— Chapter One —

Brussels Sprouts with Mint

F

elix Kendell’s voice carried a threatening tone, his teeth clenched, and his grip so tight that his fingers began to cramp. “I swear to God, if you don’t stay right there, I’ll tear you to pieces.” His bright blue eyes narrowed, and his medium-thick lips pressed into a straight line, revealing his white, even teeth.

At twenty-two, Felix possessed a strikingly handsome face, with thick golden hair and a physique reminiscent of a swimmer. Standing six feet two inches tall, the noble and well-defined bridge of his nose further enhanced his impressive stature. Although Felix was usually known for his disarming smile, the intensity of his words in this moment left no room for doubt.

Felix, feeling frustrated, cautiously loosened his grip as his fingers ached and felt numb. The piece of food he had been holding slipped from his fingers and landed on the desk. Seated in the office chair, Felix leaned back. He was using a cherished heirloom, a mahogany desk crafted by a German artisan, as his art table in the upstairs study. As he stood up to contemplate his next moves, his younger brother entered the room.

“This is going to be harder than I thought,” Felix said to himself as he picked up the fallen piece of food to examine it.

Tommy walked into the study and noticed his brother Felix behind the large desk. He exclaimed, “Ah, there you are! I’ve been looking for you.”

“Good morning, Tommy. You didn’t make it to breakfast this morning. Were you sleeping in again?” Felix asked.

“My dear brother, I never sleep in. I always make sure I’m up before noon,” Tommy replied proudly.

“And that’s not sleeping in?” Felix countered.

“No, not at all. The way I see it, mornings are for sleeping—just never past noon,” Tommy explained. “Besides, it gets too hot in my bedroom for that,” he added.

Thomas Herman Kendell, known as Tommy, was the young man who found Felix in the family’s study. He looked like a mirror image of Felix but was twenty pounds lighter. Well-mannered and educated, Tommy was always cheerful and kind. He was five years younger than his older brother, Felix.

“What in the world are you working on?” Tommy asked.

Felix gestured to his work on the mahogany desk, arms outstretched and palms facing up as if he had just performed a magic trick. “Oh! Well, come and take a look, my dear man. I call it my *vocastine illud statua sculpture cibi.*”

“Did you just say ‘sculpture of food’ in Latin?” Tommy asked, looking puzzled.

“I did—more or less,” Felix replied. “I’m creating my art piece for an exhibit in two weeks at Lincoln Park. It’s a contest to see who can create the best-looking sculpture out of food. So, what do you think?”

Tommy began his critique of Felix’s work. “Well, first, you need to brush up on your Latin. Second, I believe you should have taken more art classes in college. And third, what is the sculpture supposed to represent?”

“Ah! It’s Sandro Botticelli’s masterpiece—*The Birth of Venus.* Right now, it only features Venus. I didn’t bother to include the other characters from the painting,” Felix said, crossing his arms and placing his hand on his chin. “Or maybe I should change everything and go with Michelangelo’s statue of David?”

Tommy exclaimed, “I must say, this seashell is a great addition to your Venue statue. Now, what’s this? Broccoli? I see that’s cauliflower, but what’s this?” He poked at the assortment of vegetables before him.

“It’s a cocktail pickle. I trimmed it a bit,” Felix replied.

“I see! Well, it looks good enough to eat, Felix. But I doubt it will last until your exhibition, even if you keep it in the pantry’s icebox,” Tommy said.

“No, no, this is just my prototype. I’ll work on the real one later. I’m trying to figure out how to keep the broccoli and cauliflower together. If I do it well, the first-place winner gets a blue ribbon!” Felix added with excitement.

“Wow,” Tommy said with a smirk, “you can place that ribbon next to your Olympic diploma from Antwerp.”

“I just might do that,” Felix replied with a sly grin. “So, what made you want to find me? Besides coming up here to give me a hard time,” he added, suddenly deepening his voice to an operatic timbre, “about my masterpiece?”

Tommy said, “I wanted to find you because you received a telegram at the front door. It was sent by a man named Mr. John Badcock from The Herald Gazette. It says you are to start first thing Monday morning.”

“Are you serious, or are you just pulling my leg?” Felix exclaimed.

“No, sir—I’m not joking, my friend,” Tommy replied. “You need to be there at eight o’clock sharp. Here, take a look for yourself.” He handed Felix the piece of paper he had pulled from his shirt pocket.

Felix grabbed the telegram and quickly scanned it. A smile spread across his face as he exclaimed, “Berries and cream! This is the best news I’ve gotten all month! Do you know what this means?” He slapped the telegram with the back of his hand.

