The Gift of the Twin Houses Read online

  “Then he kissed me. I kissed him back, and before I knew it, we were making love. I do not ever remember making love with James. I remember having sex with James. Never making love. That one night in that little house, we found love. Simply exquisite.

  “When we were done, we did not say a word. We were both crying. Crying for the lost years, the lost feelings, and the lost potential.

  “We fell asleep in each other’s arms. Another first.

  “The next morning the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and coffee woke us up. We simply smiled at one another. We were peaceful at last.

  “Angela, of course, had brought the ingredients to our house, baked for us, and had fixed a full breakfast of delicious farm eggs and bacon with fresh orange juice and the ‘best coffee in the Northwest,’ as she told us. We sat as a family to enjoy her breakfast. Never before had we sat with our children to breakfast, and it was a strange feeling to have them and James around during this part of the day.

  “I said, ‘Angela, you should not be cooking for us. Let me call for the servants. Please sit with us.’ But Angela would not hear of it. Instead, she told me, ‘Heather, they’re not nearby. I invited them to have breakfast with my kin early this morning. I thought it would be all right with you if they took a bit of the morning off from their regular work, could see what we do around these parts to keep up the farm, and care for the horses. Richard and my kids are showing them around. Hope it’s OK with you. I’m going to leave you now to enjoy your breakfast with your family. We’ll all be back in a couple of hours to help you pack. Enjoy your morning.’

  “We did as she said and had a glorious time. I actually enjoyed talking with our children. Michael had grown up to be a nice-looking, intelligent little boy, and Alice was prettier than I had ever been, and smarter. How could I have missed how pleasant my children were? I asked them about their walk with their father and Angela’s children, and they entertained us the entire time. It was so lovely that I wished it would never end.

  “But end it did. We knew we could not live in this little house for more than one day. It was just not feasible, and not one of us wanted to damage the memories of the most perfect day and night we had spent in the heart of the Cascades. Not even our young children. They did not fuss about our eminent departure, did not complain, and did not argue. They too wanted to keep the recollection of this special place intact.

  “As promised, Angela helped us, and as we were leaving, she insisted on taking our picture. She wanted to ‘preserve the memory,’ she told us. So we eagerly complied.

  “James made all the arrangements with Angela to care for the house in our absence, and Angela invited our kids to come and vacation here with them, so I promised to write to her and keep in touch.

  “I had made a similar promise many times to other friends and acquaintances but never kept it. Politely, I said that I would write to them because it was the correct thing to say, but I never did it. This time, though, I kept my promise.

  “When I first started writing to Angela, I was nervous. I just did not know how. I had never written to anyone, mostly because I did not think it was a worthwhile endeavor. It took a big hunk of time out of my day. But something had changed me, and I wanted to write. After all, I would be writing to a special woman, someone who I trusted, and someone who understood me. After I wrote her the first letter, my nerves disappeared, and a few years later, I knew why I kept my promise. Writing to Angela helped me get through the pain of James’s death.

  “When we got back, James and I kept our love afloat and did not fall into our old patterns. Without even discussing it, we moved into one bedroom again. It was pure bliss between us. We never lost the magic of the night amid the Cascades, a memory that will be eternally with me.

  “We both found ourselves much more involved with our children, going on outings, doing homework, or just having our meals together as we had done in the little house in that precious valley. I discovered how much I liked being a mother. I had something to offer to my children and found that to be quite stimulating, I’d found the person I was meant to be and was determined never to let her go.

  “Both children did vacation with Angela each summer, and all of us exchanged wonderful letters filled with joy and the tales of our activities during our days apart.

  “Then James died in a sailing accident. He loved to sail, and in the end he died doing something he loved. Angela helped me find comfort in that. She also helped me keep in the forefront how we had reunited and found love. She helped me treasure those feelings for the rest of my life, as I remained faithful to James and our love.

  “Angela cared for the house as she promised, never asked for anything in return, and would not accept a thing from me. It was her destiny, she wrote to me. I tried to visit her when the children went out there for their annual holiday, but I knew that James’s absence would be too noticeable, and I did not dare spoil the memory of our magical night there. So I never saw Angela again. We just faithfully wrote to each other.

  “In the end I convinced her that my destiny was to help her kids go to college. Why not use the same ploy she’d use on me? To my astonishment she agreed. So Aidan, Brady, and her twin girls, Casey and Deidre, went to the University of Washington along with my children. They had become such good friends over the years that it all worked out perfectly.

  “I never knew how her kids or how my own children turned out, but I would imagine they all did all right. I got cancer and died before I should have.

  “Angela would have objected vociferously if I had written to her what I was planning to do, and therefore I never did. I just wrote it in my will.

  “The house went back to its rightful owner. The woman who loved it and would care for it, along with the memories it held of us who had been transformed by it.”

  Then, as quickly as she had appeared, Heather vanished.

  Chapter 19

  The Bond

  The next couple of days I focused on Conrad’s clan, which left little time to spend in my attic. Christmas loomed, and I busied myself making the ornaments with the children, getting presents, cooking, and baking.

