The House That Jack Built

By Margaret E. Reiling

This is a story that is based on truth. Over forty years ago three young lives were taken. They never had a chance for justice until now. But what actually had happened is the wrong man has been convicted of this heinous crime. The real murderer was never tried or convicted. He walked through life with this lie and got away with it. How do I know? He was my father. This is a journey inward to find the disturbing truth about a man that was a mystery to all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 30, 2004
• ISBN: 9781465330345

Margaret E. Reiling

My name is Margaret E. Mack. I am fifty years old and live in Hanover Park, Illinois. I have been married for thirty-three years to a wonderful man. I have four grown sons, three married and a grandson that is 15 months old. I was raised primarily by my grandparents, Cleo & Bill Maurer in McHenry, Illinois. Cleo was a big factor in my decision to become a writer. I am very active in community activities. I am also a published author in the "CHICKEN SOUP OF THE GOLDEN SOUL." I have finished three other books.

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Copyright © 2003 by Margaret E. Reiling

7632 Manchester Manor, Hanover Park, Illinois 60133.

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from Margie E. Reiling (Mack)

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CONTENTS

THIS IS THE HOUSE

THAT JACK BUILT

IN THE BEGINNING

INNOCENCE LOST

DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES

. . . HE COULD CHARM THE BIRDS FROM THE TREES’

DARE I CALL YOU FATHER

THE EYES OF HEAVEN

"THE FRUIT OF THE

POISEN TREE"

THERE CAN BE NO PEACE, UNTIL I HAVE ALL THE PIECES

I’d like to dedicate this book to

the three angles that helped me:

Robert, John and Anton

THIS IS THE HOUSE

THAT JACK BUILT

THIS IS THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.

This is the POISON that lay in the house that JACK built.

These are the LIVES that were destroyed by the POISON that lay in the house that JACK built.

These are the PROMISES that never were kept that were part of the LIVES that were DESTROYED by the POISON that lay in the house that JACK built.

This is the SECRET that CRUSHED the PROMISES that never were kept, that were part of the LIVES that were destroyed by the POISON that lay in the house that JACK built.

These are the WIVES that CONCEALED the SECRET that CRUSHED the PROMISES that never were kept, that were part of the LIVES that were destroyed by the POISON that lay in the house that JACK built.

And these are the CHILDREN that were born from the WIVES that CONCEALED the SECRET that CRUSHED the PROMISE that never were kept, that were part of the LIVES that were destroyed by the POISON that lay in the house that JACK built… .

But… Unlike some stories the CHILDREN rise up and the WIVES tell the TRUTH about the SECRETS that they knew, that CRUSHED all the PROMISES that never were kept, that were part of the LIVES that they now could CORRECT, and finally wash away, the POISON that lay, DEEP in the house that JACK built.

YOUR HOUSE IS GONE, DEMOLISHED, RUINED, DESTROYED, RAZED . . . .

SO MUCH FOR THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT! ! ! ! ! ! !

missing image file

Jack Reiling

"The way you walk is thorny . . . .

Through no fault of your own.

But as the rain enters the soil . . . .

The river enters the sea . . . .

So tears surround a predestined end . . . .

Find peace for a Moment my son."

Maria Ouspenskaya to Lon Chaney

In the movie The Wolfman

IN THE BEGINNING

EVERY STORY BEGINS SOMEWHERE; I GUESS MY

story begins when the searching began, which in my

mind has been forever. I was trying to, first of all, find my siblings. Of course, I was trying to put some fact into the deep secret that I knew about my Father. A secret that was so intense that I expected it to come alive, before my very eyes, if I blinked the wrong way.

Even though I knew my Father was dead, there would be times that I would inadvertently, on purpose, look out of the corner of my eye, and see him standing there, smirking at me. The road to the past was lonely, and disturbing. All right I admit it, I was obsessed on finding out everything I could about this man. I needed peace. I needed truth. I needed answers. My Mom had told me about my Fathers’ dirty deed some twenty-six years ago. Being only sixteen at the time, I really did not know what to do with the information that she handed down to me, like a family heirloom.

