Strangers She Knows

by Christina Dodd

  “Grandma, wait until you meet Ruby!” Rae said. “She’s so cool.”

  “I think you should call her Miss Morgade,” Verona said.

  “Why? She’s not old,” Rae protested. “She’s Ruby!”

  Kellen turned back to look at Rae. Of course, Rae had met Ruby Morgade through her journal, and to Rae, she was a young woman who had won her admiration.

  “Sweetheart,” Verona said gently, “she has to be almost one hundred.”

  Rae blinked at her grandmother. “That’s right. She’s like your age!”

  “Oops,” Max said softly.

  Verona glared at the back of his head. “I’m not quite one hundred years old yet.”

  “But Daddy said—”

  Max put the helicopter down on the lawn a little too quickly. “Here we are!” he opened the door and leaped out. “Come on, girls!”

  Rae jumped into his arms. “I can’t wait until I meet Ruby!”

  Verona followed more slowly. “I know she must be anxious to properly meet you, too.” She put her hand on Rae’s arm. “But remember, she’s not the young lady you read about, so you’ve got be gentle.”

  “I know, Grandma. I will, Grandma.” Rae was stiff, proud and angry. “I’m not stupid!” She took off running across the lawn, up onto the porch, past the waiting nurse and into the house.

  Verona sighed. “Do you think that drug permanently harmed her?”

  “The medical staff assured us there would be no lingering effects. We have to believe that.” Max offered his hands to Kellen.

  She put her hands on his shoulders and let him lift her out. He was gentle; she had bruises and burns and bandages everywhere, and she winced at the twinge that went through her ribs where the stitches had been placed. He held her for a minute, his cheek resting on the top of her head. He frequently liked to reassure himself that she was still with him.

  She frequently liked to let him.

  Finally he let her go, and she planted her feet firmly under her. She looked around. She’d been gone four days. She had changed. Max had changed. Rae had changed.

  Morgade Hall hadn’t changed. It was still tall, eccentric, and crumbling. The storm had wreaked havoc on the aging structure.

  They started toward the house.

  “Rae’s a little…testy,” Verona said.

  “I think,” Kellen said, “it’s a combination of Rae knowing she did a foolish thing that caused much harm, and the ongoing crisis of adolescence. I did try to talk to her, but she would have nothing of it.”

  “Mothers and daughters. They’re either best angel friends or hell’s demons incarnate, and there’s nothing in between.” Max repeated Kellen’s maxim back to her.

  “Rae’s never been one to let something fester,” Verona said. “She’ll come to you sooner or later, Kellen.”

  Max reached for Kellen’s uninjured hand and squeezed it.

  Kellen understood why. Verona had been a stand-in mother for Rae; now she was gracefully stepping aside.

  On the porch, a middle-aged woman stood waiting.

  “That’s Ruby’s home nurse, Tichi Barlow,” Max said.

  Tichi waved them toward her, and when they were close enough, she called, “Come in. Miss Morgade is waiting.”

  They joined her, entered the house…

  It was so weird, coming in to silence. Everything was exactly as it had been. So much had happened here, yet they’d left no mark.

  Tichi said, “Miss Morgade was so excited you were coming today, she got up early, bathed and got dressed, came down to the porch to wait—and collapsed. We carried her upstairs to her bedroom. She’s waiting for you there.”

  Kellen ran toward the stairs, paused and turned back to Verona and Max. Max waved her on—he was grinning, which confused her—and she took the steps two at a time, all the way to the top.

  The attic room looked as it had before: window seat, desk, paintings, bookshelves. But the door between it and the inner attic was open.

  Kellen paused before she entered, to catch her breath, to prepare to meet her angel, and heard—

  A bark.

  She took two running steps inside.

  A bed.

  Rae.

  An old woman.

  And Luna, standing on the mattress, her backside wrapped in gauze, her tail wagging wildly, while Rae and Ruby restrained her from jumping at Kellen.

  “Mommy, Ruby says Luna’s not supposed to jump off the bed. Did you know she got hurt?” Rae sounded bewildered and aggrieved.

  “I knew. Yes, I did. I was so afraid…” Kellen rushed to the bed, knelt beside it, put her arms around the ecstatic Luna—and burst into tears.

