The weak winter sunlight was barely filtering through dirt coated windows, but when a beam managed to struggle through the room and onto the floor, flecks of dust spiraled up like curls of smoke from a stick of incense.  Hamish sneezed.  It took a herculean effort not to drop the wooden crate he had cradled in both arms, but he managed to step over another box of junk and get the crate to the floor before he sneezed again.  A sound so loud it rattled the windows.  

“Shit.” 

There was no one else to hear him, and the sound of his sneeze still hung in the stillness of the abandoned attic.  He knelt down next to the crate and grabbed a claw hammer that hung from his belt.  With a few sharp cracks the wood splintered and he was able to pry the rest away with his hands.  Wood dust fell in heaps onto the burlap that wrapped the items nestled inside.  He brushed the fabric off and pulled up the first bundle.  It was a pair of wrapped candlesticks. He grunted and put them to the side. 

Several packages later he found a leather bound journal and began to flip through it.  It was in his father’s tidy handwriting and he became so absorbed he barely noticed the sound from the stairs.  After a loud clank he pulled a gun and turned to face the door.  A few seconds later his brother appeared, a look of surprise and then annoyance crawling on his face.  Hamish lowered his gun. 

“Lord Jesus you startled me.  Ever think about calling up before you scare a man half ta death?” He rocked back on his feet and cleared a space for Honey to set down the twin lunch pails he was carrying.  “What’s for lunch little brother?” 

Robert sniffled, wiping his nose on the shoulder of his flannel shirt a he grabbed the tin lunch pails and a crockery jar of milk for himself and his brother. They hadn’t brought much with them save for some food for the afternoon and tools for setting their fathers affairs in order. He’d left an old Victorian style farmhouse in rural Illinois that hadn’t seen the benefit of a rag or a mop in several months. The furniture was still in place, covered by tarps, awaiting someone to come and claim it and make it habitable again. His footsteps sounded hollow on the old wood floor and small plumes of dust kicked up with each step. Above him, he could hear the scuffle of his older brother who was busy rifling through the things their father had left behind after his sudden death. He made his way into the hallway where the rickety ladder stood in the opening that led to the attic. As he crested the top of the steps and stuck his head up, he was met with the barrel of a gun pointed towards him, held by his brother who looked panicked.

“Christ! Didnae mother ever tell you not to point a gun in the house? Nearly get my head blown off by my own idiot brother. Anyway I packed sandwiches and fruit.” He finished climbing through the hole and Sat down next to his lanky brother, opening the tin pail that had ham sandwiches on thick brown bread, hunks of cheese, and pears. He took a bite out of one of the crisp pears and nodded towards the book still open next to Ham. 
 

“What’s in the book, looks like Da’s writing.”

After sitting down fully and stretching his legs, Hamish gleefully dug in to the rich brown bread sandwich, savouring each bite.  His pocket knife made quick work of the sharp white cheddar and crisp pear and he washed the repast down with fresh milk. 

"Thanks for the dinner brother!  Now, let's wash up and look at that book I found."

Hamish took a wet cloth Honey had brought with him and wiped his hands, then picked up the book.  The first half was quite dingy, age having yellowed the onion skin thin pages and dulled the once black ink into a nearly illegible brown.  Hamish flipped idly through it until the ink began to darken, the spidery handwriting giving way to his father's clearer and stockier cursive.  It was mostly a ledger it seemed, farm accounts and so on until three quarters of the way through when there was an entry in much more delicate script.  If Hamish guessed correctly, it was a woman's writing. 

"Huh.  This looks like a list of house goods."  He handed his brother the book and went back to the crate he'd opened, hoping to find some context. 

The pair sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the sound of their lunch punctuated only by the wuthering of the wind in the eaves of the drafty attic. Soon they were finished and after packing up the tin, Hamish reached for the book that he'd mentioned earlier, holding it up for his brother to have a look. Rob fished into the pocket of his shirt, pulling out a thin leather pouch which held his glasses. He hated wearing them but couldn't see any of his father's tiny handwriting. Much of the information seemed standard fare but both he and his brother paused at the florid writing that swirled gracefully across the page. He reached over and pulled the book close, studying it with scrutiny as he compared the date to when his father had come overseas. 

"Ham, get a load of this. It's not ma's writing but it's some sappy note about family. All the rest of it in the beginning doesnae match with what's after, and it's a lot. Seems this woman, well I'm assuming it's a woman, was at least significant to Da. I'm gonna keep looking in the book, see if there's any more answers in the crate."