Tommy replied, “Yes, I do. If you go to work for a newspaper, your father will skin you alive. May I make a request? I wish to have front-row seats when you tell him tonight.”

Felix proclaimed, “Oh, please! Father will get over it. Besides, this is a good thing for him; he won’t have to see me every day.”

“So, let me get this straight,” said Tommy. “Last month, you graduated from Northwestern and were at the top of your class. Then you moved back home, but instead of joining the family business, you started looking for a newspaper job as a paperboy? Do I have that right?” he asked.

“Sports reporter,” Felix clarified.

“Ah, yes. The life of a sporting correspondent. Indeed, Father will consider your vocation a distinguished pursuit in our fair city,” Tommy replied, raising an eyebrow.

Felix poked his brother in the chest with his index finger, wearing a proud smile as he said, “And that, dear brother, sums me up perfectly.”

“Well, congratulations!” exclaimed Tommy, returning his attention to the pile of vegetables on the desktop. “I’m genuinely happy for you. And may I add that you’re lucky our Mother still loves you. She’s the only thing standing between you and the curb, where Father is likely to kick you out, too. So, are you sure you don’t want to work for Williams & Kendell?”

“Can you imagine me working for Father at Williams & Kendell?” Felix asked Tommy. “Me, sitting in an office looking over sales reports all day and trying to figure out the next big thing people will want to buy? I’m not cut out to be a businessman.”

“Is it really that bad?” Tommy replied. “You know, there are worse things than being part of the mail-order business. Besides, it has always been successful for our family.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Tommy,” Felix said. “Father is great at that stuff, but I’m not, and I don’t want to be. That was Theodore’s dream, not mine.”

Tommy then asked, “Speaking of which, have you talked to Theo lately?”

“No,” Felix replied quietly. “I thought he would have come to my graduation, but I guess not.”

“Yeah, he hasn’t been the same since coming back from the war, has he? He seems so distant when you talk to him,” Tommy said.

“Well, Mother didn’t want him to go off to war, but Father had already arranged for Theo not to be drafted by Mother’s request. Theo could have avoided it, but it was ultimately his decision. No one forced him to go,” Felix explained.

Tommy asked, “Sure, but how long does it usually take for someone to get over being shell-shocked?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Felix replied quietly.

After staring at his food sculpture for a long moment, Felix suddenly said, “Hey! What do you think about taking a weekend trip to Indiana to see him?”

Tommy responded, “I don’t know, Felix. We should really check with Theo first before we drop in unannounced. Besides, I’d prefer if he came home to see us. That way, we can be more sure he wants to be around us again. Maybe then he can find a way to reconcile with Mother.”

“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath waiting for him and Mother to make peace,” Felix remarked.

A couple of hours later that same day, Frank Kendell returned to his home on Orchard Street. He entered through the back door, hung his hat on the hook beside the entrance, and carried his briefcase to his study, which was situated near the front entrance of the house. After placing his briefcase on his desk, he called out his wife’s name to let her know he was home.

Frank, born before the Great Chicago Fire and having spent most of his life in the city, was a slim 52-year-old man with a neatly trimmed mustache. He smoked a pack of cigarettes daily but rarely drank alcohol. Standing six feet tall, he weighed 155 pounds.

After graduating from the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana, located 140 miles south of Chicago, Frank returned to the Windy City and joined his father’s business. The family had invested in a mail-order catalog business years earlier, originally named Williams’ Farm Supplies. Horatio T. Williams, the company’s founder, sold his half of the business to Frank, after which it was renamed Williams & Kendell. Tragically, Horatio passed away from cancer less than four years later.

After becoming a half-owner of the company, Frank, with his father’s approval, revised the catalog’s inventory, recognizing that women were underrepresented in their marketing. As a result, 60% of the catalog was soon dedicated to products catering to women. This strategic decision led Frank to become a millionaire by the age of 30. Three years later, when his father passed away, his brother, George, joined the family business. However, George stayed for only two years before selling his share to Frank, who became the sole owner. Now with Frank having complete control, Williams & Kendall had become the third-largest mail-order catalog organization in Chicago, following only Sears, Roebuck, and Montgomery Ward.

Frank’s wife, Gretchen, entered his study, looking radiant in a summer dress and high heels. She greeted him with the charming elegance fitting for a dinner with him and their two sons.

“Hello, dear! You’re home early this evening,” Gretchen said with a smile, delighted to see him.

“Well, of course, I’ve grown tired of arguing with you about what time to be home for dinner,” Frank replied.

Gretchen walked over to Frank and kissed him softly on the lips. She then patted him on the chest and said with a smile, “You’re a good man, Mr. Kendell.”

