The Gift of the Twin Houses Read online

  “That shows you the quality of man I married. Always thinking of others, always attentive to our needs, whether we knew what we wanted or not.” Amy sighed, and I looked at the photograph in my hand. I could see Christopher’s kind face smiling at the camera as he held a little baby in his arms, with a proud young woman at his side. I knew exactly who they were, and moments later Amy confirmed it.

  “Jeremy was but a week old when I took this picture. That’s my Annie, his mom. Doesn’t Christopher look wonderful with his gray hair?”

  She knew I agreed.

  Amy’s formal introduction of Jeremy as a baby presented another piece of the puzzle of experiences. I didn’t understand the purpose Amy had in mind as she introduced me to her daughter, husband, and Jeremy, especially as a baby. I’d already met Jeremy as a young boy, knew about the kind of life he’d lived, about his father and mother, his newborn baby sister, the farm, and his house. I had no doubt that informing me that Amy was Jeremy’s grandmother carried with it a hidden intention, but what that entailed, I had no clue.

  It occurred to me that if I drew a relationship diagram of the residents of my house, the interconnectedness between my new companions might emerge. The idea gripped me, and I spent the next few hours drafting it, only to discover that I had more questions than answers.

  Chapter 12

  Leonard 1850

  Amy’s story generated a myriad of questions I needed to ask Conrad when he came over for dinner. But my attic—or perhaps Angela—had other plans for me.

  As soon as I opened the attic door, I heard mumbling from under a pile of old photographs. I’d looked through them several times before, and expectantly listened for their stories, but their age intercepted our exchange. The sepia in many of them had faded to such a degree that the people appeared to be vanishing, fostering the sensation that one could get lost in the ghostly images if one peered too deeply into their past.

  Today was different, maybe because I’d changed. The memories Angela wanted me to hear touched me so deeply that my senses were raw, and hence, in harmony with the voices calling from the forgotten past. The images didn’t appear ghostly anymore; instead they were appealing, somehow coming into focus as I observed them.

  Careful not to blemish them, I went through each photograph until I found the one that called out to me. It seemed older than the rest and had lost most of its clarity. I could make out an elegant young woman standing on the porch, overlooking three little girls sitting on the steps, while an elderly lady sat on what appeared to be a rocking chair. They were all well appointed and tastetufully dressed. The house resembled my house. I turned the photograph over and found a faded but still legible handwritten note: 1850 The Twin Houses.

  A deep, manly voice broke through. “Amy is different.”

  “Leonard, I do not see what the issue is. Whether she is yours or not is unimportant,” responded the younger woman.

  I gasped, coming into the realization that I was overhearing Louise and Leonard, the lovers in the first story I’d heard. The memory of the passion and desire they’d experienced was so vivid that it felt as if I were on the beach again, with Louise, the solitary woman whose hair danced in the wind, and with Leonard, whose likeness was yet to be revealed. I had not found Leonard’s photograph in my past searches, nor did I have it now, yet his voice and presence permeated the attic.

  “Cora and Laura are most definitely mine,” Leonard insisted. “Their temperaments make that undeniable. Amy is different. You must tell me who her father is.”

  I took a deep breath, shocked at the discovery that Leonard and Louise were the parents of Amy and her sisters. A family lineage had just come into focus.

  Still uneasy at hearing Leonard without seeing his image, I sensed his photograph awaited me. Careful not to startle Louise and her daughters, I placed their photo on my lap as I searched for Leonard through the remaining pictures. I knew he wanted to be heard and that his picture wanted to come out and join the one from Louise and the girls.

  Delicately, I went through each photograph until I found his. It looked just as old, but I could make out that he was a handsome man with a thick mustache, proudly standing in front of the twin house, his hands clasping the lapel of his coat. Next to him was a little boy looking just as handsome, imitating his father’s stance. I turned the photograph over and found the same handwritten note: 1850 The Twin Houses.

