The Gift of the Twin Houses Page 21

  “Maybe she knew enough just to marry Richard safely.”

  “No.. .it’s not like her.”

  “Why, then?”

  Conrad furrowed his forehead as he thought things through. “She must have had other plans. I’m sure she knew the whole story all along.”

  I reached over, kissed his forehead, and caressed his cheeks. “You also look kissable when you worry. I don’t think I’d seen you furrow your forehead before.”

  He smiled and pulled me to him. We sat on the sofa in silence, watching the Christmas lights dance about in rhythm with the crackling fire nearby.

  “Could be she wanted the story to come from you,” Conrad whispered as he caressed my hair. “She wanted you here, by me.”

  “Why go through all that trouble? It would’ve been easier just telling you

  all.”

  “Easier, maybe. As significant? I don’t think so.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What about you coming to terms with your own abilities, with who you are today?”

  “You think she wanted that for me?”

  “She knew you’d come. Why not?”

  We filled our evening with reflections, sensitive to the voices of the past that wished to convey the truth that had been hidden for so long, wondering what remained to be uncovered.

  Chapter 26

  The Intruder

  Several days passed with no word from the attic. With so much to do in preparation for the holidays and the wedding, I didn’t particularly miss it.

  Early one morning, Conrad had left for work, and the house felt ill at ease. Something was disturbing us. Something kept tugging at us and getting in the way of our routine.

  I couldn’t focus on my household tasks, didn’t have the urge to bake or even cook the meals for the day. I just felt out of sorts. I could sense that the house was equally at odds by the many pops and snaps that kept breaking the silence of the morning. So I gave us some time off.

  I stopped trying to do the things we didn’t want to do, poured myself a cup of coffee, and went up to my attic. Maybe if we sat quietly for a while, we’d come to terms with what bothered us. Perhaps my presence in the attic would suffice to settle us down.

  Today the attic looked gray and sad. The sun didn’t shine; instead, an icy, misty rain was showering the house and the valley. It had been a while since I’d spent time in the attic, and just the thought of being there made me feel better, even in the grayness.

  Attempting to ease our discomfort, I walked around the room, running my fingers along its furniture, its trunks, and the boxes of photographs with stories that remained to be told.

  A loose floorboard cracked under my foot. How strange, I thought, bearing in mind I’d walked throughout this attic many times. Maybe I’d never stepped on that particular board before. Unusual though, considering how loose it was. I placed my cup on the little table by the armchair and examined the floorboard.

  I removed it to reveal a small rectangular tin can and a dusty baby blanket. Cautiously, I took them out of their hiding place and brought them with me to the armchair. I opened the little tin can, and its contents startled me. On my lap were the photographs missing from the album of Angela’s twin girls.

  My heart pounded, and my hands trembled. Unsure if I were allowed to peek into their secret, I looked around. I didn’t want to know anything not meant for me. I had stepped, literally stepped, on a well-guarded secret and didn’t wish to disturb a past intended for burial.

  I leaned back in the armchair, my hands softly resting on the can and its contents, closed my eyes, and asked permission.

  After a while, my heartbeats slowed down, and my hands warmed up. Peace settled within me, and I came to terms as to why I’d been so out of sorts all day. The house had been calling me to the attic and the hiding place under the floorboard. A story needed to be heard. A story as sad and gloomy as the gray skies filled with drizzly tears.

  Casey strolled into the attic. A young woman right out of the 1940s, a cheerless beauty, her eyes bathed in sorrow. She stood behind me, her hand resting on the back of the armchair, looking at the items on my lap.

  “It’s a sad story,” Casey whispered. “One that shouldn’t be repeated, one that should be buried. A true story that should never have happened. It’s because of its horrible truth that I’ve placed it in this tin can. The photographs and newspaper articles, my son’s birth certificate, along with Sophia’s, are all part of this truth. I’ve hidden them under the floor in the attic. I don’t think we’ll ever look at them, but its trueness must be kept.”

  “Do you mean for me to see it?” I asked, hoping she wouldn’t recoil and force me to put it all back under the floorboard.

  She nodded and walked around the attic, her hands distractedly caressing the items they touched. “It is a truth that will be with Deidre and me through eternity. Sophia may want to know it one day. It needs to be kept so that it will bear witness.”

  “Is that what you wish me to do?”

  She didn’t answer, just continued her stroll around the room, stopping here and there for no apparent reason.

  “It is a wretched story. A tale of selfishness and pride, a story of pain so deep that it changes who a person is. An event that wants to be forgotten but can’t be.

  “I met Horace Tarkington at the hospital in Seattle where we worked. He was a surgical intern. Deidre did not trust him from day one. She advised me to stay away from him. But it all took place during a time I needed to find my own independence, my separateness from Deidre, and I stubbornly closed myself to her.”

  “What about Angela? Did she mistrust him as well?”

  “Mother felt there was something broken inside him. But I took her meaning as a challenge to fix him instead of as a warning to walk away from him. I was a nurse after all, and it was my duty to help others. I convinced myself I could heal whatever was damaged inside him, so I married him.”

  “I saw the picture of you and Horace outside the church, but were your sister and mother there? I don’t see any pictures here of your wedding.”

