Choices

by Lyn Gardner

  “Why?”

  “Because here Adele had all these memories hanging up all over the place, and my mother…my mother never did anything like that. It was as if Adele didn’t exist in her life unless she was here.”

  “Robin, that couldn’t be further from the truth. You just never realized it.”

  “Maxine, I’m telling you, my mom didn’t have any photos like those. I packed up her house. I would have seen them.”

  “You’re right. She didn’t,” Maxine said, warming her hands against her coffee mug. “Her fear of being outed was way too strong for her ever to do anything so blatant, and since you never knew about all those little vacations they took together, she wouldn’t even hang up the ones without them in it.”

  “See, that’s what I mean. There was nothing—”

  “What did you do with your mother’s paint-by-number?”

  “Oh, it’s in a box in the base—” Robin snapped back her head. “Wait. How did you know about that?”

  “Because it was Adele’s answer to your mother’s dilemma.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Adele knew all too well your mother would never hang up any of her photos or even take copies with her to stash away, so one year, Adele went out and bought two identical paint-by-numbers. The next time Constance visited, they sat down and painted them. The one your mother did, hangs in Adele’s office and the one Adele painted—”

  “Hung in my mother’s bedroom.”

  “Exactly,” Maxine said, smiling. “That way, your mother could always have something of Adele’s around, and no one would ever be the wiser.”

  Robin grew quiet, drinking her coffee and staring off into space as she sorted her thoughts and her feelings. Placing her cup on the table, she looked at Maxine. “Tell me about them.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  Robin paused for a second. “Did you ever see them together when they weren’t pretending to be sisters? I mean, other than when you walked in on them kissing.”

  “Yes, I did,” Maxine said as her mouth curved with tenderness. “It took some time before Adele could convince your mother I’d never share their secret, but once she did, they began inviting me over for dinner or cards, and sometimes shopping trips to the mainland. When we were out and about, they were obviously cautious, but in the house, behind closed doors, gosh, they’d dote on each other. I swear their grins were permanent. Sometimes they’d twitter like little girls when something struck them funny, and at others, they’d each get this look, and I’d know it was time for me to leave.” Maxine smiled when Robin’s eyebrows rose. “It’s okay. They were in love. I didn’t mind.”

  Maxine took a sip of her coffee and then relaxed back in her chair. “It always amazed me how they could hide their true feelings when they were out of the house because when they were inside, it was almost as if they were waltzing to a tune only they could hear. I felt very privileged to be a part of their world, Robin. Very privileged.”

  Robin sighed. “I know it was my mother’s choice, but I still can’t help thinking about all the time they lost being together because of it.”

  “Dear, when you get to be as old as I am, you’re going to realize it’s not about the quantity of time you spend with someone. It’s about the quality. Sure, they didn’t have a lot of days together, but the ones they had were priceless. They didn’t have a lot of hours, but they made the most out of every one of them, and yes, they missed a lot of minutes, too, but I think they more than made up for them with moments they cherished. Far from prying eyes, those two women positively glowed when they were around each other, and you should have seen Adele as soon as Safe Harbor closed for the season. She’d be like a lighthouse.”

  “A lighthouse?”

  “Positively beaming. As I’m sure you know, your mother visited at other times during the year, but that was always the longest vacation she took so it was extra special. Adele would tidy up the Inn and the yard and then tidy them again. She’d spruce and polish and fuss over every little speck until everything was perfect. And since, obviously, she knew how much your mother loved Christmas, she always went all out. She’d spend days working on the inside and then coerce some of her friends to come over and put up the lights outside since she didn’t like heights.”

  “Now I know where...” Robin stopped, and hanging her head, she snickered. “I was about to say now I know where I get my fear of heights from, but I guess not—huh?”

  Humor danced in Maxine’s eyes. “No, I’m afraid not, but your mother was just the opposite.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “She’s the one who took them down.”

  Robin leaned back in her chair. “Now it makes sense.”

  “What does?”

  “When Judy and I were decorating, all the lights for outside were wrapped perfectly, not one strand knotted with another, and that’s got my mother written all over it.” Robin paused and cocked her head to the side. “But the ones for the inside were a mess.”

  “That’s because everything inside didn’t come down until after your mother went home.”

  “Why?”

  Maxine’s pencil thin eyebrows drew together. “You haven’t decorated the trees yet, have you?”

  “Um...no. Once we found the trunk, everything kind of went south. Why?”

  “I don’t know when it started or who started it, but your mother and Adele always got each other ornaments for Christmas, but Adele saw no point in unwrapping them and putting them on the tree, only to take them right back down. So, the inside of the house was left decorated until after your mother left. Adele would eventually pack everything away, but I can remember a few years when that didn’t happen until February.”

  “Geez.”

  “It made sense though. Every ornament held a memory, and I’m sure it was hard to pack them away. That’s another reason why the photographs in the rooms were so important to Adele. She didn’t have to pack them away.”

  “Oh, God,” Robin blurted. “Please tell me you didn’t do what I asked.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t burn them, did you?”

