“You didn’t consider finishing the book after his death?”
“In light of how he died—out with a bang, as they say, allegedly in the arms of his mistress—I did consider it. But beyond the grief that I felt at his loss, I was strictly prohibited from publishing anything. A clause in our agreement granted Robert the right to read the manuscript prior to release. I could do nothing without his consent. It wouldn’t have hurt the credibility of my Stanfield book, but the value of my word. A promise is a promise.”
“Tell me exactly what my mother overheard that she wasn’t supposed to,” I insisted.
The professor hesitated, sizing me up for a moment before continuing solemnly. “No, not before conditions have been agreed upon,” he said. “I will provide you with the means to find what you’re seeking, on the condition you grant your consent for my work to be published. Since a Stanfield heir has magically dropped from the sky, I daresay your consent would free me from my promise.”
With that, Morrison drew a key on a chain from his waistcoat pocket and unlocked a drawer in the cabinet against the wall. He pulled out a thick folder and laid it down before us.
“It’s all there, right in these pages. Read the chapters titled ‘1944,’ ‘1945,’ and ‘1946,’ then come see me, and I’ll fill you in on the rest.”
With that, he led us to the door and once more wished us luck.
I spent the rest of that day at the Johns Hopkins library, passionately poring over every last word of chapter “1944.” Every time I finished a page, I’d hand it straight to George-Harrison and he would read it himself. Through this odd ritual, we discovered the true circumstances that had swept Robert Stanfield out of Baltimore and into a hunting lodge deep in the wilderness of wartime France. We read of his friendship with Sam Goldstein, the clandestine operations with the Resistance, his torture at the hands of the enemy, his narrow escape, and how he heroically protected Hanna as they fled France and then Europe.
After reading late into the afternoon, I was no closer to understanding how Mum had come to hate a man of that caliber, the same man who had rushed to marry a young woman in a Madrid embassy to save her life. By all accounts, my grandfather had kept his word, whisking Sam Goldstein’s daughter away to America for a new life by his side.
I turned to the last chapter, eager to discover what befell my grandparents after they stepped off the ship.
33
ROBERT AND HANNA
July 1944 to March 1946, New York
With the war still raging across the ocean, Hanna and Robert watched from the deck of their ship as the Statue of Liberty emerged from the morning fog. While it wasn’t the first time either had laid eyes on Lady Liberty, the sight stirred powerful emotions in the newlyweds, sealing their union even more profoundly than their actual wedding day.
After passing through immigration, Robert and Hanna climbed into the back of a taxi that took them straight to The Carlyle, a venerable New York institution with stunning views of Central Park. The couple sat down in the hotel restaurant while their suite was being prepared. Robert ordered breakfast for two, then stepped away to call his parents. He had been unable to get through to them the whole time he was in Madrid, sending only a telegram to let them know he was still alive. Going from that to announcing that they had a new daughter-in-law would be quite a leap. But Robert knew he had to warn them that he’d be returning home with her by his side. He also needed them to wire funds to pay for the hotel and the trip back to Baltimore.
When Robert announced to the family butler that he was on his way home, the servant had no choice but to reveal the truth: Robert’s father had fled to Miami after squandering the last of the Stanfield fortune. What was worse, the family estate had been seized by creditors after they had missed too many mortgage payments. All that remained of the staff were one maid and the butler himself.