He scowled as he continued to thumb through the book, careful not to wrinkle any of the already creased pages. What it looked like, was that their dear ol' dad who had spent years telling them he was working in providing a better life for them was doing just the opposite. He didn't want to jump to conclusions but the words on the page seemed to confirm that growing suspicion. he closed the book with a snap and stood, dusting his pants off as best he could though there were still gray streaks on his trousers as he loped over to his brother. 

"Find anything good?"

Hamish grunted and pushed his legs out in front of him and stretched his back.  He turned to Honey and held out a stack of handkerchiefs and shook them lightly.  

"There's all sortsa stuff like this in this box.  Candlesticks, handkerchiefs, a few small crystal bottles, a gilded mirror, and other knick knacks."  He sighed and unwrapped one more burlap wrapped package, then stifled a moan of disbelief.  If the contents of the box, and the flowing, womanly script in the ledger hadn't raised his suspicions, this certainly did.  After a few seconds he felt his eyes cloud with angry tears.  Without a word he handed the item to his brother.  

"It's da." Was all he said.  

A few minutes passed in silence.  The sun had begun to set and Hamish stood and lit a kerosene lamp.  He finally heard a defeated sigh from Honey and sat next to his younger brother.  

"It's da." Honey said. "And another woman that's not ma."  Honey handed the framed picture back to Hamish.  "And a whole other family that's not us."  

Hamish pried the back off of the frame and took the picture out.  In the same fine script he'd seen in the ledger was a note on the back of the photo.  "Robert and Hannah Fry and children, Becca, Anne and Beth. 1911"  He handed the photo back to Honey and cocked his head. 

"Fry?  Who the hell is Robert Fry?" 

Honey sank down next to his older brother, taking the frame in his calloused hand as he stared at the picture. He was five years younger than Hamish and for the longest time, held on to a childish hope that his father would send for them. Now in his early thirties, almost twenty years had passed since he had last seen his father's face. The smiling visage next to a decent looking woman and three young girls who must be in their mid to late twenties by now made Honey clutch the frame a little too tight. He swallowed hard against a lump in is throat, an anger building that threatened to swallow the sadness and nostalgia that had washed over him since arriving in America. 

He handed the picture back to his brother before he did something stupid like break it and stood up in a rush, his face flushed with the sudden flush of emotion. He slammed his fist on the wall, causing a small shower of dust and feathers to rattle loose from the rafters. It took everything he had not to unleash a tirade of foul words aimed at their father. His ma had taught them both that well bred men controlled their emotions and that feelings were best left in private. Then and only then could they express whatever bitterness or anger or disappointment but others must not see them make fools of themselves. He was certain that if she knew the breadth of her husbands betrayal, she would still hike up her skirt and remind them that there was still work to be done and that what had past was over and done with. But they weren't with their Ma right now, and it seemed America operated on lower standards when it came to public displays of emotion. He turned to his brother, nostrils flaring as he still struggled to contain the heavy feelings. 

"Robert Fry is a cheat and a liar and his affairs would be better buried and done away with. We could sell the house and belongings and send ma the money and nobody would be the wiser about any of this. All she knows is that he's dead and her sons are overseas and part of me cannae help think that she's resigned that we'll meet the same fate and never return and leave her destitute in her late years. Lets be done with this foul place, there's nothing here for us. He made that clear enough."

He gestured to the trunk and the photo frame still clutched in Ham's hand. 

Without a second thought Hamish leapt to his feet and pulled Honey into a hug. 

"Yer absolutely right little brother.  The attic needs a few repairs, and the house needs a deep cleaning, but the farm could be worth a fair piece and it'd only be right to send the money to ma.  Although, why were we contacted when it's obvious da had a whole other family? If we're going to clean this place up and sell it, we'll also need to find out where the rest of Robert Fry's family went." 

He cleared his throat and brushed Honey's lapels off.  "We'll call a solicitor first thing tomorrow about Da's will and his missing family."  

Hamish carefully placed all of the items back into the wooden crate, save the ledger and the photo, then picked up the lamp and nodded to Honey.  

"Let's go Honey, we have some hard work ahead of us and we need to get some sleep before church tomorrow." 

Honey groaned, dreading church as it was most definitely not like the church he and his brother had been raised in. There was too much socializing and the songs were all wrong but at least the pastor had a few good talking points. He'd also realized that there were far more Catholic churches than he was used to. America was a land of opportunity he supposed and the Catholics had taken as many as they could. 

