The Gift of the Twin Houses Page 8

  “Did your grandfather find her?”

  “He sure did. He’d promised her pa that he’d keep looking. One day he got this idea to place an advertisement in the newspapers in Tacoma and Seattle. The ad was really simple, just his picture with only one line under it reading, Angela, I love you. Richard. The following week she knocked on his door.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. I’ve always thought that my grandma planted that seed in his head when they were kids ’cause my granddad was not the type to think of things like that. It had to be her. Like I told you, she was special. Anyway, they married a few weeks later, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Were they happy together?”

  “Sure thing. They were devoted to each other, to their kids, and especially to us grandkids.”

  We finished our meal, and as I cleared the dishes, Conrad stood up and, without missing a beat, helped me clear the table. We put the leftovers in the fridge and the dirty dishes in the sink.

  “You wash; I’ll dry,” he announced.

  “Only if you keep talking. Tell me about your granddad.”

  “He was an uncomplicated man. I think I take after him ’cause I’m nothing like my dad or my mom. My father, Aidan, was drawn to adventure, and my mother went along just to please him.”

  “You have brothers and sisters?”

  “I did, not any more. They’re all gone. My brother, James, was killed in Vietnam, and my sister, Denise, died of lung cancer a few years back.”

  “How about other family, like uncles and aunts?”

  “My uncle Brady was in India working in their fisheries port till the day he died about six years ago. He was an engineer and oversaw things for them. I don’t think he would have known what to do with himself if he didn’t work or wasn’t inventing something or another. Like my dad he inherited the yearning for adventure from my grandmother. He never married. My aunts...” Conrad stopped for a minute as if his mind had wandered to some distant place. “Well, that’s a story for another day.” He dried his hands and hung the towel. “C’mon, let’s build a nice fire in the living room.”

  “Want some coffee or tea?”

  “Not now. You’re spoiling me with all this good food you make. I’m thinking about having another piece of pie later on.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We strolled into the living room. I could sense that Conrad had purposely avoided the topic of his aunts and wondered what had prompted him to do so.

  In no time, he got a nice fire going, and we sat to enjoy it, along with the view of the snowed-in valley that surrounded my house, now softly illuminated by the porch lights.

  “Tell me more about your parents,” I urged.

  “Let’s see. After his college stint in Seattle, my father married and came back home, but having lived in the big city, he was unable to settle ‘in the middle of nowhere,’ as he used to call our valley. My dad lived through the Great Depression and swore to never experience that kind of harshness again. He had a strong entrepreneurial spirit that, coupled with the impact of World War II, evolved into a rebellious streak and a calling for wild adventures—a dangerous combination. He was killed in the Korean War, and my mother passed on soon after of a broken heart.”

  “How did you end up here?”

  “After my dad died, Mother brought us kids to live here with our grandparents. I think she knew she wouldn’t last long without him. We were very young. My grandparents are the ones that actually raised us. Our folks were just two people we saw in old photographs and heard stories about.”

  “How sad.”

  “It wasn’t for us. I think we were happier living here rather than with the ups and downs of my folks. They used to argue most of the time, Dad wanting more from life and Mother holding him back. Grandma told us that life in time of sorrow had to skip a generation to find its joy again. She said that we were the joy that life brought back. My brother and sister inherited a bit of the adventuresome streak, but I never did. I was content here, like my granddad. I love this place. I joined the marines ’cause it was my duty, but I always knew this was my home.”

  “I can see that in you. Tell me about your grandfather.”

  “There’s not much to tell. His life was simple and happy. He was a man among men. What I mean is that he personified all the good qualities a man should have in life and didn’t boast about it. He just was. When James and I joined the marines, we knew we’d been raised just right. We used to write to one another reminiscing about the good old times we had with Granddad, like the conversations with him while fishing or horseback riding or herding or working the farm and tending to the animals. We particularly enjoyed the memories of our times in the store.”

  “Your granddad opened the store?”

  “My grandma’s idea altogether. Granddad was a good man who worked hard, loved hard, and made the best of his life the lives of his wife, kids, and grandkids. Our town was weakening after the mines closed down and the Depression hit. It only survived by reinventing itself, and my grandmother was right there in the middle of its newfound identity. At times I think she was the catalyst.”

  “Conrad, I have something to show you. Please wait a minute.” I went to my bedroom and brought back Angela’s books, the letter from her mother, her father’s photograph, and the picture of her fourteenth birthday.

  Conrad held them with such care and tenderness that my heart burst open. An overflow of emotion came rushing out of my eyes, especially when I noticed that Conrad was also quietly crying. We sat in silence for a long time while he looked at his grandmother’s belongings.

  At length he turned to me and said, “You should open your present now. It’s from my grandmother.”

  He must’ve sensed my shock, because he tapped my hand and smiled. “I told you she was someone special. Go ahead, open it.”

  Carefully I opened the gift box. It was filled with empty picture frames of all sizes.

