fifty-two
Lapeer County, March
I stood at the calendar and peeked ahead. Just one more day until April started.
The first day of spring had come and gone in a flurry of snow, followed by a week of constant rain. But March 31st had dawned sunny. Birds were nesting, brown grass was visible, some intrepid herbs were pushing up their first leaves in the rich garden soil—scouts that would report back to the subterranean infrastructure about whether it was safe to emerge.
“Oh, just turn it,” Nora said as she walked into the kitchen. “Let’s start April a day early.”
I did as directed, happy to see that she was having a good day. “Coffee?” I asked.
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
“Great. I have something I want to talk to you about.”
I went about the task of brewing our standard half pot of coffee, set everything on a tray, and took it into the parlor. Matthew had situated himself next to Nora on the settee in a spot of sunlight, his orange fur radiant, one green eye squinting up at me. I buried my fingers in his hot fur.
“It’s been ages since I felt that warm. Maybe I need a fur coat.”
Nora poured the coffee, revealing a shake in her arms that had not been there before. “What do you have on your mind?”
I gathered my thoughts. It had been far more difficult and taken far more persuasion on Linden’s part than I’d anticipated to get Mr. Rich to agree to come out to the farmhouse. Linden first called in January with the news that his father wanted nothing to do with my scheme. But I would not be dissuaded. As Marshall Boon had said, I was tenacious. By mid-March I had finally gotten James Rich himself on the phone to hash things out.
“It’s not that no one tried,” he said. “Nora shut down and shut herself away after it was clear that William wasn’t going back to Lapeer with her. She wouldn’t talk to anyone about it, and she sure wouldn’t want to talk to me—ever.”
“Mr. Rich, I don’t think you quite understand. Sometimes she talks about William as if he’s still here. There have been a couple times lately when I’ve walked into a room and she’s been talking to him. If you could just tell her what really happened, maybe she’d understand and she’d be able to make her peace. You said you’ve been carrying around a burden for years. Well, that’s your burden. Not mine. I can’t lay it down for you. You need to lay it down yourself.”
A long sigh. “Would you mind if I brought Denny with me? Just for support. I know you two didn’t hit it off, but . . . I can’t do this alone.”
“I don’t mind at all,” I said, knowing I’d won him over. If he wanted to bring along an interpretive dance troupe or Chinese shadow puppeteers to tell the story, I would have agreed.
And now, next Sunday, he would be here.
I stirred the cream into my coffee and tried to calm my racing heart while Nora waited for me to talk. “I’ve arranged for a visit from someone who has information about the family to come and talk with us. I figured since we’re both so interested in family history, it might be beneficial to hear some parts we don’t know much about.”
“My, my, that sounds intriguing. Where did you find this person?”
“He found me. He happened to notice the Balsam name in the newspaper and realized he knew someone with the same name.”
“Who is this mystery man?”
“I can’t say yet.” I stood up to avoid Nora’s suspicious gaze and tried to change the subject. “I should put this pot back on the burner so it doesn’t get cold.”
Nora followed me into the kitchen. “I have to say I’m pleasantly surprised at how interested you are in this sort of thing.”
“Why?” I said as I replaced the carafe. “Isn’t everyone interested in their family’s history?”
“Plenty of people don’t give it a second thought, and some would rather keep it under wraps.” She looked thoughtful. “Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better that way.”
I said nothing. Give the subject space.
“I remember talking to my old Great-Aunt Margaret about her experiences in this house,” Nora finally said. “It was like pulling at a loose thread, trying to release it from the past so that this thread at least would not be lost to the ravages of time. I tried to weave it into my own story, to see how then fit into now.”
Nora seemed to be looking through me as she spoke.
“You get to my age and you wish you had a chance to step back to see the whole, to see what you’ve made of your life and what you’ve made of theirs, to see if you’ve honored their memories or redeemed their faults. But you never can. Time never stops and allows you to know anything.” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“If you don’t want to talk about it—”
“Don’t be silly. If we don’t share what we know, it dies with us. And ultimately that’s not fair.” She seemed to be trying to convince herself. “The more we know, the better.”
One week later, I sat at the front window and stared at the gap in the pine trees where I knew a car would soon appear.
“That won’t make our guest show up any sooner,” Nora said as she set the table in the dining room.
“I know. I’m just excited.”
Actually, I was anxious. I was nervous that he wouldn’t show up. And nervous that he would.
