The Secrets We Bury

The line of people stretched all the way around the block. Kristen stepped into the back, wringing her hands. The library was usually a forgotten relic in this town, but today, it was all anyone could talk about.

Fifty years earlier, the people of Wellesley had shown up with their handwritten letters and hopes that their words would reach a brighter future. Over the years, the people had passed down stories and gossiped about what they had heard others write. The crowd had heard about their grandparents’ love letters and silly notes predicting fashion trends in the new millennium.

But that’s not why everyone had gathered outside the library today. That’s not why Kristen was so anxious to step inside.

One of those letters was written by none other than Richard Miller, the man whose name was plastered on most buildings downtown. The man who gave a million dollars to the local high school. The man who donated equipment to the hospital each year. Everyone knew about Richard Miller, the local hero, but no one knew what he had written five decades ago. Not even his granddaughter, Kristen.

Kristen grew up hearing countless stories about her grandpa. Some came right from his lips with a hint of embellishment to make the grandkids laugh. But the stories around town were about a genuine man who had carefully built the town from the ground up. Over the years, he had helped put Wellesley on the map and made friends everywhere he went.

Richard was a self-made legend, sure, but by the time he drew his last breath, all Wellesley seemed to care about was whatever was in that letter. The mystery grew over the years along with Richard’s fame. And as the questions intensified, so did Richard’s efforts to bury the letter. Kristen had once overheard her parents talking about how the library had rejected her grandpa’s offer to fund a series of renovations. She had accepted their reasoning at the time that the librarians were too proud to accept his charity.

But then came the legal threats. Miller Manufacturing had the best lawyers in the state, and they used every trick in the book to try to intimidate the library into destroying the letter. The library refused to budge. Richard had tried to keep it quiet, but this was a town where people liked to talk. The more Richard tried to hide those old words, the harder the rumor mill worked.

Some said Richard was hiding a secret family in Boston. Others said he was trying to cover up manufacturing secrets that he had written down long before Miller Manufacturing became a local titan.

Kristen hated the gossip, hated how crazy this stupid time capsule had made the sweet old man who now only lived in her photo album. She needed to see for herself what was really in the letter before the town spun a tall tale about her family. There was no way she could trust what she heard secondhand around here. Stories are like photocopies: the more they’re copied and retold, the more distorted they become.

The crackle of a microphone broke through Kristen’s train of thought.

“Hello, can everyone hear me? Yes? Good.” The woman adjusted her glasses. “I know there’s a lot of… excitement today. Please just remember that this is still a library, and be respectful. No matter what you find inside.” She winked and stepped aside to let the crowd in.

Kristen assessed the line ahead of her and felt her heart drop. There was no way she would reach the letter first. By the time she finally got to read it, surely half the town would’ve already passed it around.

Half an hour later, Kristen finally found herself at the door. She welcomed the wall of cool air on her face, enjoying those few seconds before her search began. There were boxes filled with crumpled, stained envelopes laid out across the library floor. People roughly rifled through them, tossing aside the rejects as if those envelopes didn’t contain their neighbor’s hopes and dreams.

Where could Kristen even start? Did it matter? Someone must have already gotten to her grandpa’s letter. She felt useless as she leaned over a box and began sifting through the mess of old memories. She picked up one of the letters, not recognizing the name on it, and hesitatingly set it down. It felt… wrong to read it. It wasn’t meant for her.

What was she doing here? If her grandpa couldn’t get his hands on the letter, what made her think she could waltz in and pick it out of the thousands? Kristen sighed, letting her shoulders droop down. This was silly, she thought as she began walking back toward the door.

A hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Wait,” a woman called out. “Are you Richard’s grandkid?”

“Yes… why do you ask?”

“Oh, good. I was hoping one of the Millers would show up today. I didn’t want some jerk to find this before your family did. It’s not right. Please… please don’t be mad. I know I wasn’t supposed to peek. But I’m glad I did. Please just take this and get far away from here.”