  “The day before I left to join the marine corps, my grandma gave me this box and told me that one day I’d meet a woman who would understand her house and its memories. She asked me to take care of it until then. I’ve never looked inside the box. I’ve just been changing the wrapping every so often to make it look nice. I think you’re the woman she spoke of. Do you know why she’d give you these old frames?”

  “I think so,” I whispered. “To care for the memories.”

  “Memories?”

  The moment that I so dreaded had finally come. Everything was on the line. If I took the next step and told him about my experiences in the attic, he might bolt. But if I didn’t tell him, then I’d be keeping a secret that would forever stand between us. More importantly, I would revert to the Sarah that never took risks. After all, Angela was his grandmother, and maybe I was the conduit for something critical for him and his family. Did I have the right to keep that from him? The clear answer was no, so I asked him, “Did you know that Angela left a bunch of photographs in the attic?”

  “I knew there were some old trunks and stuff left behind. I figured that if you wanted them out, you’d tell me.”

  “I’ve been going through the photographs. That’s how I found these things that belonged to your grandmother Angela.” My throat tightened, my hands shook, I licked my lips, and I dove right in. “As I pick up a photo, I seem to be able to hear the story of the people in it.”

  He didn’t react like I was crazy, he didn’t leave, and he didn’t look shocked. Instead, he listened and smiled.

  “Guess I was right. You’re the woman my grandmother expected.”

  Chapter 11

  Christopher 1881

  Conrad measured all the frames and said he would order nonreflective glass for each one to protect the photos that would reside within.

  I felt relieved that he didn’t think of me as a witch, creepy, or insane. As a matter of fact, none of the reactions that had driven my family to build a fortress around me and disavow
a significant part of my makeup materialized.

  Instead, hearing all about Angela had been comforting. I’d felt reassured by Conrad’s memories, and therefore able to tell him about the photographs and their stories. However, these new experiences were so uncharacteristic of me that I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and for my newfound valor to come crashing down. Years of denial and fear had caused a sizeable fracture in my personality, and even though I continued to piece it together, I could feel its fragility.

  I’d gone to bed early and slept soundly till around four in the morning. After waking up, I’d stayed in bed, just as young Jeremy used to do. But instead of writing stories, I was hearing them, sensing them. This particular morning, I lay in bed immersed in Conrad’s recollections of his grandparents, my ability to enter into the lives of those who’d lived in my house, and wondering what it all meant. I felt torn. On the one hand, terror still had a firm grip, and I dreaded that I might end up in an asylum, talking to my imaginary friends. On the other hand, I didn’t want the magic to end. Most of all, I didn’t want my old self to come back and yank away the enjoyment of the stories or the excitement of their discovery.

  As I weighed all these emotions, all of sudden something stirred within me, whispered All is well, and egged me on. I stopped and listened to my thoughts. No, not thoughts, but those inner vibrations that we all feel but rarely listen to—the sensations that travel through our souls but that we can only sense when we truly pay attention.

  The pretender, the untrusting and controlling Sarah, watched in silence while the hopeful, sensitive Sarah emerged, nudging her alter ego aside. Nevertheless, the cautious one remained vigilant, too entrenched and still uncertain about the impact of these experiences. Although I perceived that no real danger lurked around the next corner, fear still permeated my senses.

  “Angela,” I heard myself whisper into the early morning, “what do you want from me?” But no response came from out of the darkness. “I’m afraid,” I murmured. “Will I lose my mind? Is this evil? Is this unnatural? Dangerous?”

  Silence again.. .then a deep sigh escaped my lips, and I felt enveloped by a warm embrace that little by little filled me with inner strength and confidence.

  “Thank you,” I muttered.

  I don’t know why I said that, or what I’d perceived. Never had I felt something so pleasing travel through my body. It felt like a silent exchange of emotions, a deep understanding, an awareness that flowed through me, consoling and reassuring, like a soothing, fresh breeze whispering tranquility. I imagined myself asleep in the clouds, tenderly rolling about, my hair blowing in the softness of the wind, embraced by the blue sky. Then the clear understanding that I needed to achieve something, that my presence in this house had a special meaning, came into view. I sensed that something had to be exposed and that I had been chosen for the task.

  A few hours later, I woke up with newfound courage, made myself a sweet cup of cinnamon coffee with warm milk, and went through the frames Angela had left for me. Picking the frame for her birthday photograph turned out to be an easy task. The night before, I’d laid out the frames on the dining room table to give them a little time to get used to their new surroundings. I imagined how eager they were to welcome the memories they would hold dear and protect for years to come. A bit of airing might suit them quite well, the way daily brisk walks did for me.

  Conrad had not wanted to take Angela’s photograph with him. He knew his grandmother wanted it to be in her old house. I placed her picture in the frame, and I could’ve sworn she smiled. I also framed her pa’s picture and then took them upstairs to my room and set them down on top of my dresser.

  But Angela disagreed. She wanted to be in her old bedroom, but that room no longer resembled what I’d imagined when she told me the story on her fourteenth birthday. I hoped she would approve.