  51

  While Kellen sobbed, Luna kissed her, cuddled with her, whined in worry and nudged her bandaged hand.

  Rae protested, “Don’t cry!” and wrapped her arms around Kellen and Luna.

  In her soft, creaky voice, Ruby said, “I know, dear. I know.”

  It was a soft, sentimental, mushy pile of feminine distress.

  Kellen looked up, her eyes blurred with tears.

  RUBY MORGADE:

  FEMALE, 97YO. ONCE TALLER, NOW LESS THAN 5', 100 LBS? THIN, WHITE HAIR TWISTED INTO A BUN. OSTEOPOROSIS. ARTHRITIC HANDS. HER EYES, ONCE BEAUTIFULLY ALERT, DROOPED WITH AGE, BUT HER SKIN REMAINED A GOLDEN BROWN HONORED WITH THE CREASES BESTOWED BY GREAT AGE. HAD BEEN, AND REMAINED, A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN.

  Ruby continued, “When I heard the gunshot and Luna didn’t come back, I was terrified. I went out to look for her—if I’d come on that awful woman then, I would have done her a damage—and found our dear doggie huddled against the foundation at the back of the house. She was bleeding in so many places and panting with the pain.”

  “What did you do?” Rae’s eyes were wide in horror.

  “I called her. Dear Luna struggled after me, up the steps and into the house. She collapsed in the kitchen. I didn’t know what to do, so I gave her water, found a blanket in the library and spread it on the floor. She dragged herself onto it. I got towels, wet them, sat down on a chair and cleaned her. She cried when I touched her, and I cried, too.” Ruby extended one shaking hand to pet Luna’s head, and one to smooth Rae’s hair.

  Kellen understood what Ruby didn’t say—that the emotion and the effort had exhausted her almost beyond the reserves of her strength. Kellen pressed Ruby’s hand between Luna’s head and her own hand. “Thank you. Thank you. We all thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do enough. Simply sat with her, and wondered if we were going to die there. Then I heard the helicopter that your dear husband sent.” Ruby glanced toward the door.

  Max and Verona stood there, listening.

  “Kellen wouldn’t rest until I understood you were here and needed help.” Max gave credit where credit was due.

  Kellen gave a watery laugh. “Max, you jerk. Why didn’t you tell me Luna was alive?”

  “I didn’t know until this morning when I spoke to Tichi. The medical team didn’t realize we thought Luna was dead. At that point I thought you should really see our dog.” Translation: Max didn’t want Kellen bursting into tears when he was alone with her.

  Ruby watched them fondly. “What a lovely couple you are.” She extended her hand to Verona. “You must be Rae’s beloved grandma.”

  Verona carefully shook the twisted, arthritic hand. “All I’ve heard about since I returned is the brave and strong Ruby Morgade.”

  Introductions were made, Max set chairs around the bed, and he and Verona seated themselves. Rae remained close to Ruby, and Kellen stayed where she was, crouched beside the bed to pet Luna.

  “Please, Miss Morgade, tell us what happened next,” Verona said.

  “Dear Tichi found us first. She came through the kitchen door, saw me and Luna, and in no time she had the whole medic
al team working on Luna.”

  Tichi popped in from the outer room. “She insisted we help Luna first.” Seeing how Ruby sat up to talk, how she gestured, Tichi came in, fluffed the bed pillows, pressed Ruby back and urged her to relax.

  Ruby smiled tremulously. “Tichi is fierce.”

  “You’re supposed to be resting.” Tichi pointed to Luna and to the mattress. “So are you, Miss Luna.”

  Luna subsided at Ruby’s feet, head on paws, watching them fondly.

  Tichi took up the story. “The team removed seven shotgun pellets from Luna’s hind quarters, then we carried Miss Morgade and Luna upstairs to bed. Luna is recovering well, although we are worried about nerve damage in her spine.”

  “I blame myself,” Ruby said. “I took that woman’s guns away, but I didn’t find that wicked shotgun.”

  “If I’d had access to Mara’s other weapons, or our own—” Kellen now knew who had removed the guns from the gun safe “—my battle would have been much briefer.” Reminded of her aches and pains, Kellen shifted uncomfortably.