“Help me with the salad and take your mind off it.”
Chopping vegetables did little to allay my anxiety, but it did manage to pass the time. At one o’clock, just as we had arranged, Mr. Rich rang the doorbell.
“Go sit down in the parlor,” I commanded. I slid the pocket door between the front hall and the parlor closed and tried to quiet the voice inside me that was whispering, This is a very, very bad idea. I opened the door and found myself eye to eye with a well-dressed James Rich and, behind him, an even better-dressed Linden Rich holding a dingy old cardboard box with a yellowed handwritten label.
“Hello,” I said quietly, but with a smile on my face. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Have you prepared her for this?” Mr. Rich asked in a low tone.
“I told her someone was coming to tell us about some family history.”
“But you didn’t tell her who?”
“I didn’t think I should. I didn’t want her to tell me to cancel it.”
He and Linden exchanged a glance. I heard the pocket door slide open behind me.
Nora stood in the parlor doorway and looked past me to the two men in her foyer.
“Aren’t you going to invite them—”
She put a hand on the door frame to steady herself. “William?” she whispered. Her eyes were fixed upon Linden.
“Why don’t we sit down?” I said.
I took one of her arms and guided her back to the settee. The men situated themselves in chairs across from us.
“No, you’re not him,” Nora said.
“No, ma’am,” Linden said kindly.
“Nora,” I said, “this is James Rich and his son Linden. I believe you know James?”
She furrowed her brow a moment, then her contemplative look became one of furious resentment. “Yes. I know him.”
Mr. Rich looked down at his hands. “I know I’m the last person you want to see, Nora. But your niece was adamant I come talk to you.”
“Elizabeth, what would give you the idea that I would ever want this man in my home?”
She stood up, so we all did.
“Wait, Nora. I think you need to hear what he has to say. I think it would help.”
“Help what? All you’ve done is dredge up something that would have been better left buried.” She walked out of the room. Across the hall the bedroom door slammed.
“Please sit down,” I said to the men. “Let me talk to her.”
I entered Nora’s bedroom without knocking and shut the door behind me. She was sitting on the quilt she had told me she never sat on, her face in her hands.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I sat down next to her. “But I’m concerned about you. You talk half the time as if William is dead and half the time like he’s still living in this house. I thought that if you would just listen to what Mr. Rich has to say, it would help you. Wouldn’t it be better to know the truth and have closure than to keep wondering?”
She dropped her hands. “Elizabeth, I know he’s dead. I’ve always known.”
It was my turn to be confused. “Then why lock yourself out of the darkroom? What were you afraid of seeing in there?”
“I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t go in because I knew it probably contained the last photos he would ever take. That once I saw those, there wouldn’t be any more. He’d never run up those cellar stairs again with a handful of prints and ask me what I thought of them. And that man sitting in my parlor right now is the reason. He’s the reason William went to Detroit that day. He’s the reason he never came back. He’s the one who destroyed my life. Everyone said it would be William. But it wasn’t. It was J.J.”
I sighed. “I just wanted to fix this.”
“Some things cannot be fixed—they can only be endured. I’m not upset with you. But I don’t want to talk to him. I know everything he has to say.”
“No you don’t. He’s the one who gave me the camera to give to you. And that’s not all there is. Something else turned up, something of William’s that has been buried in an evidence room somewhere. He came all this way so he could give it to you.”
She was shaking her head.
“Nora, please. That man out there has been wanting to be reconciled to you for fifty years. He’s the one who has been paying Tyrese to cut your lawn, not some stupid government program. He wants to apologize, make amends. Would William have wanted you to be at odds with him for the rest of your life?”
“No,” she admitted. “He wouldn’t have wanted that.”
I plucked a tissue from the box beside her bed and handed it to her.
She wiped her nose, took a deep breath, and stood up. “I’ll let him say what he’s come to say, but that’s all. I can’t promise forgiveness.”
I hugged her gently. “Thank you.”
She sniffed and smoothed out her clothes. When she walked into the parlor, Mr. Rich and Linden stood up.
“I’m sorry, J.J.,” Nora said. “That was very rude of me. You came a long way today, and it’s only right that you have a chance to say what it is you’ve come to say. We have lunch ready, so please follow me into the dining room.”
When everyone was seated and served, Mr. Rich took a sip of water and cleared his throat. “This isn’t an easy story to tell, and it won’t be an easy story to hear.”