So, I hid it in the place we all have. All the little secrets that we manage to carry with us have great bearing and burden on our lives; until someday when we have the courage or the need to bring them out into the open. Every step I took in my life has been based on who and what my Father was. It is a common truth for all of us, if we are brave enough to admit it. We are sometimes measured or compared by the path our parents have laid before us.

I noticed a pattern to my obsession. After I would find out one thing, I felt as I was in an elevated state, only to come crashing down feeling, provoked, wrathful, incensed, and maddened about this man and all his secrets.

I had no peace. Each day I would wait for a letter to come from some distant cousin or cohort of my Fathers with more news of his life.

In my mind, I never really believed that he was dead until I received his death certificate along with his prison papers. I was absolutely dumbfounded. Here was the truth of his death and I never even had the chance to probe his mind, to ask him the questions I longed to be answered. Why did you kill those boys? How did you get the will to go on with your own life and still continue to infect every human being around you? Why did you do this to them, to us, to yourself? The countless unanswered questions are eternally dancing in my mind.

Where you sorry for what you did? Better yet, am I sorry that I know? You bastard! I shouted out loud. You got away, and I am left to do this thing by myself, not that you would have helped me anyway. The awful truth was that I still loved him so much that the mere thought of him stole away my very breath. In front of my husband, my children, and primarily my Mother I acted like I didn’t care. It had to be that way. I wasn’t allowed to have the same emotions as others. I was expected to be strong; to carry on no matter what happened. It was just another hill to climb, but good old Margie will never give up.

After reading through his papers quickly, I felt grubby. His essence, even though he wasn’t here he covered my skin like soot. I could feel the hairs of my body standing up. I knew what I needed, a shower. I usually shower in the morning, but this evening I needed to feel the warmth of the water on my body once again. Alone in the shower the tears came; mixed with warm water it tasted good in my mouth. I opened my mouth and a silent scream came out. The kind of scream that lives so deep within your soul that it tries to paralyze you with one simple breath. You know what I mean. The part we keep protected. It’s the kind of depth that some of us only allow God to see. Crying in the shower was safe, because no one could hear me. It was healing. Every drop that came down my face gave me hope.

It reminded me that I was not alone, and that I had to stick with a saying that I had picked up from somewhere. THERE CAN BE NO PEACE IN YOUR LIFE, UNTIL YOU HAVE ALL THE PIECES. Consequently I went on, and I would find the answer to all of his secrets. There would be a healing, a healing that should have happened along time ago. So I let myself remember. I allowed the thoughts and images that were buried to come alive once more. I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered the very thought of me.

I was a hopeful child. I loved everything that made me feel good. I longed for the togetherness of a large family. Being raised by my grandparents was good, but I wanted sisters and brothers. My grandfather’s sisters all lived across the road from us. They were three spinsters and were very close to the oldest sister who had married and had children. Those children all had five and six kids each, so when they would come out to the river (it was called that because we lived right off of Fox River in McHenry, Illinois) I was elated. I was always on my best behavior, for if I wasn’t my Aunt Sylvia would say, go home now to your house and eat, we have company. I would cry and my grandmother would swear, but I got over it and realized that the only company in my life was myself. So I pushed to grow up quickly, and quickly I did.

When I was sixteen, two things became very prominent in my life. I had fallen deeply in love with an older man, (to whom I am still married to 33 years later) and I wanted to try to find my Father. This was not the usual path of a girl my age, but I wasn’t your usual girl. I loved life and mysteries. I was always asking why? So when I decided to take the path least taken I knew that I would love this man I was about to marry forever and I also knew that there were pieces of me out in the world that I had to locate.

So I was also going to try to find the siblings that I knew existed out there just beyond my reach. It was a glorious summer night being shared between my future husband and myself as we gazed up at the blanket of stars while sitting in his red and gray 1957 Chevy. I was so in love, and so bullheaded. My Mom did not approve of my relationship, nor did she approve of anything that I did for that matter. But like most teenagers, I really didn’t give a damn. I felt she didn’t even know who I was. After all, she was the