The Gift of the Twin Houses Read online

“C’mon, Dad, you’re the ones getting married. You guys should be the ones with presents, not us.”

  “Listen up, son. We’d like for you to have the twin house.”

  “What?” Tom’s face drained of all color.

  “This house? But—” Alyana in contrast was beet red.

  “No, not this one, the one where Tom grew up. We want to have you nearby.”

  “Dad, are you sure? You’ve lived in that house all your life. It’s your home.”

  “My home is with Sarah, in this house where your grandma grew up. You’re inheriting Granddad’s house. It stays in the family, just as Grandma said it would. It’s what Sarah and I want, not only for you, but for us as well. We need you close by.”

  “Papa, this is so unexpected,” Alyana said. “Tom and I can’t even begin to tell you how much this means to us.” She glanced at her husband with an

  inquisitive look. Tom nodded his approval back, and Alyana went on. “We got word from Doc yesterday that we’re going to have twins. That’s why I’m so big.”

  “Twins,” we both said in amazement.

  “A boy and a girl from the looks of it,” Tom added. “We’ve been worried silly about how we would all fit in our small house. But now you’ve.. .well, you’ve solved the problem.”

  “Good,” Conrad said. “How about if we move you right after Christmas? It’ll be great if you can be here by the time we get hitched. Can you handle it?”

  “We’ll manage all right,” Tom said as he eyed his wife, who concurred.

  “I’ll start moving my stuff over in the next few days. We’ll move you in well before the twins are born. All the furnishings are yours to do what you wish with, except for Grandma’s bedroom furniture. Sarah and I want to bring it here. Other than pictures, some knickknacks, and my stuff, we don’t plan to take anything else.”

  “Dad, it’s too much. You can’t leave behind all the memories. You’re sure you don’t want them here with you?”

  “Not unless you two don’t want them. If there’s furniture you wish to replace with newer or more modern styles, just let us know. We’ll bring the old stuff over here if it’s to remain in the family. Anything we don’t keep, you can do whatever you wish with.”

  “But what about the desk?” Tom insisted.

  “Well.. .let me think about that.”

  As I watched the exchange between father and son, the kindness and respect that Tom showed captivated me, as well as the deep understanding of the significance that the house and its contents had in their lives. Angela’s influence was palpable in these wonderful men.

  Alyana and I glanced at each other as if we’d just shared the same thoughts. We smiled and sat back, listening to father and son come to terms with what really mattered to them.

  “Alyana,” I whispered, “if you and Tom find something you like in this house, please feel free to take it with you. As you know, this house had some

  furniture when I bought it. You’re welcome to it, if Conrad agrees. It would give us great pleasure if we could help you get started in your new home with everything you need.”

  “Boy, Sarah, what a Christmas present you’ve given us. I’m in shock. I still can’t believe we’ll be moving close to you guys in a few weeks and into the house we love so dearly.”

  “We have a wedding and a move to plan, let alone prepare for twins,” announced Conrad. “Tom and I will take a stroll down to the old house, reminisce, and take inventory. We’ll leave you girls to make your own plans, and then we’ll compare notes.”

  We girls did just that, young and carefree, a bride and her bridesmaid filled with anticipation as we planned the wedding. Alyana offered to help me look for my dress, and together with Tom she offered to take care of the invitations. We had all agreed to invite only our closest friends, about twenty people. I only had a couple of girlfriends I wanted to invite and hoped they would be happy for me and come, but they were unlikely to travel all the way from California on New Year’s Eve. The invitation to my wedding would be enough of a surprise to them. At least I knew they’d call to congratulate me and get the skinny on my husband-to-be. They’d want a picture of Conrad and ask about all the particulars surrounding him and his family. They would do what good friends do in order to make sure that their pal doesn’t make a mistake and marry without their scrutiny and approval of the groom.

  “I wish my parents and my grandmother were still alive,” I told Alyana. “They would be so happy to see me married to Conrad.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “You felt the same when you married Tom?”

  “Yeah. I wished my adoptive parents were alive to walk me down the aisle. I thought they’d be happy to see that I’d turned out all right. But in the end, it didn’t matter, ’cause it’s really about you and your husband, and when that special day comes, all you can think about is him.”

  “You’re right. I’ll focus on Conrad, and let go of the past.”

  “I didn’t mean that. Hold on to the past, just don’t let it drag you back. You have memories of your own parents and grandmother. That’s precious. I wish I had that richness myself.”

  “Oh, I didn’t—”

  “It’s OK. I don’t dwell on the fact that I’m adopted.”

  “But—”

  “What I tried to say is that what matters is what we make of our new lives. Our past has crafted who we are, but the present and future are what we chose to make of them.”

  “I get you.”

  “Our two men have amazing stories of their heritage in this valley going back many years. Now, you and I are stepping into their history, bringing with us our own. Your heritage is plentiful, while mine is somewhat spotty, but they are our histories nonetheless.”

  “Indeed.”

  “In the end, we’ll have richer tales to share with my kids. I can’t tell you how happy I am you’ve joined our family.”

  “So am I.”