The librarian pressed an envelope into Kristen’s hands.

“Why did you do this?” Kristen asked. “I mean, I don’t really care that you read it first. But why are you giving it to me and not, I don’t know, doing a dramatic reading for all the busybodies in this place? That’s what anyone else would do around here.”

The woman smiled. “I received the Miller Scholarship when I graduated high school a while back. It paid for my education. It’s practically the whole reason I’m here and not just working at my dad’s restaurant. I guess I’m trying to pay it back.”

“Thank you,” Kristen whispered. She shoved the envelope in her pocket and sped out the door.

She kept walking until she couldn’t see the library behind her anymore. Her breathing was shallow, though she wasn’t sure if it was just the hot summer day or the anticipation of reading her grandpa’s words.

With a deep breath, she finally opened the letter, smiling at the looping script she thought she would only ever see again in her collection of old birthday cards.

Hello, Wellesley!

Boy, am I excited for the future. I sure hope you have flying cars whenever you’re reading this. Maybe by the time this time capsule is opened, the little business I’ve started will be making enough to pay the bills.

Kathy says to say hello to our future grandchildren, so hello, grandchildren! Gee, that sounds strange to say. We just celebrated Junior’s fourth birthday, after all.

So you may be asking, what’s life like fifty years ago? Well, we’re not made of money, but we have a fire going in the living room and three square meals each day, so I can’t complain. Bob said we’re going to have a big factory one day that makes equipment for the entire state. Heck, maybe we’ll be across the country. Dream big, right?

Junior, if you’re reading this, that’s your Uncle Bob, Bob Simmons, by the way. The man was practically a brother to me. You probably know all about how he’s the real brains of this operation. I’m good with the money side of the business, but he designed the machine. Really, it was his idea in the first place.

He passed a few months ago before we really got a chance to get things off the ground. Cancer. But I’m not letting his memory die. I want the world (or at least the town of Wellesley) to know what a stand-up guy he was. This little business wouldn’t have existed without his hard work. That’s why I’m going to give half the company to his family and change the name to R&R Manufacturing. He would’ve been embarrassed to accept this, but it’s the right thing to do.

If you’re reading this, I hope I found the courage to do what’s right.

Yours truly,

Richard Miller

Kristen raised an eyebrow. She had never heard about this Bob character. But maybe her dad had memories of an Uncle Bob. She unlocked her phone and called her dad.

The phone rang a couple times before he finally picked up. “Hello, sweetheart? Is everything okay? I’m on the ninth hole and the breeze is just right.”

“Yeah, sorry, dad. Hey, quick question. Do you know who Bob Simmons is? You won’t believe this, but I’m reading grandpa’s letter outside the library.”

“Bob? Yeah, I think he was grandpa’s friend a long time ago. He didn’t really like talking about him. Grandpa always changed the subject whenever he came up.”

“So the company isn’t partly owned by his family?”

“Not his family or anyone else’s. It’s all us Millers. Uh, honey, maybe we should talk about this at home.”

Kristen looked down at the letter. The piece of paper that her grandpa had spent thousands trying to bury. The hard decision elegantly scrawled with a fountain pen. Her grandpa’s regret—though if it was at writing the letter or erasing his friend from Miller Manufacturing’s story, she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that he had never regretted the decision enough to do the right thing. And that her dad knew more than he was letting on.

But what good would it do to dig up these skeletons? Grandpa was gone. Bob was gone. And it was her family that would have to deal with the fallout if any of this came out. Maybe it would be best to leave her grandpa’s legacy just as he intended.

She forced a smile. “Uh, no reason. Just curious. Sorry to bother you on your golf day, dad.” She hung up the phone.

The afternoon sun was starting to dip lower in the sky. For fifty years, the people of Wellesley had waited to learn Richard Miller’s secret. Within hours, Kristen had discovered a new mystery: who was Bob Simmons? And how many other names had been left out of her grandpa’s story?

Some truths fade with time. Others are passed down in silence.