Gretchen Kendell possessed a timeless beauty. She stood tall at 5 feet 8 inches, with dark blond hair that was beginning to turn white. Born to German immigrants, she spent her childhood in Milwaukee. As a teenager, she met Frank—her future husband—during a Fourth of July visit to Chicago. After Frank completed college, the two married.

Frank took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped off the freshly applied lipstick from his lips. “I should get back to the office after dinner, Gretchen. I have a press check to approve this evening,” he said. “But I’m here now, and that’s what matters.”

Gretchen smiled and nodded. “Yes, dear, that is what’s important. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.” She then went to fetch a sherry from the cupboard in his study.

“What are we having this evening?” Frank asked as he reached for his briefcase and glanced at the letters on his desk.

“Chicken,” Gretchen replied, “roasted carrots with caraway and coriander, and Brussels sprouts with mint.”

Frank frowned and looked at her. “I don’t like Brussels sprouts,” he said.

“I know, Dear. I also made sure we have mashed potatoes,” said Gretchen.

“Do we have butter?” asked Frank.

“We have all the butter in the world,” Gretchen said as she handed him his sherry. “Now, I want you at the dinner table in fifteen minutes, Frank, and not a minute late. —Do you hear me?” she asked.

“Hmm? Of course, Dear,” Frank said, looking down and digging into his briefcase.

Gretchen smiled, then her brows furrowed slightly. “Frank,” she said. “Look at me.”

Frank slowly looked up and met Gretchen’s gaze. He sighed and gave her a small smile. “Yes, Dear, I hear you.”

Gretchen left the study to check on the cook’s progress with the meal. She encountered Tommy descending from the second floor.

“Has Father returned home yet, Mother?” Tommy inquired.

“Yes, he just arrived. Is there something you need?” Gretchen replied.

“No, no. I simply wanted to say hello. I haven’t seen him today,” Tommy responded.

“He’s in his study,” she said.

“Splendid, thanks,” he said.

“You know, Tommy, if you would get up for breakfast, you could see your Father every day before he goes to work,” said Gretchen.

“What an unusual concept, Mother,” said Tommy. “I shall ponder upon this paradigm.”

“You do that, Dear,” she said with a smile. “Dinner is less than fifteen minutes.”

“Hot dog! I’m starving. What are we having?” Tommy asked.

“Well, it’s certainly not hot dogs,” she said as she left him with a smile.

Tommy walked into the study and saw his Father standing in front of his desk. The drink that Frank’s wife poured for him sat on a coaster, untouched. Frank was reading a batch of papers from the office.

“Good afternoon, Father,” said Tommy.

“Good evening, Tommy,” said Frank without looking up from his papers.

“What are you reading?” asked Tommy.

“Sells reports from last month,” replied Frank.

“I see. —And how was your day?” asked Tommy.

“Fine. —Wait, why are you asking?” asked Frank.

“No reason. I wanted to see how your day was,” said Tommy.

“I see. —And what else?” questioned Frank, as he removed his reading glasses from the bridge of his nose.

“What do you mean —and what else?” asked Tommy.

“What else is going on with you in this house? And, more importantly, what did you do?” demanded Frank.

“Nothing is going on. —I haven’t done anything,” said Tommy.

“Hmmm. Okay then —dinner is in fifteen minutes,” said Frank, satisfied with Tommy’s answer and turning his attention back to the papers in his hand.

“Actually, it’s now less than fifteen minutes,” said Tommy with a smile.

“Fine, less than fifteen then. —Was there anything else?” asked Frank, as he sat on the corner of his desk to read.

“No, sir?” said Tommy.

“Good, I’ll see you at dinner,” said Frank, adjusting his reading glasses and finding the spot where he left off with his reports.

“Yes, sir,” said Tommy. With that, Tommy left the study and went to get ready for dinner. On the way, he encountered Felix, who was also on his way to dinner.

“Hey Tommy, do you know if Father is home?” Felix asked.

“Oh, he’s home alright. I was just talking to him,” Tommy replied, throwing his thumb over his shoulder to point down the hall.

“And? —And, how’s the weather?” Felix inquired.

“He’s in one of his famous moods,” Tommy said. “Cloudy with a chance of rain. You’ll need to get a couple of drinks into him before telling him your big news.”

“Tommy, I’m surprised at you. You know darn well that drinking is illegal in this country,” Felix said in a sarcastic tone.

“Right,” Tommy drawled. “You’ll still need to get him to drink a couple before you hit him with your announcement,” he added.

“Dear brother, if Father isn’t drinking now, I’m sure he will be later once I tell him I won’t be working for him,” Felix declared.