  “Your background is so varied, and that’s what parents are all about, giving their kids and grandkids, even great-grandkids, the gift of their lives, their histories, their knowledge, and their love. I can’t wait for everything you’ll be sharing with us. Let alone the many stories Papa will tells us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Now that you’ve brought him back to life, he’ll be reminiscing about his childhood, his teen years, and all that followed.”

  I reflected on the wisdom of Alyana’s advice and embraced the memories my parents and grandmother had given me.

  “Why so quiet? Did I say something that bothered you?”

  “No, no. I was thinking how wise you are for someone so young.”

  She laughed. “Ah, not wise, not at all.”

  “You sure can pinpoint what’s important.”

  “That because I was adopted.”

  “Oh?”

  “I instinctively know what matters most. That’s why I want my kids to truly appreciate the treasures that their father’s family has hidden in these houses and in this valley.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Do you?”

  “Has Conrad told you that I’ve been finding some great photographs in the attic that tell the stories of his ancestors?”

  “He’s just told us that you’ve got the gift Angela had and that you’re now tuned into your destiny.”

  “That’s an odd thing to say.”

  “C’mon, Sarah, you know how special our men are. Grandma Angela had a great influence on them. I don’t even think they realize they make comments like that.”

  We laughed with the knowledge that our men had indeed a particular ability to sense the world, and that they did not bother to hide it or think of it as abnormal or unmanly.

  “It’s kind of fun to watch them go about their daily lives aware that there are other dimensions of consciousness. They have an uncanny ability to perceive nature and its inhabitants in a way that most normal folks don’t.”

  “Alyana, I se
em to have tapped into one of those dimensions myself. It appears as if I’ve entered into a new realm of consciousness where I can understand the rhythm between today and years past.”

  She smiled, and I exhaled, relieved that the truth flowed out of me without hesitation or fear or the anguish associated with admitting I possessed extrasensory abilities.

  “That was a deep sigh,” Alyana whispered.

  “I was thinking how at ease I am with you. How effortless it is to tell you about these oddities of mine.”

  “Oddities?”

  “Yeah. Hearing the stories of the old abandoned photos in my attic is bizarre to say the least, don’t you think?”

  “No, not really. You’ve got a gift that enables you to perceive what most of us can’t. Maybe that ability seems odd to folks who don’t understand it. I think it’s awesome.”

  Smiling, I reached for her hand. “Thank you.”

  She brought the back of my hand to her lips and gently kissed it. “No need for that,” she said softly.

  “Ever since I arrived here, I’ve been a completely different person. I have a sense of belonging, of being where I need to be.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me. As far as we know, Papa’s been waiting for you for a long time. Tom says his grandma kept saying that one day Papa’s better half would come to complete him.”

  “Why say that to her grandson? I wonder how it affected his perception of his mother.”

  “As far as Tom was concerned, Angela was his mother. He has little recollection of his birth mother other than she was sickly and detached. He saw her as someone whose illness required her to be away from those she loved.” “Hard to believe, don’t you think?”

  “Angela made sure that Tom didn’t resent his mother’s absence, and along with Papa, gave him plenty of encouragement to be happy. He grew up with no resentment of her absence whatsoever, and with the understanding that she’d gone due to an illness that made it impossible for her to be with her son and husband. A simple fact of life, with no need for negative emotions tied to it.” “Angela was an extraordinary woman. I wish I’d met her.”

  “I’m sure you’ve already met her. She is very present in our lives.”

  “You sense her presence?” I asked tentatively.

  “She visits me in my dreams, and sometimes she whispers during the day, guiding me, or coaxing me toward the right path.”

  “Does it scare you to feel these things?”

  She laughed delightedly. “No, not at all. I guess I didn’t tell you that my adoptive parents were Native American. Their ancestry came from the Okanogan and Methow First Nations.”

  “Tom mentioned it.”

  “I grew up well aware of the spiritual guidance of our ancestors.”

  “You grew up sensing the dead?”

  “In a way. We sense nature and the natural rhythms of the earth and, if we’re open to it, we discover that our ancestors are part of those rhythms, part of nature.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Angela and her twin girls, Casey and Deidre, were well known by the various First Nation tribes in our region. I knew of Angela way before I married into her family.”

  “How?”

  “They cared for the sick alongside the medicine men and women of the different tribes. Not only did they understand our history and traditions, but they also were respectful of and tuned into our spirituality. You do know that Sophia married an elder of the Mi’kmaq First Nation and settled in Nova Scotia.”

  “No, I didn’t. Conrad and I spent time looking at the photo album of Casey and Deidre, but we never got to chat about Sophia.”

  “I thought you knew how this house came to be yours.”

  “Well, I know that it belonged to Casey until I bought it. I also know that the house and I have some spiritual connection. But to be honest with you, I don’t understand why you kids couldn’t have moved here.”

  “Well, I don’t know the exact reason myself, but I do know that after attending Sophia’s wedding ceremony, the twin aunties didn’t come back home. They were invited to join the Mi’kmaq Nation and stayed in Nova Scotia with their daughter. Angela told Papa that this house should remain empty while waiting for its rightful owner. Someone she knew would come soon. The house needed to pass to a person who understood the house and its memories. She told him the twin houses would be joined again, so he needn’t worry, just care for them, and be open to the future that awaited him.”

