In the ensuing days, Jenny became more sentimental about her mother and more determined to discover who she was. So much so that, in a last act of desperation, she finally risked approaching her uncle.
She picked a day—one that would allow her to broach the subject without suspicion, and chose a pleasant dinner at his home. She reasoned he would be relaxed and his guard would be down.
“Did you know my mother, Uncle Paul?” she casually asked.
He hardly paid attention to the question.
“No,” he said between chews as he cut his chicken breast.
Jenny waited in vain for some sort of elaboration, until her aunt gracefully filled the expectant silence.
“Why do you ask, dear?”
Jenny shrugged. “Today is her birthday. Now that Dad’s gone, I’m the only one left to celebrate it, and I don’t even know who she was, what she was like.”
Her aunt and uncle exchanged sympathetic looks. Paul put down his knife and fork and smiled sweetly.
“Why, she was just like you, kiddo … beautiful and smart and—”
“I thought you said you didn’t know her,” Jenny broke in, not interested in platitudes.
He looked to his wife for help, who merely raised her brow and waited for his answer. “Well, I’ve seen pictures … so have you … and, why, you’re the spitting image.”
“Picture,” Jenny corrected him.
“What?”
“One picture. That’s all I’ve seen.”
Her uncle wrinkled his brow in confusion and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “What do you mean, one picture?”
“There’s only one picture in the whole house. The one in the study.”
Paul looked at Betsy, who seemed just as surprised. “That doesn’t seem right.”
Jenny deposited her silverware on her plate with a clank, her appetite gone. “Nor is it fair to me.”
Paul was at a loss. He turned to his wife and pleaded with his eyes for a little help.
“I’m sure there are pictures somewhere, dear. Have you looked—”
“I’ve looked in the attic, in the cellar, through all the family albums. There’s nothing. Dad kept her all to himself, like he was ashamed of her or something.”
Her uncle frowned at the accusation. “Now, see here, young lady—”
Betsy put her hand on his forearm to still him, then turned back to Jenny.
“Honey, you know that’s not true.”
“How would I know that, Aunt B?”
“Because you know your father loved your mother very much. You could see it every time he mentioned her, or looked at you, for that matter. You were his pride and joy, Jenny, everything he loved in her and more, all wrapped up in one beautiful little girl.”
Paul smiled and sat back, amazed at his wife’s diplomacy. Across the table, Jenny placed her napkin beside her plate and abruptly excused herself.
Paul looked to Betsy. “What is wrong with that girl?”
“Honestly, Paul,” Betsy whispered. She skidded her chair back and then followed Jenny into the living room, where she found her crying, holding a family photograph in her hands that she’d taken from the mantle.
Jenny looked at the group portrait, specifically into her father’s kind face, and knew he loved her mother. He loved her so much that the memory of her was too painful for him, and that’s why she was so absent in their lives. Jenny knew he channeled that pain into the unconditional love and pride he bestowed upon her every day of his life, and she closed her eyes as the truth of it washed over her.
Betsy came up from behind and put her arm around her shoulder and led her to the couch, where they sat side by side.
“This is the last photo of us all together before Granddad died,” Jenny said between sniffles, suddenly overwhelmed by happy memories being drowned in the fetid pool of the family’s treasonous betrayal.
“I know. Gran’s birthday.”
Paul came into the room and stood awkwardly before the two women. “Everything all right in here?”
Betsy glared at him because the answer was obvious.
“Yes,” Jenny said to the contrary, wiping her eyes as she tried to sort out her conflicting emotions. “Just missing everyone, I guess. Sorry I ruined dinner.”
Paul shrugged and scratched the back of his head, obviously happy the tears had stopped. “That’s okay.” He hesitantly moved to the couch, where he sat beside his upset niece and searched for something useful to say. He reached over and caressed the dark wood frame in her hands.
“I miss them too.”
In her own emotional turmoil, Jenny had almost forgotten these people were his family as well. He had been estranged, but she saw he loved them, nonetheless. It reminded her of Kathryn, pushing her father away for so long but unable to ever really let go, and, in the end, trying to find some sort of closure that made sense of their disconnected past.
Jenny found she couldn’t let go of her family either, despite what she’d learned about their deeds. They had given her everything, and she had loved them. She couldn’t regret that and was glad she didn’t have to. It was too hard to live with irreparable mistakes. She sensed Kathryn was on the verge of regret, if she would allow it, and wondered if her uncle had found peace with his choices.
“Are you sorry you weren’t closer to them, Uncle Paul?”
Paul ran his hand across the glass, tracing the smiling faces under his fingers.
“Not much I could do about your granddad. Oil and water, we two.”
He offered a warm smile as his fingers hovered over his mother’s face, and then Jenny watched it disappear when he landed on his brother.
“I miss your dad. I wish we—”
He stopped abruptly, and Jenny sensed he knew there was no point in wishes. No point in reimagining the past. She could hear regret and love in his voice and was glad he didn’t know about the family’s sordid past. She felt a bit like Kathryn, bravely sparing her brother the ugly truth about their father to keep their relationship intact.