  Conrad talked me into making several tarts for the store, and they were selling fast. Word spread about Sarah’s delicious “French tart,” and everyone wanted one.

  “I don’t know if I can keep up with demand,” I told Conrad and Tom as I witnessed the six tarts I’d just brought to the store sell in less than five minutes.

  “Your next batch will do for a couple of days. I’m going to build demand by holding some back. Are you off to make more ornaments with the little ones?

  “Not today. We’re all done with the ornaments, and I need to tend to the house. I found a couple of my mother’s handwritten recipes and I’d like to try them. Would you like Caesar salad and chicken Marsala for dinner?”

  “Getting fancy. I like it. You know I’ll enjoy anything you make.”

  “I’ll need some anchovy paste. Also, do you have any Marsala wine?”

  “Anchovy paste I have. Don’t know about Marsala wine; I’ll take a look.” He went to the store’s cellar.

  Tom had just finished with a customer and joined me. “I can’t tell you how much Alyana enjoys your company.”

  “We’ve just clicked, haven’t we? She’s quite special.”

  “It’s her Native American heritage. She’s tuned into the world in a unique way.”

  “I didn’t know that’s her heritage. How interesting.”

  “Well, I don’t know that’s her own heritage. It was that of her adoptive parents. Not knowing her own true heritage, she’s chosen to believe it is. Same for our kids.”

  Conrad returned from the cellar with a bottle in hand.

  “No Marsala wine, but this is a good sherry. Will it do?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Tom’s been telling you about Alyana?”

  “Yes, a bit.”

  “Has he told you about the kids’ names?”
<
br />   “Didn’t have enough time, Dad. You came back too soon,” Tom chided.

  “Go on then, tell her.”

  “Her adoptive parents named her Alyana, meaning ‘forever flowering,’ and she is, isn’t she? Elan stands for ‘friendly one,’ and Nina for ‘full of grace.’ Dad’s name stands for ‘wise counsel.’ I’m the only one lacking a name with Native American meaning.”

  “His mother named him Thomas in honor of all the great men in history that have borne that name. Quite special, don’t you think?” Conrad asked me.

  “C’mon, Dad, you made that up. On the other hand, Sarah, your name stands for ‘princess,’ and our kids love knowing a princess that makes delicious tarts.” Tom smiled and left to tend to several customers who had just come into the store.

  “Same time for dinner, your highness?” Conrad asked.

  My turn to smile, nod, and wave good-bye.

  I don’t remember ever having such a good time during the Christmas holidays. Even though I’d enjoyed Christmas with my nana and my parents, this season didn’t feel the same. I’d been born into their traditions and customs, and they automatically became my own. This time new routines and practices were emerging, born out of a natural combination of my happy memories, Tom’s, Conrad’s, and Alyana’s. Together we were crafting our family’s very own Christmas.

  My appreciation increased with every new experience, so when I returned to the house, I stepped into the attic to thank Angela for the great gift she had bestowed upon me of the memories she’d left behind. This time I didn’t search for a story. On the contrary, I was quite content reliving the old stories as I went about my chores; I required nothing. They’d become my silent companions, and today I daydreamed about their family traditions during the holidays. But as usual, the attic had other plans for me. As I walked about, I came across the story of Angela’s twin girls, Casey and Deidre.

  I found a package hidden behind one of the trunks. Obviously I’d not looked behind this particular trunk before. The contents were wrapped in coarse paper, and the package was dusty and forgotten.

  It surprised me that this trunk had escaped my attention. I felt certain I’d done a thorough cleaning of the entire room several times, yet I didn’t remember seeing this package. Regardless of what I remembered, the dust that covered it told the truth. It bothered me that I’d neglected a part of my attic. Could I have been so absorbed in the stories that I’d overlooked certain corners? Whatever the reason, first I apologized and then told my attic that it wouldn’t happen again.

  I carefully opened the wrapping. It protected an old photo album that was in good condition. The coarse paper had sheltered it quite well. I glanced through it and perused the many photos that showed Angela’s pride and love for her twin daughters. It was, however, a spotty record of the passage of time in their lives. There were photographs of Angela and Richard with their babies, photographs of the girls when they were little, some when they were in their middle years, and some as they blossomed into beautiful young women. After that, there appeared to be a lapse in the sequence of photographs, with nothing till they were older.

  Something in their eyes had changed as they aged, and I wondered what had occurred, but the album was silent. It didn’t relate the stories of the photographs. No matter, I could wait. In due time they would come out. By now I knew that the memories came to me in the order they wished to be heard. Maybe they came in the order I could appreciate them better. Whatever the reason, I decided not to rush them or force them out.

  After I properly thanked my attic and Angela, I took the album with me and sensed right away I had done what I was expected to do. I dusted the album and placed it in the living room near the Christmas tree so that it would get acquainted with its new surroundings away from the corner in the attic.

  I went about my chores in the house, and around noon, Conrad surprised me by paying a midday visit.

