The Old Scrapbook

By Dennis Higgins

The Old Scrapbook is real. The characters within its pages were real as well. This story is an attempt to fill in the blanks of their actual relationship. Bet and Ray met, fell in love, and got engaged until a war separated them, World War II.

Seventy years later, the old scrapbook was found, and the mysteries involved rediscovered.

I became obsessed with the scrapbook and what could have become of the young woman, Bet, who created it. I felt that woman was somehow guiding me as I wrote the story. That’s how I felt from the beginning; like I was led to that war-time scrapbook by an unseeing hand that I could feel something from its pages. How Bet’s loving nature and fun personality transcended the years, coming out of the words and pictures from those black pages. It made this the most unique book I had ever had the pleasure of writing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis Higgins
• Release date: Oct 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005793470

Dennis Higgins

Award-winning author, Dennis Higgins is a distant relative of Davy Crockett, King of the wild frontier. He has traveled the world over, collecting story ideas. As a native of Chicago, Illinois, Dennis Higgins has a passion for things that are gone but not forgotten, a romance with the past. For him, time travel is the answer. If not for real, then in the pages of his books.He now lives in the Chicago suburbs with his lovely wife, and their Lhasa Poo dog, Dom Perignon.Among his influences are Richard Matheson, Jack Finny, Dean Koontz, Joan Wester Anderson, Peter S. Beagle, and Audrey Niffenegger.Author of Pennies From Across the Veil, Parallel Roads (Lost on Route 66), the Time Pilgrim series: (Katya and Cyrus, Almost Yesterday, and Tomorrow's Borrowed Trouble), Steampunk Alice, The Old Scrapbook, The Writer’s Apprentice, Christmas Returns to Pottersville, Confessions of an Internet Scammer, Goes to Eleven, and The Automated Wife.*****Quote:I once had a passionate affair with an Irish lass back in 1871 Chicago. I broke her heart. It just wasn't our time.

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The Old Scrapbook By: Dennis Higgins

Acknowledgements:

First and foremost, I acknowledge Bet and Ray for their otherworldly assistance.

Also, with grateful acknowledgements:

The family of Betty, especially her children, Jim (and Ellen) and Cindy . But also Tom and Ron and numerous grandchildren who were assisting behind the scenes.

To my virtual sister, renowned multi -genre author and illustrator, Virginia Wright for edits and her ideas and work on the back cover.

To my good friend, Katrina Ribordy for extensive editing.

For the wonderful services of Ancestry.com

For the wonderful website, fieldsofhonor-database.com , w hich honors the American military cemeteries from around world.

Printed in the United States of America Front cover by: Dennis Higgins

Published by Dennis Higgins, Time Pilgrims Publishing

Copyright © 2016 by: Dennis Higgins

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is

investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine

of $250,000.

With exceptions and otherwise noted, names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,

electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information

storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

Other Books by the Author:

Pennies From Across the Veil

Parallel Roads (Lost on Route 66)

Time Pilgrims Trilogy

Confessions of an Internet Scammer

The Writer’s Apprentice

Steampunk Alice

Goes to Eleven

The Automated Wife

Dedications:

To Betty who lovingly made this scrapbook , to her family who helped with inside information and memories of their dear mom, to Raymond who gave his life in the service of World War II, t o Ray’s family (my family) who preserved the scrapbook for over seventy years.

CHAPTER ONE

Chicago, IL, Present Day

Mom died last year and I was still going through her belongings. On one particular Friday night, the rain was coming down in sheets, pelting the windows of my Chicago condo. Storms always seemed worse on the third floor since moving near the lake.

I was thinking about asking Megan out again, but we had only just started getting to know each other, and I didn’t want to push it. I spend a lot of time alone with my cat since becoming one of Chicago’s youngest successful real estate agents, selling high -end condos.

I pulled out one of mom’s boxes of pictures and photo albums. It was difficult to sort out all those memories…her memories. It’s sad to think that once my brother and I are gone, all her memories will die with us. If I were to ever have kids, they will only know her from my reminiscence, while their kids won’t know her or her memories at all.

I looked through a photo album of a trip she and my dad took to Hawaii. In the back she had stuffed a few miscellaneous pictures of Paul and me. I had to laug h, she marked the back of all her photos with the full first and last names. The one I held in my hand read: Paul and Kenneth Turner at Foster Beach.

My cat, Moonshadow, came and sat on the pile of pictures on my coffee table. He often did this when he was hungry, so I thought I should check his water and food supply. I wondered if Megan likes cats. I also wondered if she was the type of person who would enjoy sitting home on a rainy night, going through old photos.