  “Well?” I heard Leonard ask Louise. “Will you answer my question?”

  “There is no answer,” Louise replied sharply. “You know perfectly well that I will never answer that question. As a matter of fact, it is impertinent of you to even ask it.”

  “Louise, you can be incredibly obstinate,” Leonard uttered with restrained anger.

  As I listened in, my heart pounded. I didn’t like prying into this private moment between them, but they insisted on being heard. So I got out of the way, agreeing to listen and witness their exchange.

  “Why here, Leonard? Why in this godforsaken wilderness?”

  “God is in this ‘wilderness,’ as you call it,” Leonard answered with determination. “It is here we will make our peace with God. We could not live together anywhere else in the world. You know that. At least here we are just two families in neighboring houses. You with our girls and Mother in one house, and me with my son in the other one.”

  “Your son. Not mine. You do not see me making a scene about him, do you? Leonard, you must understand that I cannot live so far from the city in this little house. Mother will drive me crazy, and the girls.. .well, the girls will be in the way.”

  “They are ours, at least two of them are. We must care for them. Mother will help; she will give them the love you refuse to give, and maybe one day, hopefully, you will care for them—and Ethan. None of us have any choice.” “You do. You will have solitude and peace when you are in your house across the valley—just you and your boy. We, of course, will cater to the two of you, freeing you of the pressures we females have to endure. On the other hand, I will be stuck in this hellhole with Mother and three demanding children.”

  Louise paused. I could hear her breathing, and Leonard’s pacing, and suddenly I saw them face-to-face in their bedroom, replaying a scene they had performed many times already.

  With renewed determination she faced Leonard and went on. “Why build the two houses exactly the same? Why taunt me so? Why put me through this?” “Louise, you are getting on my nerves. Stop this nonsense. You know perfectly well that since Mother found out about us, her mind is weakening. Being away from all acquaintances will help us all.”

  “You say that, but I do not understand how,” Louise snapped.

  “Here we go again.” Leonard responded with imposed patience. “The children are little, and they will not take in the details of our exchange. Both houses were built and furnished exactly the same. The perfect symmetry will permit us to exchange with less notice. As time goes by, the girls and Ethan will get used to it, and we will have more freedom to be with one another. We are far from town, and we will be able to live as we have chosen. I have told you this time and again. Mother has accepted—”

  “Do not be fooled,” Louise spat back. “Mother has chosen to ignore it. Her soul cracked with the pain of what we are. Do not be deceived. Her mind is not weakening. She has chosen to repair that crack by turning it toward the wall. Just as she did with the vase she had on the mantle. Remember how you dropped and chipped it? She simply turned the defect away from view. Problem solved.”

  “I do. That is why we are here, away from view. Use her example to help you do the same. Accept what is and look the other way. Be thankful for your mother. At least she loves the girls and Ethan. God knows they need the love you refuse to give.”

  I heard Louise take a deep and exasperated breath. She walked away from him, torn between the need to leave, and the desire to be with him.

  “I must know, Louise. Who is Amy’s father? I thought you were faithful to me.”

/>   Louise spun to face him. “Faithful? You, who married another? You, who insisted on taking me and gave me children? You, who—”

  “Enough! Stop! You know our marriages were for appearances.”

  “Your ‘appearances’ produced a child. Your ‘appearances’ made me marry Anthony. Your ‘appearances’ brought on the death of your wife. Have you come to terms with that?”

  “Her suicide is a burden I will carry to my grave.”

  “Then do not accuse me and demand faithfulness. You chose the husband I married.”

  “Is Anthony the father? You told me he refused to touch you after you foolishly told him on your wedding night that you were carrying my child.” “Did I?”

  “Louise, do not toy with me.”

  “Leonard, you tore me apart when you made me yours. The leftover shreds of my soul are mine and only mine. I will not share any of them with you. I must have something of my own to keep me alive in this wasteland you have brought us to.”