  “Wow. It’s hard to believe.”

  “And yet here we are today, stepping into the future that Angela laid out for us.”

  “Without a doubt, even if it’s beyond belief. Do you know if Sophia and her mothers stayed in contact with Angela?”

  “As far as I know, they did. Ask Papa about it. He’d love to tell you.” “What’s she going to ask Papa?” little Elan asked as he sauntered into the living room. Sleepily he climbed onto his mother’s lap. Alyana covered him in little kisses and caresses.

  “Mama wants to know all about your great-aunties.”

  “Oh. Ask Papa to read you one of their stories,” he said.

  “Sure,” and I smiled, “which one should I ask him to read?”

  “The one about the wolves and the beaver.”

  “Can’t you tell it to me?”

  “Yep, but Papa tells it better. I’ll hold your hand so you don’t get scared.” “Is it scary?”

  “No, but sometimes you think it is going to be. I’ll hold your hand.” Little Nina was also awake and wobbled toward her mother, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Elan made room for his sister with the ease of their familiar afternap routine. Alyana welcomed her with kisses and caresses as well.

  “Papa,” Alyana explained, “has a little book where his aunties wrote some of the stories they heard while among my people. I think they used to read the stories to Sophia when she was little.”

  Suddenly the image of the twins reading to Sophia in this very living room in front of a Christmas tree invaded my mind. The vision was so vivid that I could’ve sworn they were right in front of us.

  “Yes, I can sense them as well,” Alyana whispered, and smiled. “It’s our ancestors opening the path to the memories of our land.”

  Elan and Nina didn’t question our exchange; they lay on their mother’s lap, content with the warmth of her love, enjoying her soft caresses, and the delicate breeze emanating from her rhythmic breath as it softly stroked their hair.

  I smiled back, watching my destiny evolve before me.

  Chapter 24

  The Truth

  Awake at two thirty in the morning, I tiptoed out of our bedroom, quietly closed the door, and made my way down to the kitchen, feeling well rested and ready to take on the day. I made a cup of coffee and went upstairs to visit with my attic.

  As I entered I realized that I didn’t know where to find the light switch, or even if one existed. Having always been in the attic when enough natural light came through the window to illuminate my way, I was at a loss in complete darkness. Not even the faint whisper of moonlight through the window seemed enough.

  I tiptoed back to the kitchen, grabbed a flashlight, and returned to the attic. I didn’t find a light switch on either wall flanking the entry door. I shone the light around the other walls and found nothing. I then shone the light on the ceiling and discovered the absence of a light fixture. How could there be no electricity in the attic? There must be an outlet somewhere.

  Starting from the entry door along the wall on my right, I began a slow and deliberate search for the outlet, combing every possible space, and finishing with the wall on the left of the entry door. Nothing.

  How about the floor? What if the outlet is in the floor instead of the wall? Starting on the right again, I meticulously zigzagged through the entire room. Nothing. How peculiar. Then, I remembered seeing an old floor lamp leaning against the left-hand corner of the attic behind one of the trunks.

  The floor lamp, that’s it. I brou
ght it out from its corner and placed it by the armchair. But where’s the plug? I grabbed the cord and searched again for the mysterious outlet. The cord was long enough to reach the entry door and

  beyond. I went out of the attic and, cord in hand, hunted for a spot on the outer walls to plug it in.

  I found an outlet, right under the heater’s vent. Exhilarated, I rushed down to the kitchen and grabbed a light bulb, hoping that the floor lamp was in sufficient shape to work. I screwed the light bulb in, and then carefully plugged the lamp into the socket. The light came on. Still kneeling in front of the outlet below the heater’s vent, I noticed a small compartment to the right of the vent. A square metal door kept it tightly shut. A small round handle hung from the middle of the upper part of the door. Both the door and the handle had been painted over many times, from the look of it. I tried to pry the handle loose, but it had been painted over so many times that it wouldn’t budge.

  I dashed to the downstairs hallway closet to find a tool that would help open the compartment. In minutes I returned, chisel in hand. I covered it with a towel to muffle the noise, and I hammered it in between the metal door and the wall. Not wanting to wake Conrad, I worked slowly and deliberately, chiseling away all around the metal door, detaching it from the wall. Once I’d released it on all four sides, I pulled it, and the small plate came loose.

  I shone the flashlight and found a tin can hidden all the way in the back of a cubbyhole. Enthralled with my discovery, I pulled it out and took it into the attic, now illuminated by the soft light of the old floor lamp.

  No sooner had I sat down on the armchair than I heard Angela speaking with Louise Whitman.

  “Today I’ll tell you the truth that Leonard never knew,” Louise told Angela.

  “Why keep it to yourself until this moment?” Angela asked.

  “Stubbornness, I guess. Just needed to have something that was mine and mine alone.”

  “You must have cared about Amy and how it could impact her.”

  “She was always strong, unique, different. I knew she would be all right whether she knew the truth or not.”

  “Didn’t you think of her children? What if her kids married within the family?”