  “Thought I’d take the afternoon off. What do you think? Are you up for some adventure?”

  “Like what?”

  “Just do something we normally don’t do in the afternoons in the middle of the workweek.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Come, let’s go in the living room.”

  His playful and childlike demeanor was delightful and made him look younger and even more handsome. Filled with anticipation, I happily followed him.

  “OK, you sit right here.” He eased me onto the sofa. “Then, I’ll just get down on one knee, get this little box from my pocket, open it, and ask you a question. Sarah, will you marry me?”

  I gasped and lost complete sight of him. My eyes were filled with tears, and I could not see anything or speak. I think I held my hands over his, or reached out to hold them. Whatever it was, I did something that clearly sent him the message that I’d accepted his proposal. The next thing I remembered was his arms around me helping me stand, feeling a ring slide onto my finger, and then being kissed and cuddled.

  I don’t know how long we stood there kissing and embracing each other. My tears were unstoppable, shedding years of loneliness, years that saw my youth and my dreams of love pass by, years of hidden emotions, of isolation, of disappointment and regret.

  Time either stood still or passed by without notice. I really couldn’t say. I wasn’t fully aware of my surroundings. We were cocooned in the intimate moment of total surrender to one another. Suspended in a space that knew nothing of fear or distrust that offered only unconditional affection, devotion, and tranquility.

  He eased me onto the sofa and held me in his arms as my tears subsided. We were silent, enjoying the tender comfort of the love we shared.

  “I thought I would never marry,” I finally said.

  “That’s ’cause you were waiting for me, just as I’ve been waiting for you.” He caressed my face and hair. “The only difference is that I knew you’d come.”

  “Angela?”

  “Yep.”

  “How did she know? What did she say?”

  “After Dianne left us, she’d look into my eyes and wink. Then she’d say that my soul mate would arrive one day, and here you are, in my arms for the rest of our lives. Soul mates.” Slowly, he kissed my eyes, my cheeks, my nose, and my mouth.

  “How do you know it’s me?” I whispered between kisses.

  “You know well enough it’s you. Since we first met, you’ve known we were meant to be together.”

  I envied his conviction and wished to find that certainty within me soon. In the meantime I just gave myself to the moment.

  We held each other in the warmth of love, and at length my tears subsided, my eyes cleared, and at last I looked at the ring around my finger. The exquisite gold band had been crafted into thin tree branches interlaced with each other, clasping a delicate bird’s nest that cradled an octagonal diamond.

  “The ring is stunning, and it fits me perfectly. How did you know my size?

  “I’ve held your hand in mine. I designed it with the Cascades in mind since we both like them so.”

  “You designed it? Oh.. Wow! It’s gorgeous!”

  “This is your engagement ring, and I wanted it to be one of a kind, from me just for you. Because.. .well.. .I hope you’ll agree to wear my grandmother’s wedding ring. She so much wanted you, and only you, to have it.”

  “Me?” Startled, I sat up, breaking our embrace.

  He laughed and eased me back into his arms, kissed my head, and caressed my hair.

  “My turn to tell you a story. When I wrote to tell Grandma that I wanted to marry Dianne, she asked me if her middle name started with an S. Of course it didn’t, and I never heard from her what it all meant until just before she died. She took off her wedding ring, gave it to me, and told me that this was the ring my soul mate should wear when we married. She’d shared many years of love and devotion with this ring and wished the same for her. Then she told me her name.. .Sarah.”

  I gasped, and my hands rushed to my mouth, protecting the em
otion that flowed through me.

  “The wedding ring is an intricate gold band, rare in its construction. It’s in excellent shape, as if time and use had never touched it. She gave me my grandfather’s ring to wear. When I had it sized to fit me, since my hands are a bit larger than my granddad’s, the jeweler couldn’t believe his own eyes. Both rings are made of individual pieces of gold joined together forming a circle. The jeweler had a hard time matching the design in Granddad’s ring to make it larger for me, a challenge he eventually overcame with great pride. As for yours, my grandma and you wear the same size.”

  “Where do you suppose they got those rings?”

  “Don’t know. How could they afford them? They were such simple folk.”

  “Did they leave behind a will?”

  “More like a letter, with their property passing on to me and my aunts.”

  “No mention of the rings?”

  “No. Grandma had already given them to me, so no need to include them. I do have a letter she wrote that you’re supposed to open on our wedding day.”

  “A letter for me?”

  “It is addressed in her own handwriting to Sarah. I’d say that now that you have accepted my proposal and will be my wife, you are the Sarah she wrote to.”

  “How long do I have to wait to read it?”

  He laughed so hard I could’ve sworn that the little ornaments on the tree shook and joined in his fun.

  “Seems to me you are more interested in the letter than in asking about when we shall wed.”

  “Oh.” I giggled. “I guess you’re right. When do you want to set the date for? What about Alyana and Tom? What will they think of you asking me to marry you?

  He chuckled, “They helped me prepare the proposal. Alyana suggested I get down on one knee. Tom did it for her, and she thought it was special. Was it?”