  “Robin, please. I may be old, but I’m not senile. Of course, I didn’t burn them. They’re in the other room with the rest of the stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  Maxine’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, that’s right. We never got that far, did we?”

  “No, I huffed, and I puffed, and then I left.”

  “Come on,” Maxine said as she stood up. “I’ll show you. That is if you have time.”

  With Judy’s phone held hostage in her back pocket, Robin grinned to herself as she got to her feet. “Yeah, I have time.”

  Robin soon found herself standing in one of Maxine’s spare bedrooms. Minimally decorated with sensible contemporary furniture, tatted doilies covered the tops of the butternut bureau and nightstands, while the bed was protected by a mint green chenille bedspread. A crystal bowl filled with potpourri explained the scent of roses in the air, but the rest would have to be left up to Maxine.

  “Is that the stuff you were talking about?” Robin said as she pointed to the boxes on the bed.

  “Yes. It all belongs to you now.”

  Robin stared at the stack, but she didn’t move an inch. “I’m afraid to ask what’s in them.”

  “Don’t worry, dear,” Maxine said, patting Robin on the arm. “They didn’t have a love child.”

  Whatever anxiety Robin was feeling disappeared in an instant and featherlike laugh lines appeared on her face. “That’s good to know, although I always wanted a sister.”

  “Well, you won’t find any in there,” Maxine said, gesturing toward the pile. “The largest is filled with some books Adele preferred not to give away, including copies of all the ones you wrote.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. Adele loved them,” Maxine said, as she pointed to the next. “That one over there has a bunch of pho
tos like the ones I showed you the other night, plus a ton of others Adele took over the years. And the last three contain mementos and gifts your mother gave Adele, except for that stupid clown, of course.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “You did find the clown, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. It scared the crap out of me, but why in the world would my mother buy that for Adele? I know her tastes, and that clown doesn’t even come close.”

  “She didn’t exactly buy it,” Maxine said with a laugh. “Adele told me that when they took their first...um...their first trip together, they were both a little nervous. They were driving into Canada, and when they came upon a town having a carnival, they stopped to grab some food and look around. Your mother ended up winning that hideous thing at one of those booths.” Maxine shook her head as she began to titter. “God, Adele hated it, but she couldn’t get rid of it to save her life.”

  “Why not?”

  “It was the first thing your mother ever gave her, and before you ask, Constance thought it was ugly, too. She told Adele to toss it out dozens of times, but Adele wouldn’t do it. She’d keep it stored in the basement until your mother visited, and then she’d bring it upstairs.”

  “Did my mother know—”

  “Oh, yes. She knew. It ended up being a running joke.”

  Robin smiled for a moment and then slapped her hands against her hips. “Crap!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That means I can’t throw it out either.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Adele would understand—”

  “No. Ugly or not, it meant something to both of them. I just don’t know what I’m going to do with it.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Maxine said with a wave of her hand. “It’s a big house. You’ll find a place for it.”

  “Here’s hoping,” Robin said as she glanced at the bed. “What’s in the other boxes?”

  “The shoe boxes have cards and letters they sent to each other.”

  “Love letters?” Robin squeaked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t read them, sweetie.”

  Robin sighed. “I’m not sure I can.”

  “You have all the time in the world to decide that. If and when you’re ready, you’ll have them.”

  “Wait,” Robin said, looking back and forth between the boxes and Maxine. “You said letters and cards they sent each other. If Adele sent my mother letters, how could they be here?”

  “Esther sent them to Adele after your mother died, and in turn, Adele gave them to me to protect when she went into the rest home.”

  “Esther? As in my mother’s neighbor in Monroeville? How in the hell did she get them? I’m confused.”

  “So was I at first, but apparently your mother and Adele had one thing in common, which was thinking ahead. Constance never wanted you to find any of her keepsakes, but she couldn’t bring herself to destroy them either, so she asked this Esther woman to keep them safe, and if anything ever were to happen to your mother, Esther was to send everything to Adele.”

  Robin shook her head. “My mother missed her calling. With foresight like that, she should have been the mystery writer.”

  “And speaking of mysteries, the last box contains all the research Adele did on Isobel that she didn’t want to fall into the wrong hands. The poor thing was tormented enough in life without having to be tormented in death, too.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  Maxine jammed her hands on her hips. “You know, for such a prolific mystery writer, you sure do suck at solving them. You found the staircase and opened the window seat in the living room, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So, didn’t you look at anything?”

  “Of course, I did,” Robin said, the tone of her voice sliding up the scale. “There was a bunch of sketches which I assumed Isobel had done, a laundry list of people who had owned the house before Adele, census data, a copy of the original blueprint for the Inn, lots of notebooks and photocopies of newspaper clippings and stuff, pencils, pens...and...and an easel. What did I miss?”

  “Did you read anything?”

  “Yes, but no offense, I didn’t know I was supposed to be trying to solve a mystery, now did I?” The dots of rouge on Maxine’s cheeks darkened a few shades, and Robin grinned. “So, what exactly did I miss that I wasn’t looking for in the first place?”