  She looked at me and smiled. A bitter smile, directed inwardly. “We took a picture outside the church, and I sent it to Mother. She put it in that album of hers. Best I could do at the time. You see, we were several years out of the Depression and a couple after the end of the war when Horace and I got married. Money was still scarce, and my parents couldn’t travel to Seattle. At least that was their excuse. Mother must’ve known what was to come. Heather Lewis and her children, Michael and Alice, were there, so were my brothers and several friends. Deidre was physically present, but she didn’t partake of the festivities.”

  “No photographs?” I asked again.

  “I destroyed all of the wedding pictures. I tore and burnt all the photos that reminded me of Horace. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

  Casey was silent for a while, and I didn’t interfere. I sensed she needed a bit of time to come to terms with those memories.

  “Justin was born about ten months into our marriage, a delight, a lovely child that brought much happiness to what had quickly turned into a painful marriage. Horace was indeed broken inside, truly broken. He had within him a tear that no one could fix, certainly not me. Living through the hell of my marriage taught me one of the most important lessons in my life.. .humility.

  I thought myself capable of tending to any type of illness, especially anything that needed fixing in my husband. I was wrong. Very wrong.”

  “What was the matter with him?” I dared to ask.

  “He’d been repeatedly abused by his father when he was a child and had come apart. His mother never intervened, and he resented it. Pour soul, she’d been beaten and abused as well, and Horace couldn’t shake off the grief or the hatred for her compliance, so he chose to become his father. He put on a nice facade for the outer world to see, but in the privacy of our bedchamber, he gave in to his violent, vicious self. Just as his father had done.�
��

  Casey was silent again, and I didn’t say a word. I imagined the worst and didn’t want to accept my dread. I sat in silence, waiting for Casey to speak again.

  “Deidre came back to me as soon as I returned from my honeymoon and tended to my wounds, physical and emotional. She wanted me to leave him, but I couldn’t. My vows kept tugging at me. He was the father of my unborn child, and I kept hoping he would come around and leave behind the horror of his past. Hope dies last, they say, and I was heading in that direction myself.

  “I barely survived the last beating, which brought with it the early birth of Justin. As a result, the true nature of my husband became known. He was dismissed from the hospital, and he left town.

  “Deidre and I moved into a little apartment nearby the hospital, and I was able to make a bit of money working in the clinic a few hours a day while Deidre cared for Justin between her full-time shifts at the hospital. Maybe if I hadn’t left for work that day, things would’ve turned out differently. We’ll never know.

  “When I opened the door to our apartment, I saw Deidre sprawled on the floor bleeding, her clothes torn, her legs scratched, her face contorted with pain. Horace was holding Justin in his arms. He had taken his diapers off and

  was...”

  All of a sudden, the image of Casey standing at the entrance of her small apartment took over my senses. I saw her, clear as day, standing by the door, the look of shock etched in her lovely face.

  Transported to her apartment, I was present, witnessing everyone and every move.

  I saw Casey yank little Justin from his father and kneel close to her sister, desperately searching for signs of life.

  In horror, I saw Horace slap Casey and then kick her in the stomach. Even though she rolled to one side, Casey didn’t let go of Justin. She held her baby protectively against her.

  I saw Horace pull and pull on the baby, frantically trying to yank him away.

  Casey would not yield.

  Horace then drew her up and with a closed fist, punched her on the chin with such violence that she and Justin crashed against the wall. Like rag dolls, both Casey and her baby slumped to the floor.

  Horace approached them.

  Deidre came from behind, the poker from the fireplace held high above her head. She hit Horace over the head. He dropped to the floor. She pum-meled him repeatedly until the last breath left his body.

  I saw Deidre rush to her unconscious sister and pick up Justin’s lifeless body.

  The images faded as I returned to the attic and to a silent Casey.

  Still shaken, I sifted through the contents of the little can and found Justin’s death certificate. A piercing pain gushed through my entire body.

  “Justin was almost a year old when he died. Horace, his own father, killed him.”

  I gasped.

  “The police understood.” Casey went on. “The hospital staff and doctors understood; everyone understood what had happened, and they felt sorry for us. Sorry that he’d harmed us, sorry that he’d killed his own son, sorry that he’d raped Deidre. But no one felt sorrier than me. It had all been my doing, my arrogance, my selfishness.”

  “Casey, you shouldn’t blame yourself. You didn’t know. You were young, full of hope, a nurse. It’s admirable that you insisted in honoring your vows.”

  I tried to comfort her, knowing full well there was nothing anyone could say that would help her shed the guilt.

  “No one felt sorry for Horace. At least no one told us they were sorry he’d died in the struggle. At the time it didn’t matter to me.. .I felt such agony with the loss of Justin that I had no room to grieve the loss of his father.

  “We left Seattle as soon as we knew Deidre was pregnant. We moved near Tacoma, where Sophia was born. Deidre went into the hospital using my name as the widow Tarkington. No questions were asked. None needed, really. He was, after all, the father of her baby. Sophia was born legitimately, and for her sake, we decided to forget the pain and sorrow.”

  “Did you?”