He reached down and fetched the tin pails and milk crock, making his way down the steps of the ladder with heavy thuds. Once Ham was down, they closed up the ladder and gathered their things to head back to the small boarding house 20 miles south of where they were now. Ham still clutched the book in his hand as though it were a lifeline though the person tethered to the other side was dead and gone. Perhaps he thought that he'd find more merit in it than the fact that their dad was a cheating bastard. 

It was odd though and on the bumpy car ride back, he couldn't help ponder Ham's question. If Da was dead and so was his new lady, then either their children must have died as well, or Da specified the boys be informed. But WHY? The solicitor would help them settle affairs and take care of everything but he was still uneasy. Late in the evening after the two of them had gone to bed he lay in bed trying to sleep but it wouldn't find him.

"Ham?" He whispered tentatively. his brother shifted and sighed before answering. 

"Yes I'm awake if that's what you were going to ask. No pigeons don't have feelings."

Honey chuckled as he turned to face his brother. 

"D'you think they're all dead like Da? That's three sisters we never knew about and I can't help but think about it."

Honey had been unnaturally quiet on the ride back to the boarding room they shared, to the point where Hamish wondered if his little brother had gotten ill.  They got ready for bed in silence, and with little more than a whispered prayer apiece the two of them laid their heads down on paper thin pillows and tried to sleep.  Hamish wasn't sure how much time had passed, but between the settling of the house, and sounds like people coughing and springs creaking there was an uneasy feeling in the air.  He heard Honey move a bit, then whisper his name. 

"Yes I'm awake if that's what you were going to ask. No pigeons don't have feelings."

Honey chuckled as he turned to face his brother. 

"D'you think they're all dead like Da? That's three sisters we never knew about and I can't help but think about it." 

Hamish shifted uncomfortably. 

"I hope not Honey.  It'd be a real shame to find out we have sisters just to find out they've all died."  He frowned.  "It doesn't really seem fair to me.  I mean, Da might have been a right bastard, but our sisters can't help who they were born to."  He finally sat up and rummaged in his pack.  Even though the house matron frowned on alcohol consumption Hamish always had a small flask just in case.  He took a sip and handed the flask to Honey without a word.  "Try to get some sleep alright?" 

Sunday passed slowly, even though church was shorter than in Scotland it still nearly put Hamish to sleep.  He considered himself and Honey lucky though that the matron of the boarding house prepared a large repast for Sunday dinner.  He ate well, then went on a constitutional by himself.  He'd already made a list in his head of the things he and Honey needed to do the next week, but finding some shade under a sprawling oak, he sat to write it down. 

He turned his smooth leather ledger book over in his hand and sighed.  His father had given it to him shortly before he left for America.  Hamish had treasured it and now he felt conflicted.  What had his father been thinking?  He chose not to get too maudlin and walked back to the house to ask Honey to play a game of catch with him. 

Church was predictable though they did sing one of his favorite hymns which sort of made up for it. Honey couldn't stop himself from cracking up when Ham nodded off during the sermon and spent the greater part of it trying to catch his attention. He winced but managed to hold it in when Ham jabbed him in the ribs, obviously having noticed his younger brother's shenanigans. They were still smarting as they walked out of the small presbyterian church and made their way back to the boarding house and there was quite a bit of good natured jostling of each other as they loped back just in time for Sunday dinner. 

The food was delicious and Honey helped the matron clean up since Sunday was his day to help with the chores. Once he was finished, he made his way up to their room to rest for a bit. He was soon out and did not wake until his brother came in with an old ball, asking him if he'd like to throw it around for a bit. 

"Aye, let me just wake up first. Suppose I got less sleep than I wanted. Did you enjoy your walk?"

The two of them loped out to the grassy knoll near the house and took turns tossing and catching the ball. His hand began to smart as he had no glove and after a solid half hour he paused, holding his hand up for a rest. 

"Give me a moment brother, my hand can't take too many more of your fastballs!" 

Hamish laughed and flexed his arms.  He had to admit he threw a little too hard at times, but he was having fun.  

"Let's go inside and get some lemonade huh?" 