  I sensed that Leonard’s patience was exhausted. His breathing was rapid, his tension palpable.

  “Louise, I have given up my past life as well. In our exile I have poured all my love into making these houses agreeable for the children and us. This is a beautiful place, and life amid the Cascades, in our twin houses, is far from being a wasteland.”

  Leonard took a deep breath, and his demeanor shifted. “In time,” he said at length, “I am sure you will learn to love our houses and to love your daughters and even Ethan. You will learn to enjoy our new life in this beautiful valley. Please tell me you will at least try.” His voice cracked.

  “Do not look at me like that. You know I cannot bear to see you this way.”

  With Louise’s last whisper, the attic fell silent. I waited for a long time to see if either of them would come back, but they didn’t.

  I was left dumbfounded, unable to grasp the true meaning of what they had revealed. Are Leonard and Louise related to one another? Cousins? Brother and sister? No, that can’t be. Can it? Did he rape her? Is that what she implied? Yet, she seemed so willing when I first met her. She protested but she didn’t refuse.

  “Please come back, tell me more.” I blurted out.

  Silence was their answer.

  Resigned, I went down to my kitchen to fix supper. Conrad had invited me out to dinner, but I liked cooking for him, and he enjoyed what I prepared, so in the end we’d agreed to eat at home.

  While fixing our meal, I thought about the unusual birth of my house and its twin, and how it mirrored the births of Amy and her sisters. The girls and their stepbrother were just as unwanted and as alive as the houses. I imagined the difficult childhood of the four children and understood the resentment Amy’s older sisters had developed. I marveled at Amy’s forgiving spirit and wondered if Leonard might be right that Amy wasn’t his daughter. Without doubt, she’d overcome her lot in life, and maybe her “difference” was simply that she wasn’t Leonard’s child. I wondered if Louise had treated her differently, and that was the reason she’d grown to be so strong.

  When Conrad arrived, it didn’t take long for him to notice that something had affected me. I was so emotionally brittle that I offered no resistance to his inquiries and showed him the photographs of Leonard with Ethan and of Louise with her mother and three daughters. I told him the story I’d witnessed.

  He smiled and caressed my hand. This kind, simple gesture sent shivers through my body.

  “I’ll be darned! You have a bit of my grandmother in you.” His smile filled my soul with pleasure and immense gratitude. At least he didn’t think I was a nutcase making up stories from old photographs.

  “Angela’s great-grandmother,” he went on, “was named Amy. I don’t know much about their history, but it looks like you’ve tapped into it. Just as my grandma used to tap into things unknown to others.”

  This revelation offered so freely and without judgment disconcerted me. I didn’t know what to make of it. In complete contrast from what I’d experienced as a child, Conrad not only didn’t find me bizarre, but also he saw this antenna of mine as normal. In fact, my ability to tap into real moments in these people’s lives didn’t astonish him whatsoever. On the contrary, he reveled in the similarities between his grandmother and me. With him I had no need to be fearful, no need to run away, no need to pretend I couldn’t feel and experience these moments. I fell silent, and Conrad understood my desire for self-reflection.

  “Don’t be frightened,” Conrad said after a while, offering a comforting presence. “There are many things one notices in passing that for some reason don’t become part of our conscience or thoughts. Then, when we least expect them, they pop up in our imaginations or our dreams or our thoughts. You may have seen her name somewhere, and it rang a bell. It could be just as simple as that.”

  “When you look at these pictures, do you recognize them? Is there any family resemblance?” My question was one of hope more than curiosity.

  “No, but I must tell you that I like the stories you’re tapping into. I think you’re a good storyteller, mostly because you care about folks. You listen intently. I’ve seen you do that.”

  “You think me crazy because I hear stories coming out of these old photographs?”

  I blurted out the one question I feared the most, not even hesitating for a second before asking it. Now, it hung between us in its naked truth, and I wished I could take it back. If he said yes, what would I do then?