  “You’ve seen our photos. What do you think?”

  “Impossible to forget.”

  “Impossible. But we could pretend. Shortly after Sophia was born, we came home. Mother knew something awful had happened to us, but she never pried. She embraced us, as she’d always done, and helped us settle into our new lives. We never spoke of it. We never hinted that there’d been anything wrong. Sophia grew up with two loving mothers and doting grandparents who loved her as much as they loved her uncle Aidan’s kids, Conrad, James, and Denise. When Heather willed the twin house to Mother, she gave it to us to live in, and we poured all of our love into our home and into Sophia, whisking away any remnants of the man who had conceived her.”

  “Does Sophia know who bore her?”

  “Sophia grew to be a special little girl with a great ability to communicate with nature and the world, just as our mother did, as you do. I think she knows in her heart that Deidre is her natural mother, but as far as she’s concerned, she has two moms, so it doesn’t really matter. She knows her father died in an accident before she was born and never asked for more details. I think she sensed when she was little that we didn’t want to remember the pain associated with his death. For all I know, she’s seen it in one of those visions of hers.”

  “Did you ever forgive him?”

  “In time we were able to let go of the anger. We began to understand how he’d suffered himself, how his own life had been hell, and so in the end we were able to forgive him. It was important to us for Sophia to grow up surrounded by love and kindness. We didn’t want her to feel any type of resentment emanating from either one of us. That, coupled with our father and mother’s devotion, enabled us to live content lives.”

  “Is this little baby blanket Justin’s?”

  “Yes. We never mentioned Justin to anyone. We just kept him in our hearts and memories, praying for him, remembering him every year on his birthday, and mourning him every year on the day of his death. I would sneak away to the attic, take out his baby blanket, and hold it in my arms while I looked at the photographs on your lap. He was such a lovely little boy. I wonder what his life would’ve been had he lived? Probably a life as precious as Sophia’s.”

  With that last thought, I felt Casey leave.

  I sat in the attic for a long time looking through the photographs of Casey, Deidre, and Justin. I wondered who had taken those pictures and imagined that it must’ve been one of their friends from the look of happiness in their eyes. It couldn’t have been Horace.

  Justin and Sophia’s birth certificates were there, as well as a photograph of Deidre in the hospital with little Sophia in her arms. I realized I held the only picture that told the true story of Sophia’s birthmother.

  I remembered Alyana saying that after they’d gone to Nova Scotia for Sophia’s wedding, they didn’t return. I imagined that Angela had packed their things and shipped them there. Obviously, Casey hadn’t told her mother about the secret hidden under the loose floorboard.

  I left my attic, taking the small tin can and baby blanket with me. I cleaned them both and carefully put them away in a small packing box, placed it in the bottom drawer of my dresser, and carefully covered it with my sweaters.

  I knew I couldn’t share this story with Conrad, and it pained me, but it was not for me to share. His aunts would have to decide if they wished him to know. I needed to respect their secret.

  When Conrad came home from work, he immediately knew that something had happened, but with his customary respect, he did not pry.

  “From the look on your face, you’ve been up to your attic,” he said. “C’mon. Let’s go out to dinner and take a nice stroll down Main Street. It looks beautiful all dressed up for Christmas.”

  “We don’t have to. I’ll whip up something in no time,” I protested.

  “No sense in arguing. My mind’s made up. C’mon.”

  He dragged me to the coat rack, slid on my snow boots, put on my coat, button
ed it, kissed me, and pushed me out of the house.

  “You need airing,” he said. “It’ll be good for both of us to walk down Main Street and take in the cold air. We’ll enjoy it.”

  He was right. In no time the heaviness in my heart lifted, and the joy of walking hand in hand down the street with my future husband engulfed me. As I relaxed, I understood that Casey did not intend to sadden me or lay a heavy burden; instead, she’d shared her most delicate secret with the soul mate of her nephew, the woman Angela had chosen to care for her family’s memories.

  It was now up to me to figure out how to give her back her memories without violating the secret.

  Back home, we had just stepped into the foyer of the house when Conrad’s cell rang.

  “Hello.” What followed was an interminable pause, during which his countenance became somber. “When?” he said, followed by another long silence. “Well, at least that’s good.” Another pause. “Yes, of course. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” Another prolonged silence. “We’ll be ready. Give my love to your mom. Love you both.” He hung up and turned to me.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “My aunt Casey died this morning.”

  Chapter 27

  Heritage

  Casey wished her ashes to be scattered in the wilderness surrounding her childhood home, so Deidre and Sophia would arrive a couple of days after Christmas to fulfill her wish. The loss of his aunt had dampened Conrad’s usual high spirits, but he busied himself making all their travel arrangements and looked forward to seeing them both. He was determined not to allow the unexpected news to undermine the cheer of Christmas for his grandchildren and encouraged us to do so as well.

  I, on the other hand, was having a more difficult time dealing with these events. Undoubtedly, Casey had come to me moments after her death to share her secret. That in itself was unsettling. Why did she visit me? What did she expect me to do?

  The few days leading up to Christmas were filled with not only my quandary as to what to do with Casey’s possessions but also the anticipation of spending the first Christmas with my new family.