Lemonade was a bit of a new treat, and he thoroughly enjoyed the sweet and tangy drink.  He tossed the ball into the air and caught it on the way down, then hopped up the creaky wooden steps that lead into the mudroom.  After pouring two large glasses for himself and Honey he sat at the table.  Normally the matron of the house discouraged sloth, but on the Lord's day she went to her mother's house after sunday dinner and everyone in the house was expected to provide their own suppers.  After their refreshments Hamish went up to their room and got out the sausages he had prepared the night before.  He cored two apples and shaved some cheese slices off for himself and his brother, then set them out on tin plates.

"Come get supper Honey!" 

The supper that Ham provided was simple but filling as the two of them sorted through their father's ledger to see if they could sort out any more information. Tomorrow they would pack up and head to Michigan, the only lead they had besides the book. The letter they had received at home had come from Detroit which was a considerable amount of distance from Illinois. After Hamish and Honey said their prayers and tucked in for the night, Honey drifted off rather quickly, sleeping soundly until the early morning bustle of the matron cooking breakfast roused him. 

He and Ham dressed quickly, packing their belongings away in their bags before heading downstairs to a hearty breakfast. Once full, they thanked the matron, paid their room, and headed down to walk the four miles into town where they would take the train to Detroit. It was a long walk but the company was decent and soon they were on their way with the countryside speeding past. 

"What else do you think we'll find once we're there? It's an awful long way to go from Da's house. Why so much distance?"

Hamish hated trains, but the other option was paying for a car, and even though the tow of them had fallen into some inheritance, it seemed wasteful to spend any of it before they had gotten more information about their Da.  Once the train was rocking rhythmically, he says back and put his hat in his lap, then flipped through his task book.  Honey's voice pulled him out of a list making frenzy, and he was glad to look up.  

  "What else do you think we'll find once we're there? It's an awful long way to go from Da's house. Why so much distance?"  Ham tucked the book next to him and stretched. 

"I hope what we'll find is a place to stay and a good meal.  But I have no idea who's summoning us or why.  If it's more about Da and his family, I can deal with that, if it's something else then I'm in the dark."  Ham got up and did a few twists and toe touches and then sat down after catching a glare from an older lady.  

"Nothing like trains from home eh Honey?  We'd have a cabin to ourselves and right about now a tea cart would be coming past." He sighed.  "I'm not having a very good time getting used to America." 

"It's awfully different than how we grew up." Honey acknowledged, staring out the window with his chin on his hand. The countryside was beautiful but nothing like their native Scotland. He drifted off after a few moments by the rocking motion of the car and awoke an hour later when the shrill horn of the train sounded as they approached the station in Michigan. Ham was busy gathering their things, holding out Honey's coat towards him which he took gratefully. Shrugging it on, he grabbed his bag and they made their way towards the doors. 

Soon they had found their way to a place where they could stay for the night and after a moment of debate, decided to find a restaurant to get dinner. They spent a few minutes tooling around near to their hotel, finally settling on a small restaurant that caught their eye. Taking their place at a table, they sat in companionable silence, the sound of the street outside muffled by the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and the patrons inside the restaurant. They chatted for a while, discussed plans on how to best go about the affairs of their father's estate, and when they were finished with their meal, they took a walk around the neighborhood before retiring back to their room. 

Morning broke to dingy gray skies which felt al the more familiar to Honey, but didn't quite bode well for their endeavors for the day. After breakfast of coffee and a sickly sweet pastry from the coffee shop next door, they set off to find the address on the envelop they had received back home. Realizing just how large the city was and how far away they were, they conceded that a cab would be in their best interest and hailed one. It sped through the streets and finally dumped them off in front of a stately office made of brick with a small sign out front informing them that the person they were looking for was indeed the same as the one from the address. Honey was just about to head up the stairs and knock when a loud voice called from behind them. Turning, they saw a pudgy man who was busy adjusting his pince nez classes as he stepped out of his vehicle. His expression was serious and judgmental as he reached for his briefcase. 

"Can I help you two gentlemen?"

Hamish reached out  and shook the elder gentleman's proffered hand.  

"Hello sir, My name is Hamish and this is my brother Robert."  He cleared his throat, it had been years since anyone other than their Ma has used Honey's Christian name.  "We've come up from Illinois or thereabouts." He held up the letter they'd been sent. 

"I'd say a fair bit farther than that judging by your accent." He smiled and waved the two brother up as he unlocked the door.  "Step inside gentlemen."    

