrows but said nothing.

“Did . . . did you say Hector?”

Tassie gripped the back of the chair. “Mother, quit begging. It was a frumpy old guy that they let into the office . . . why, I don’t know. Said I needed to listen to the blood moon stuff from you.”

Her mother plopped into a chair and fanned herself with her hand. “Did he have long straggly hair?”

“I knew it.” Tassie stood up. “Mother, you can’t just ask people to come to my office and persuade me to do something. It’s . . . it’s . . . it’s unethical.”

“I’ve never spoken to him.” The color had drained out of her face.

“Of course, you did. He told me to listen to your research stuff. Who else even knows about that?”

“Well, actually, a number of people know. But Tassie . . . sit down, dear.”

“This is so exasperating. It’s like you sending the neighbor to school to remind me to behave. It’s wrong, Mother, wrong.” Tassie scraped the chair across the floor and sat down. “Okay, I’m sitting, but not for long.”

Her father walked in, patted Tassie’s shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “Sweetheart, settle down. It is an interesting story. You should know.”

Tassie leaned her head against her dad and took a deep breath. “Okay, Mother, how do you know Hector?”

Her mother locked eyes with her husband for a moment. “I was pregnant with you. I met a Lydia Abrams at the shower my friend Geraldine had for me. You remember Geraldine? Her daughter Annie and you ice skated together one winter when we lived in—”

“Yes, yes, go on. I remember.”

“Sorry.” Mother waved her hand which she often did when nervous.

Her father set down two cups of tea in front of Marge and Tassie. “Tea for my girls. Take your time, Marge. Tassie’s in no hurry, are you, Tass?” He winked at her.

Rolling her eyes at her dad, Tassie picked up her cup. “Of course not . . . I’m never in a hurry.”

Her mother reached across the table and patted Tassie’s hand, then picked up her own cup. “Thank you.”

“So . . . ”

“So, Geraldine’s friend Lydia was visiting from out of town, and when she heard that I studied archaeology, relics, history, she began telling me all about her study of her family history and the relics connected to it.”

Tassie’s voice rose a notch. “She told you about the bottle. Of course. Her name was Lydia. Hector is her husband.”

Her mother ignored her tone. “No, she did not know about Hector. But she began to tell me the history of Christopher Columbus. I’d heard bits and pieces. I remember my grandparents talking about it, and of course, Uncle Rupert, but my parents were dismissive of it, so I was never curious. Which is surprising, because of my love of history.”

“You were a lot like somebody we’ve watched grow up.” Her father returned to stand behind Tassie and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Actually, Tassie, you are so like your mother.” He rubbed her shoulders.

Tassie breathed deeply. “I get it, okay.”

“When I told her about the memory of my grandparents discussing Columbus, she asked their names. She thought Winkelman just might be in the Columbus genealogy and promised to look it up. We became fast friends and wrote letters to each other often. Indeed my grandparents and I were in the genealogy. I began to do my research in earnest.”

“So, where does Hector come in?” Tassie sipped her tea and quelled the urge to tap her foot.

“It was a dream, I think.”

Tassie raised her eyebrows. Oh, Mother, puh-leeze!

“I was eight months pregnant with you and tired all the time. I gained so much weight with you.” She looked at her husband and covered her mouth with her hand.

The judge pulled out a chair and sat down. He grinned at Tassie. “There was a time a lady asked her when she was due.”

“Yes, yes, I was six and a half months.”

“And your mother responded, ‘two or three months’. This woman gasped and said, ‘I thought you’d say two or three weeks. I hope you don’t have to wear a sling’.”

Tassie’s dad was laughing with tears rolling down his face.

“I wanted to slap her.” Marge grinned. “But I said nothing.”

Tassie shook her head. “I think I would have kicked her. With sharp toed shoes.”

“So anyway, I was big at eight months, waddling everywhere, and I sat down often for naps. It was one of those times. To this day, I’ve wondered if it actually happened, but I’ve always assumed it was a dream.”

Marge brought her hands together against her face and stared across the room for a moment. “In the dream I woke from sleep to the doorbell ringing. Before I could get out of the lazy chair, the door opened a crack and an older man’s voice called my name. I was groggy and must have assumed I knew him. So, I called, ‘come in’.”

Her mother paused and took a sip of her tea. “Well, this scraggly man came in. Slightly balding on top, he had long gray and blond hair, a few missing teeth, but the kindest eyes. He said, ‘Margie, Margie, don’t get up. I’ll just sit and visit.’ He told me his name was Hector Woodley.”

The sound of Tassie’s cup crashing to the floor startled all of them.

“Oh, my, Tassie, are you burned? Are you cut?”

“I’m . . . I’m okay.”

Her father had already knelt, mopping up the mess and picking up the cup. “I’ll get you another cup, sweetheart.”

“No, no, Daddy. I’m fine, but . . . but, Mother, I never told you Hector’s last name.” Tassie’s hand shook.

“Your Hector was Hector Woodley, too?” Her dad sat back down and laid his hand on his wife’s hand. “Maybe it wasn’t a dream.”

“Daddy, how. . . ”

“Well, look at the evidence, darling.” He retrieved another cup of tea and set it in front of Tassie.

Tassie shifted in her seat. “Go on, Mother.”

“Well he came in and sat right down. There was a bit of a smell. Reminded me of a farm we used to visit. It wasn’t overwhelming, but I noticed it.”

Tassie gulped but said nothing. Good grief, he still smells.

“’You’re studying your family history’, he said. I nodded, even though it wasn’t a question. ‘You need to know you are a direct descendant of Christopher Columbus, as is your little girl, here.’ Now, Tassie, we didn’t know if you were a boy or a girl. I was shocked that he said that and I was confused. But again, I just nodded. Then he said that you . . . ” She paused and glanced at her husband.

“Go ahead, honey. It’s time we told her.” Her father tapped the table. “If it’s true, it’ll happen. If not, it’s just a curious event.”

Her mother reached over and took Tassie’s hand. “He said, ‘This little girl has been chosen to be influential in the last days’ events of Israel.’”

Tassie stood up. “Whaaaat! Last days! Mother, that is ludicrous!”

“Let her finish, Sweetie. Sit down.” Her dad nodded at her.

Tassie put her head in her hands.

“Then Hector said, ‘She will bring back Lydia’s tassel and provide blessing to Israel.’ I just stared at him. I was speechless. Then he said, ‘In fact, Tassel would be a fitting name for that wonderful child.’ He reached over, squeezed my hand, and then walked out the door. The next thing I remembered was waking up as your dad came through the door. I told him the dream, even though it seemed so real.”

“We didn’t talk about it much.” Her father’s voice was hoarse. Tassie bit her lip. “We talked about other names, names already planned, but when you were born, we looked at each other and together we said, ‘Her name is Tassel.’ Your mother smiled and said, ‘Tassel Lydia Stevens.’”

“When I was pregnant with Reuben we worried that we’d have to name him Hector.”

Tears ran down Tassie’s cheek and her tea sputtered out of her mouth as she began laughing. “Oh, oh, my.”

Her father coughed and put his head in his arms on the table and his body jiggled all over.

“Jack, are you okay?”

He nodded his head. “Can . . . you imagine? Hector.”

Tassie sniffed. “My side hurts. I can’t stop laughing.”

Marge blew her nose. “I know, I know.”

Taking a deep breath, Tassie composed herself. “So, was it a dream or did Hector just walk into your house? I know I wasn’t dreaming when he just walked into my office.”