  Ruby shook her head. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t give them to you. I feared for you, darling girl, but I had faith in your ingenuity, a faith which you justified.”

  “I’m grateful for everything you did for me. You saved me.” Appreciation and resentment mixed until Kellen couldn’t tell where one left off and the other started. “I’m just saying it could have been easier.”

  “I’m glad you beat that awful woman. If I had witnessed nothing of Mara Philippi and her cruelty, I would still have been on your side because of your interest in my story and your kindness in giving me a happy ending.”

  “What I did, with the explosives, was so much more difficult and risky than pointing a gun at her would have been.” When Kellen remembered how she had plotted and struggled and sweated, her heart thumped an uneasy, fearful beat.

  With sad certainty, Ruby said, “She would never have yielded, and you would have had to kill her.”

  Hmm. Yes. That was probably the truth. “But I killed her anyway.”

  “Not face-to-face. You didn’t see the blast of blood and bone, and the light of life flee from the poor, shattered body. You didn’t face your own inevitable guilt, and have to turn your mind away before you went mad.”

  Rae proved she’d been listening. “None of this would have happened if my parents had told me the truth about why we came to the island.” She spoke in a clear, cold voice, and she stared at Max and Kellen with clear, cold eyes.

  Kellen stared back, stunned by the blunt attack.

  Tichi made a sudden retreat and shut the door after her.

  Rae transferred all her attention to Max. “Daddy, why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

  Kellen glanced at him.

  Max fumbled for words. “Your mother and I—we wanted to protect you.”

  “You treated me like a child—”

  “We didn’t want you to be afraid,” Kellen said.

  Rae glared at Kellen. “I am sorry I was a sucker about Mara Philippi. I’m really sorry I made a promise not to tell you about her. That was a stupid thing to do because I was mad at you.” She looked back and forth between Max and Kellen. “But it’s your fault, too, because you didn’t trust me.”

  Kellen’s hackles were up at being so plainly criticized for what she had thought was the right thing to do.

  But look at her daughter, sitting straight, speaking up for herself, and not, as Verona had said, letting her grievances fester. When had Rae become so clear-sighted, so mature? When had she become a young woman?

  “I’ve never been a parent,” Ruby said softly, “but it seems to me she does have a point.”

  Verona leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and made a concurring, humming sound.

  Max and Kellen exchanged looks.

  Kellen nodded at him.

  “Look, kid, we’re parents. Your parents.” Max reached for Kellen’s hand and pulled her onto the chair next to him. When they faced Rae, they did so as a united front. “We’re going to make mistakes. And this time, you’re right, we did. You were hurt because of it.”

  “And Mom was hurt!” Rae rose up on her knees.

  “And Daddy almost died getting you to a hospital,” Kellen reminded her.

  “None of that would have happened if you’d told me the truth!” Rae was mad—and offended.

  “Maybe,” Kellen said. “Mara Philippi got to the island through guile and deceit. Her goal was to kill me and all who were dear to me. Even if we’d told you, she would have come after us. It would have been different, but one or all of us would have somehow been injured. Daddy’s right. We made a mistake. As you become an adult, we’ll try not to make any more—but we will. So will you. That’s why God made love—so when things go wrong, we’ll always come back to each other.”

  Rae stayed on her knees, unwilling to let go of the moment. Finally she dropped back on her heels and sighed. “Yeah.”

  Ruby slid old, slow hands through Rae’s hair. “Your mother seems like a very smart woman. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yeah.” Rae leaned into the caress as if she craved the comfort—and knew that Ruby craved human contact.

  Ruby said to Max and Kellen, “You two have a daughter who is smart and dear, and it’s lovely that you’ve taught her so well.”

  “I’m proud of them,” Verona said. “They’re a family.”

  “That’s rarer than one might think.” Ruby smiled, but her lips trembled.

  “Miss Ruby, what horrible thing happened?” Rae asked. “Guns don’t shoot themselves. Why didn’t you allow my mommy to have her guns? What were you afraid of?”

  52

  Ruby sighed. “It’s another sad story. Do you really want to hear it?”

  Verona said, “I want to hear it. I want to understand.”

  “These children—they read my journal.” Ruby spoke to Verona. “They told you about it?”