The silly cat had both, food and plenty of water, so while I was in the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of wine.

I dug into the box of albums and pulled out the next one. Only I noticed, this wasn’t a photo album. It was made of leather and bonded with a cord. The leather was embossed with, among other things, an American eagle, planes, a tank, and a battleship. Without even opening it, it became fairly obvious that it was a scrapbook from World War II. But my parents weren’t old enough to be in that war. Why would mom have this?

I opened the cover and peered down at pages of black paper with little picture-hanging corner sleeves and white ink. The first page had the words, Bet and Ray , with a black and white picture of a man I had never seen before. He was pasted in a white inked heart. I didn’t know who he was, but he looked a little like my cousin, Freddy.

I paged through the book briefly and saw him again with a woman. They were a handsome young couple in very period 1940s clothes. He wore a suit with wide

lapels, and a tie with a leaf pattern on it. She was in a polka dot dress with puffy shoulders.

As I tried to think of who this couple may have been, I suddenly remembered my mom talking about her Uncle Raymond, who was killed in the war. That’s how she always referred to him, and that’s all I knew about him. His name was Raymond Speck and he was killed in the war. But who was this woman? It became obvious with just the next turn of the page; it was she who made the scrapbook.

My mom had a large family and Grandma had other brothers and sisters. We grew up knowing all of them and partook in many family functions at their homes. But never once had I heard any stories of Raymond, much less his girlfriend, Bet, which I assumed was short for Betty. But no last name was ever written. Sadly, my mom was the last one of the family still living who would have known anything about her. Now she’s gone as well.

I found myself fascinated with that scrapbook. From it, I learn that Ray moved to Chicago from West Virginia, as many of my mom’s family did, including herself. It is here in Chicago that he met Bet. She chronicled everything about their lives together, from how they met to the shows they attended. She added theater stubs, drawings, and many photos. What impressed me most was her sense of humor and zest for life. Her white ink pen narrated every aspect of their existence along with humorous commentary of every single picture.

How I wish I could find a woman like her. I’m tired of dating a different girl every couple of months. The love Bet had for Ray was pure and there was something innocent and wonderful about it. I could tell he loved her, too, but I only had the look on his face in the photos to go by.

Sometimes it’s easy to think that women of the past were not independent and strong. Logically, I know that wasn’t true. Women had to step up and work in factories, and the 1940s produced some of the strongest

women in history. But in my mind, I always saw them with old fashioned ideas of being good housewives and catering to their men. Perhaps that ideal came back in the 1950s and it never really appealed to me. It is obvious that Bet was a strong, witty, articulate, and independent woman.

I tried to think if anyone would still be alive today who might know anything about who Bet was.

As I got up to grab my phone, Moonshadow’s tail nearly knocked over my glass of Malbec. I had recently learned to enjoy the Argentinian red wine.

I called my cousin, Ginny, and asked if she knew any stories of Raymond and Bet. Her grandmother and my grandmother were sisters and Ray was their brother. Like I said, memories are lost to generations. Ginny only knew he was the uncle who was killed in the war.

The scrapbook contained only a couple of old pictures of Ray in West Virginia; but most of the pictures were from Chicago or other parts of Illinois.

I came upon one page in which they had gone with a group of friends to something called the Railsplitter’s Lodge. The trip was dated October 25, 1942. I did a Bing search and nothing came up. At first I thought it was Railsplitter’s State Park, but that was created in 1971. I assumed Railsplitter still had something to do with Lincoln and Illinois. She wrote that they were all dressed like farmers and had a wonderful time with no arguments. She called it the Grandest outing anyone could go out on . It must have been a treasured memory for her. She filled up three pages of pictures and handmade drawings. She had even drawn the lodge itself, along with the two structures, separated as wo men and men. I didn’t know if they were outhouses or if she was letting any would-be viewer know that the genders were separated. Like I said, there seemed to be an innocence about their relationship.

It occurred to me, the scrapbook was a 1940s version of something like Facebook. It recorded pictures and places they went, along with things they did. The

funny commentary was much like an early meme. Only the audience was much smaller. The scrapbook was made for herself and perhaps Ray.

One picture had Ray and another male friend carrying Bet as she sat perched between both their shoulders. She captioned it, saying, They wouldn’t do this to me! (Or would they?) The next photo had her bent over a log as Ray and one of th e other women playfully held pipes above her. Her caption read, Go’wan, hit ‘er, Ray!

This trip and the fun they had was a memory, captured in pictures, yet lost in time. It made me melancholy.

It