  Angela’s former room now held a bit of me, a bit of my grandmother, a bit of my parents, a bit of the modern world, and a nice collection of the books I enjoyed reading. It was what the old me liked to call an office, and my new self had renamed as sanctuary. Curious how the same space has different meaning when a person changes perspective.

  I heard Angela agree when I placed her picture next to my nana’s photograph. She also approved of the placement of her pa’s picture next to the ones of my parents. I knew I would find a photograph of her momma somewhere in the house, and soon she could join the family.

  I made my way down to the kitchen, poured myself another cup of coffee, and joined my box of photos in the living room. Too early to visit my attic, it was still dark outside, and the attic was at its best with natural light. I placed the box on my lap and took out a picture that rested next to the one of the three sisters. It was a photograph of a handsome man with graying hair, proudly posing with a young woman and her son in the early 1880s. Oh, how I love these old photographs. This particular one had not spoken to me in the past, and I was about to put it down when I heard a familiar voice.

  “Christopher had come to pay his respects.”

  It was Amy, bringing me back to the kitchen as she sat with her sisters, some twenty years before the picture I held in my hands was taken.

  “He brought his camera with him. When he took our picture at the kitchen table, it irritated my sisters to such a degree that they actually lost their composure and screamed at him.”

  “Hello, Amy. I’m so glad to hear from you again,” I whispered, and leaned back to enjoy her company.

  “When I saw the picture of the three of us in the kitchen,” she went on, “I felt relieved to see that I didn’t look as shriveled as I thought. To be honest with you, ever since I had entered this house, I’d felt wonderful.

  “I was now the proud owner of the house, not because I had coveted it but because she wanted me and not my sisters. Cora and Laura were still holding on tight to a past that hurt and didn’t want to have anything to do with the house that reminded them of the pain. I had never allowed their anguish to stake a claim in me, so in the end it all worked out.”

  “What made it different for you?”

  “Maybe it had to do with being in love. My sisters never found love. They had slammed shut the doors to their hearts, and only their grief and despair resided within.

  “After we got married, Christopher and I had to move to his folks’ house. It was a tight squeeze, especially after Christopher’s widowed sister-in-law, Madeline, moved in with her two boys. Her husband had died in one the many accidents in the mines.

  “Come to think of it, I suspect that worrying about Christopher was what had turned down the lights inside of me.”

  “Is that why you felt shriveled?” I asked Amy.

  “If it hadn’t been for my daughters, Annie and Claudia, who kept the glow shining, I think I would’ve just shut down. Twin daughters had been a wonderful gift for us, even though Christopher’s father kept pushing for me to have boys. We were happy with our girls. I think I didn’t have any more kids just to spite the old man and his dismissal of my daughters.

  “We had married for love, unusual for the times, but not unusual for my family. Our love never waned, and our youngsters sure could feel it. I could see it in their eyes, and that was all that mattered. The pressure for me to produce boys into the family lessened when Madeline moved in with her boys. The four kids took to each other right away, and life got a bit easier for a while with one more hand to help around the house and two boys to help the men around the farm.”

  “That sounds good. I’m glad you were relieved.”

  “But the ease of life did not last long. Three grown women under one roof proved to be difficult. We each had our own ideas and our own ways of thinking and doing things, so the pressure eventually mounted.

  “Christopher could feel it, and it worried him. It was a pressure he surely didn’t need on top of his work in the mines, around the house, and on the farm. Since his father had been injured in the mines not long after we married, the welfare of t
he entire family rested on my husband’s shoulders. You’d think he would complain about it, but he never did. He just went about his daily business, working, helping, and loving us. Every morning he kissed ‘his girls,’ as he called all the women in the house, patted the boys’ heads and his father’s shoulder, and then left with a smile as he winked at me. He knew I’d worry about him all day, and this little ritual was his way of reassuring me. I certainly appreciated it. I loved him dearly.”

  “How special to have found such love. Christopher sure looks handsome in this picture.”

  “When I inherited the house, he was anxious about leaving his parents and moving away, but in the end he knew it was the right thing to do for his little family. Our daughters were growing up and needed their space and a bit of distance from their cousins. They were reaching that age when boys and girls need to be apart or watched all the time.”

  “I understand.”

  “You can well imagine how angry I became when my sisters yelled at my husband.”

  “You mean when he took the picture of the three of you in the kitchen?”

  “Yes. I don’t think they had ever seen me that angry. I didn’t yell or lose my temper. It wasn’t that kind of anger. It was the anger that comes from deep, deep inside and just glares, with no forgiveness. ‘How dare you yell at my husband like that? Please leave my house.’ That’s all I said, and they knew they had crossed a barrier that would never be taken down again.”

  “You broke with them completely?”

  “Don’t get me wrong; I do care for my sisters, but I’m in love with my husband. They knew that. They knew how much Christopher meant to me and what a wonderful man he was. They knew and didn’t care. They just let their irritation get the best of them, and they hurt him with despicable, demeaning words.

  “He didn’t mind that they yelled at him. He told me later that he shouldn’t have taken the picture given their history, but he wanted to keep the memory of our getting together after so many years of being apart from one another.