The foyer was decorated in simple wooden benches and chairs, a few austere looking portraits hung on the walls. A tasseled American flag sat in one corner near the inner office door, and a pretty young woman sat behind a small table that held a blotter and a telephone. Hamish nodded.  It seemed like the type of place his father would have chosen to do his business.  Why so far from Illinois he had no idea, but perhaps their father had traveled around before settling down with his new wife.  He frowned. He didn't need to be hurt by that anymore, he needed to press on and solve the mystery. He and Honey were ushered inside the inner office and and after they had been seated gladly accepted cups of tea.  After tea and pleasantries had been dispensed, Hamish pulled out the letter from his inner pocket. 

"Our late father Robert McCrannon seemed to have done a fair amount of business with you.  This letter we received seems to intimate you have business with us now?" 

"That I do gentlemen.  That I do.  You see, your father had another family." He paused, expecting the boys to react.  They gave him dead stares, so he cleared his throat and continued.  "It's not my place to make any judgements, however, I handled many of his legal affairs, and he left the both of you more than just the farm."  He adjusted his glasses, trying to make sure they understood. "In fact, he left the two of you a small fortune.  You see, before your father passed away he made sure to have me write up the letter I sent you in the hopes that you two would get here before he passed away.  He felt that if you had already prepared for his death then you'd be less shocked about everything else he had to tell you.  Unfortunately, tuberculosis is a harsh disease and he wasn't able to fight through the winter.  You two arrived just a month after he passed."

Now the boys stared in disbelief. Both Honey, then Ham got up and paced, emotions flooding through them that they hardly understood.  Finally Ham turned on one foot and faced the solicitor. 

"That lying bastard." 

Honey sat back down, running his hand through his wild blonde hair as Ham continued to pace the floor. Both of them were distraught over the fact that there was far more to the already complicated story. Honey mumbled under his breath but Ham was much more vocal about his emotions.

"That Lying bastard!" He exclaimed, swiping his fingers and thumb down his face in disbelief.

"Now now." The solicitor pushed up the glasses on his face and frowned, trying to keep the boys in check with a patronizing tone. Honey wasn't having any of it and stood up so fast his chair tipped backwards. It landed on the floor with a loud clunk which caused the solicitor to wince and reach out. 

"Don't you now now us like you're our dear departed nan and we're wee babbies on the floor who need to be scolded. In the past month we've come to find out that the man who brought us into this world conveniently disappeared, started a new family, and died suddenly without a penny to our ma or us for our care and upbringing! There's nothing now now about this situation at all!"

He picked the chair up with dramatic flair and seated himself on it again, his anger and hurt and frustration evident on his face. The solicitor stacked papers neatly for a moment and then continued when he knew that Honey was calm enough to listen. 

"Your father was a hard working man. He did what he could to provide for you two, taking a job in the coal mines of West Virginia, working a grueling 12 hours or more each day and what pittance he got, he saved up to send back home to you two. After several years of saving up, he experienced the first of many health crises which led to being hospitalized with pneumonia. The prognosis was good, however, and through it he met and married his second wife. A nurse at the clinic where he went, she was a widow with two teenagers of her own about your age now had they not all passed from the Spanish Influenza that went around a few years back. It was truly unfortunate, both girls and their ma went so quickly there really wasn't anything to do but to take their young one and surrender her. A lady named Georgia came round offering respite and when her mama died and with your father being as infirm as he was, he just couldn't keep her. This Georgia said she had a home where the girl could live and be given a good life. After a few more months, your father's health took a turn for the worse and he developed tuberculosis. He contacted me at that time and began saving up what he could from his wife's insurance policy and legal settlement from the mine in Virginia so he could finally bring you two over stateside legally. However he found out that the service he'd been using for years to wire the money to you and your mother had been fleecing immigrants the whole time and had stolen millions of dollars from him and others like him. Spent the last few years of his life hunting down the people responsible to get back what was his. I, of course, helped him with all the legal aspects and he was able to recover enough to deposit a sizable amount for you two when you arrived. I do believe we've caught up to the present now and these belong to you."

He handed over a thick manilla envelope which contained documents, legal papers, and bank statements in their name. Everything seemed to be in order to have them naturalized legally if they wished. Other documentation which had been sealed even from the solicitor's eyes contained pertinent information as to the illegalities of the money thieves and information on the whereabouts of their sister as well. Honey looked at Ham with a knowing glance, nodding his head silently to his brother's unspoken thoughts. They knew what next to do though it wouldn't be easy, this was enough to push them in the right direction. 

"I assume this is sufficient?" The Solicitor asked in understanding, reaching into his breast coat pocket for a pen.