“He was away so much,” Paul went on.
Away plotting with the enemy, Jenny silently bristled. Her OSS training tapped her on the shoulder, and she was reminded that some of the best information comes from someone who doesn’t know they have any information to give. It felt odd, mining her unsuspecting uncle for clues to her family’s treachery, but she was presented with an opportunity to understand how her loved ones could have betrayed their country, and she was going to take it.
“He spent a lot of time overseas, didn’t he?”
Paul shrugged. “When he was younger. It was the only place to get a decent medical education in the day.” He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know, so she pushed a little harder.
“Did he keep in touch with any of those people?”
Her uncle looked at her sideways, and she had to cover quickly. “I just thought one of his friends from back then may have known my mother.”
“I think your granddad was more in touch with his overseas colleagues than your dad, but I wouldn’t know. Sorry.”
Jenny shrugged, masking the true impact of finding yet another dead end. “Worth a shot.”
Paul saw her deflate in disappointment, and he came up with what he thought was a brilliant solution to her melancholia.
“You know, kiddo, I think that big house has gotten on your nerves. Why don’t you close it up and take an apartment in the city? You used to love it there.”
Jenny and her aunt turned to him in unison and had identical perplexed looks on their faces. Paul rephrased his idea. “What I mean to say is, the house is a reminder of … well, everyone, and maybe living alone in all that empty space is finally becoming too much for you.”
“Thank you for the concern, Uncle Paul, but it’s not the house, and I’m not alone. In fact, I have a roommate now.”
Her aunt subtly grinned, having a good idea who the new live-in was, and her uncle, as usual, was clueless.
“Since when? Who?”
“Last month. Kathryn Hammond. You remember her, don’t you?”
Paul frowned and sat back, obviously disturbed by the news.
“Yes, I certainly do.” He suddenly looked like dinner disagreed with him. “She’s a grown woman. Doesn’t she have a place of her own?”
“I’m a grown woman, Uncle Paul, and she’s living with me.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“I don’t think that’s for you to say.”
“I don’t want that woman parading her revolving door of strange men in and out of your house, Jenny.”
“It is my house, Uncle Paul, and I assure you, there are no strange men parading in and out of it.”
Paul looked to his wife, calling for her magical logic to save the day. “Talk to her.”
Her aunt smiled and patted Jenny’s hand.
“I think it makes perfect sense, dear. That house is so large, it’s a wonder you don’t get lost in it. You should have your friend to dinner sometime.”
Paul glared at her, and she gave it right back.
“Shouldn’t she, Paul?”
Jenny ducked her head to hide her smile. Her aunt was a formidable woman when it came to persuasion, and her uncle didn’t have a chance of winning that one.
The arguing started before Jenny even reached the bottom of her uncle’s front porch steps, but the raised voices were mercifully left behind with the closing of the front door. She was saddened by her uncle’s attitude toward Kathryn but glad her aunt was on her side and accepting of her relationship.
“I’m so happy for you,” she whispered in her ear as they hugged goodbye. “Don’t worry about your uncle. I’ll bring him around.”
Of that, Jenny had no doubt.
She drove home, no closer to answers about her mother, and more confused than ever about her family. Her heart, her memories, every fiber of her being, told her they were good people, but all the evidence she’d seen proved otherwise. She wondered how her heart could be so wrong. Unable to reconcile the conflicting emotions, she felt helpless and confused. She couldn’t wait to get home and fall into Kathryn’s loving arms, where everything made sense and her heart was infallible.
“I told you never to contact me, Mr. Ryan,” Holmes complained mildly into the telephone as he sat back in his chair and propped one outstretched leg onto the corner of his desk. “Especially for something so insignificant.”
“I went through the proper channels, and the request is not insignificant to me. There were personal things in that storage unit that couldn’t possibly be of any interest to you.”
“I will decide what is and isn’t of interest.”
Paul gritted his teeth, knowing he didn’t have a leg to stand on if Holmes wanted to be an ass about it. He’d made a simple request for the return of personal family mementos, the box of Bess Ryan’s belongings among them. He felt bad for his niece and hadn’t realized how important knowing something about her mother had become to her. It made sense though, that after losing her father, she simply wanted to reach out and discover her roots. He almost felt embarrassed that his wife had to explain to him such a simple human need. There was no reason Holmes should deny his request, other than he just enjoyed turning the screw.
“And how long will it take you to decide, Colonel?”
“I’ll get back to you.”
Paul was left with a dial tone in his ear, and he slammed down the receiver in frustration before roughly opening the phone booth door and disappearing into the crowded train station.
Holmes smirked as he hung up on his end and buzzed for his assistant, who burst into the office with all the eagerness of a fresh soldier on the battlefield, ready for duty.
“Yes, sir?”
“Brian, wait three hours and contact Mr. Ryan. Arrange to give him what he requested.”
“Sir.” He turned to leave.
“Oh, and Brian—”
“Sir?”
“Work up an exhaustive report on Bess Ryan. Get me everything you can find on her.” He looked up from his paperwork. “I mean everything.”