  “Well, for starters, if you had looked at the laundry list as you called it, you would have seen that no one ever lived in that house for very long before Adele bought it.”

  “Okay?”

  “Doesn’t it strike you odd that a house as beautiful as Safe Harbor would change hands so often?”

  “I guess. I didn’t really think about it.”

  Maxine pursed her lips. “Obviously,” she said, and opening one of the boxes, she pulled out a wad of manila folders. Thumbing through them, she finally fanned one open and turned it so Robin could see. “Now, I know for a fact Adele left a few photos in the window seat, and this woman was in one of them. She would have been standing with a lot of children. Do you recognize her?”

  The photo in the newspaper clipping was grainy, and Robin wished she had her glasses. Taking a long moment to peer at the woman in the picture, Robin shook her head. “I’m not sure. The quality’s not very good.”

  “Most tintypes weren’t, but do me a favor and look again.”

  Robin did as Maxine asked and then sighed. “Honestly, Maxine, I just glanced at the photos. They were really old and in with the census data. I just figured they were some of the people who once lived in the house.”

  “True, they were, but if you found the stairway, it doesn’t really matter if you paid attention to those old pictures or not. You should still know who this person is.”

  Robin took her time and looked at the photo again. “Oh, shit. This is Isobel.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Of course, it is. This is the same woman whose face is sketched all over my walls. Trust me. I’ve sat on those stairs for hours, studying those drawings.”

  Maxine removed the newspaper clipping and unfolded the paper. Handing it to Robin, she said, “Take a minute to read this article and then tell me again, who this woman is. I have a feeling you’re going to come to the same conclusion your aunt...um...I mean, Adele did.”

  Robin sat on the edge of the bed, reading the newspaper clipping dated over a hundred years before. As each word was absorbed, her brow began to furrow. “I know this name,” she said, looking up at Maxine. “Julia Cooper was a servant for the guy who built the house. Her name was...her name was on the census Judy read to me.”

  “That’s right,” Maxine said. “And Adele believed—”

  “I know what she believed,” Robin whispered as tears began to cloud her vision. “That Julia didn’t drown. That she killed herself just like Isobel. The same way. The same place.” Robin raised her eyes. “And for the same reason.”

  ***

  “This is the last of it.”

  Sheldon Graham glanced at the suitcase in Judy’s hand and then at the pile of luggage already stacked in the back of the carriage. Shoving a duffle bag to the side, he placed the last case next to it and began strapping everything in. “It seems what they say about women is right.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “If they can’t decide what to wear, they bring everything they own.”

  Judy forced a weak smile. “Yeah, well, it is what it is.”

  “Okay,” Sheldon said, yanking on the last tie-down to make sure it was secure. “We’re ready to go.”

  They both climbed into the carriage, and as they started down the street, Judy said, “Shelly, can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure, Jude. What’s that?”

  “I’m cutting things a little close to make the last ferry, so could you drop me off at Safe Harbor and then take my stuff to the dock? That way, we won’t piss off Glen if we show up just when the boat’
s ready to leave.”

  Sheldon nodded as he guided the horses around the corner. “That’s not a problem. You want me to come back and pick you up?”

  “No, it’s a short walk. I can make it on time. Thanks.”

  Chapter Forty

  Robin sat on the step sipping her wine and looking back and forth between the old newspaper article and the sketches on the wall. The upturned nose, the compelling eyes, the genial mouth, and the full lips appearing in most matched the grainy photo, but moving to within a few inches of the plaster, Robin focused on a sketch that did not. The woman’s eyes were sad, and in their melancholy, despair lurked, the weight of a world not ready for her ilk pressing down on her. There were others, camouflaged amongst the hundreds of Julia that showed a different Isobel. An Isobel who yearned. An Isobel who loved. An Isobel who laughed and who was joyous for a millisecond of her life, but Robin kept returning to this one. Unvarnished, the illusion of hope eradicated by truth was as potent as any she’d ever seen, and Robin’s heart broke.

  Robin knew the statistics of now, the amount of her community who took their lives because the stigma attached was cumbersome, yet she had never considered those who had come centuries before. Trapped in a world far too narrow to ever dare broach the truth of their own persuasion, they had no helplines to call. They had no shelters to seek, no outlets offering guidance or organizations crowded with the like-minded where they’d feel welcomed and normal. All they had were the shadows in which they hid, the lies in which they lived, and an abrupt end to their own existence…when denial was impossible.

  “I’m sorry,” Robin whispered, blinking away her tears as she looked up at the curved plaster covered in sketches. “I’m sorry you didn’t have the chance to be who you were.”

  Robin had been sitting in the stairwell for over an hour. Her glass was empty, and her bottom was sore, so giving the wall one last glance, she got to her feet. “And she’s beautiful, by the way. Not that I need to tell you that,” Robin said over her shoulder as she started down the stairs. Out of nowhere, the slightest of breezes swept through the stairwell, and Robin smiled. “You’re welcome.”