  “No, not at all.” He offered a simple response in all of its proud honesty.

  I stared at him, not knowing what else to say.

  He smiled and reached for my hand again. “Don’t forget that I was raised by Angela, a woman with special sensitivity. I don’t know what to make of it, how it works, or why. I believe there are people like her in this world that can experience things that others can’t. You are one of those people.”

  “People like that are thought to be crazy or witches or worse—evil, or something awful.”

  “Only by folks that don’t have open minds. It certainly didn’t affect my grandmother. She didn’t hide her abilities, didn’t flaunt them either. They just were there.”

  “But I’ve never allowed this to happen, quite the contrary. This is all new. Very new to me.”

  “Then, congratulations on having found whatever it is that makes you who you are now. Hope you enjoy it as much as my grandmother did.”

  I looked at him with sincere amazement, and he burst out laughing. “Don’t fuss over it. Are you happy with this newfound gift?”

  “I’m still frightened, but I don’t seem to be able to stop.”

  “Then just enjoy it. Don’t overanalyze it; don’t dissect it. Just go with it as you have done so far.”

  “But at times it’s frightening. Can you imagine what it’s like to be engaged in conversations with people long gone? I don’t know if I can keep on doing this. Where does it end? What’s going to happen? I’m not used to being out of control. That’s what scares me the most. Sometimes I even think that it is best to stop and just go back to the way things were. It’s like being on a rollercoaster of emotions and experiences.”

  I must’ve frowned, because he reached and caressed my forehead. “Let’s bring the Sarah I know back. Send this worrisome Sarah away.” He grabbed my hands, pulled me toward the door, and added, “C’mon, you need a bit of airing.”

  Chapter 13

  Nana

  Without a doubt, Angela had given me the exact number of frames for the pictures she wished me to care for. However, the photos far outnumbered the frames, so how to choose? Obviously the selected ones would have to make themselves known to me, but as I looked through them, they all remained silent. They were intimating that I needed to tend to something or someone else that wished to be heard. No idea what it could be, but I didn’t let the unknown bother me. My newfound self trusted that whatever needed attention would come knocking in due time, and I’d be ready to open the door, the one to the at
tic, the one to the house, or the one to my soul.

  So I turned to my mother’s cookbook that had been a wonderful companion in the last few weeks, offering many recipes much to Conrad’s delight, and as I looked for something new to bake for him, the man himself knocked on the door. It was midmorning, and his unexpected arrival jolted me. He certainly was not the one I expected to come knocking today, especially this early.

  So the old insecure Sarah popped in, and at once I worried about my appearance, about what I was wearing, how my hair was combed. My stomach tightened up. I had no idea how I looked. I couldn’t remember how I had combed my hair or if I wore any makeup. Busy tending to my photographs, I’d ignored my own care.

  “So be it,” I told myself and opened the door, hoping he’d look somewhere else except at me.

  Unfortunately, I gasped so loudly, he had no choice but look at me as he laughed.

  “Gosh, Sarah, it’s just a Christmas tree, not a monster.”

  “Sorry, please come in. You surprised me.”

  “Well that’s just what I was hoping for, but I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He came in and placed the tree in front of the bay window in the living room. It was a beautiful, fresh Christmas tree, and it looked majestic by the window. I heard the house creak a little as she sighed with pleasure.

  “Looks good here, don’t you think? The house needs its Christmas fixings.” He winked. “She’s been alone for too long.”

  “I haven’t decorated for Christmas in years,” I said, more to myself than to Conrad.

  “How come?”

  “I’ve been alone for some time, and it just didn’t seem worth the trouble.”

  “No decorations?”

  “I have a few boxes that I’ve kept from when I celebrated Christmas with my family. Haven’t opened them in a long time.”

  “Well then, they need airing.”

  He walked to the front door, and before he opened it, he turned toward me and smiled.