  “Rae told me every word,” Verona assured her.

  “Then you know about my father, what he was. He worshipped power, he lived to create fear, and as the war proceeded, he lost more and more control of his newspaper. It wasn’t merely that he was diminished in the eyes of the world; everyone he had crushed and hurt and bullied took the opportunity to laugh in his face.” Ruby smiled as if that pleased her. “After the war ended, he had only one chance to retrieve his power. He had to force me to wed Alfred, that disgusting old man. Alfred still had influence, and he wanted me.”

  “That’s atrocious!” Rae’s color was high, her face burned with fury.

  “My father was atrocious, a man without honor, and Alfred was unfit for Patrick to wipe his boots on.” Ruby ran a trembling hand across her forehead. “It was so long ago, but I remember…” She looked around the room as if she saw the people as they lived through the scene. “Mother was here with me, and Hermione, when Father brought Alfred up to the attic, this attic, where I still lived.”

  At Ruby’s words, images of angry words, of gunfire, of two powerful, elderly men and three women on the defensive filled Kellen’s mind. Max, Verona, Kellen and Rae leaned forward, transfixed by Ruby’s fierce retelling of the story.

  “Father said I was of no use to him if I refused to do his bidding. He pointed a pistol at me. He threatened to shoot me. I refused—and he did shoot.” Ruby’s voice wavered. “My mother leaped between us.”

  Kellen remembered the headstone in the cemetery; Reika Morgade, died 1948.

  “He killed her,” Rae whispered.

  “Yes. He killed her. My mother, who had suffered to protect me.” Ruby accepted a tissue from Verona and wiped her eyes. “He murdered her. His wife. His slave. The mother of his children.”

  Silence fell as everyone tried to comprehend the terrible act that had taken place so long ago. Yet the repercussions echoed down t
he years.

  Rae snapped to attention, and snapped out the question. “Was he sorry?”

  “Perhaps in his way, he was. The blood. Our tears. My outcry.” Ruby leaned against her pillows, closed her eyes, and was silent for so long Kellen wondered if they should leave her to rest. When Ruby spoke again, her voice was weary. “I had no way to report the crime, so I told my father to get out. He blustered. He said it was his house, and he was still in charge. Then he noticed Alfred had gone. Marriage to me, the daughter of a murderer, had lost its luster. My father’s dreams of power ended that day, and for five years he sat downstairs in his chair in his study, brooding, eating, growing fat—fatter—and bitter. When he died of a heart attack, I had the chair burned. I had his body removed to the mainland, and buried under a simple stone with nothing more than his name and the dates. I’ve never visited him. No one has. No one cares about Gerard Morgade. He made sure of that.”

  Max leaned his elbows on his knees. “I guess there was no happy ending, no eventual marriage to Patrick?”

  “I never heard from Patrick again. My mother died—”

  “Was murdered!” Rae said fiercely.

  “Yes. She was murdered in 1948. My father died in 1953. As soon as the vile man passed on, the servants let me know. I came down from the attic to search for Patrick. I had heard nothing from him since ’43, and I had to know…” Ruby rested her hands, palms up, on her lap, and stared out her window at the horizon. “I knew his hometown, you see, and I hoped to go there, to find him settled with a wife and children.”

  “You wanted that?” Rae asked incredulously.

  Ruby switched her attention to the girl who had rooted for the young couple who had lived long ago. “I loved him. Wasn’t that better than the alternative?”

  Rae gave a short jerk of a nod.

  “By then, I hadn’t been out of the attic for years. But I had money, so I made my way to Butte, Montana. Butte was a mining town, and the Irish moved there to work in those dangerous mines. Patrick had told me about his father, how he supported his family going down in the hole every day for years. His last name was Sullivan, his father’s name was John. Patrick had told me he lived on Franklin Avenue. When I got to town, I went to the library, and looked up John Sullivan on Franklin Avenue in the yellow pages. There were three John Sullivans.” She laughed. “I went to the first house, but that family of John Sullivan said no, they had no son named Patrick. Same at the second house. By the time I got to the third house, the whole Sullivan family stood in the yard, four sons, five daughters, countless grandchildren, and John and Aileen Sullivan.”