“Ha-ha, yes. A few of the rooms are furnished. If you’d witnessed my grandmother’s taste, you’d understand why I got rid of everything.”
A serious look crossed his face. “I was here for five minutes once. I never made it past the front hall, but I remember the interior being rather dismal.”
“Dismal is an understatement.” She dragged her fingers across the damask wallpaper. “This god-awful wallpaper is the next to go. When Julian first saw the house, he likened it to Dracula’s Castle.”
“Julian, huh? I’d like to meet him. I hope he’s coming for dinner.”
Ellie shook her head. “I invited him, but he insisted you and I needed time alone. He’s eager to meet you, too, though. Maybe tomorrow night, if we haven’t taken off on a road trip to find my sister.”
Abbott’s body stilled. “Do we even know where to look?”
“Not yet. I’m hoping we’ll come up with a clue once we put our heads together.” Ellie glanced down at her father’s suitcase resting upright on the floor beside him. “Believe it or not, I have two completely furnished bedrooms upstairs. Would you like a few minutes to get settled, or are you ready to eat?”
“I don’t need to freshen up. Let’s eat.” He rolled his suitcase to the bottom of the stairs and then followed her down the hall to the kitchen.
While her father uncorked a bottle of pinot noir, Ellie ladled chili into two bowls and drizzled vinaigrette dressing onto the arugula salad. “Julian’s an architect,” she said when she saw him thumbing through Julian’s sketchbook. “I’m thinking of expanding the kitchen, adding more work space and an eat-in area out back.” She motioned toward the door.
“That would be nice.” Moving to the back door, he squinted his eyes as he peered out through the darkness. “Renovating a house like this is a big step for someone who’s never owned a home.”
“That’s why I’m dating an architect.” Her attempt at making a joke fell short. “I haven’t made any final decisions about anything, Dad. I may sell this house and buy a smaller one in Charleston, or I may decide to move to Paris and live out my days painting the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower. A lot depends on what happens with Lia.”
“If you move to Paris, I’ll come visit you.” He returned to the sketchbook and flipped through to Julian’s drawing of Ellie. “It’s obvious how much Julian cares about you. The emotion he captured on your face is so intense. What were you reading when he drew this?”
“One of Mom’s journals.”
She sprinkled cheddar cheese on the chili and added a sleeve of Saltines to the tray. When she started to lift the food tray, Abbott bumped her out of the way. “Here, let me get that.” She grabbed the wine and two glasses and led him down the hall to her studio.
“Thank goodness,” he said, setting the tray down on the table. “I was worried we were going to have to eat on the floor.”
She tilted her head to the side as she studied her father’s face. “What’s with you, Daddy? You’re in an awfully good mood considering the circumstances. Do you have a new girlfriend?”
Pink spots appeared on his tan cheeks. “I wouldn’t call Tracey my girlfriend. We haven’t been seeing each other long enough for labels. But yes, I like her quite a bit.”
“Good for you!” She clapped him on the shoulder. “Does Tracey have a last name?”
“Tribble,” he said, coughing into his hand.
“Tracey Tribble?” she mouthed, and he nodded. “I’d be hard-pressed to repeat her name ten times in a row sober, and definitely not after I’ve had a glass of wine.”
“Good thing you won’t ever need to.” Abbott chucked her chin. “And before you ask, she’s a lobbyist, originally from Montana, and she likes to watch birds as much as I do.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sounds like a real match made in heaven. When do I get to meet her?”
“Soon, I hope. But you’re right. This situation with your sister is serious. We need to put our love lives aside for the time being and focus on finding Amelia.” He moved to the windows, the light from the terrace sconces enabling him to see into the garden. As he wandered around, getting acquainted with the room, the sketch displayed on her easel caught his eye. “Is that Amelia with you?” he asked of the sketch.
She joined him in front of the easels. “We called her Lia. And yes, that’s her.”
“The two of you look so terrified. What are you hiding behind?”
“Our mother’s bedroom door, watching as our grandmother pushed her down the stairs.” Ellie felt a chill and rubbed her bare arms.
“Good Lord, Ellie!” He placed his arm around her and drew her close. “Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?”
“I’m positive. Mom confirmed it in her journal. She broke her left wrist in the fall. My grandmother wouldn’t let her see a doctor about it, just like she wouldn’t let her see a cardiologist about her heart condition.”
He shook his head in dismay. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I underestimated the trauma you experienced while living here. The good news is, you appear to have experienced some sort of breakthrough. The memories you suppressed are coming back to you.”
“I hope this traumatic event is the worst one,” she said about the sketch. “But I have no way of knowing for sure unless I find more journals or Maddie resurfaces.” Ellie took her father by the arm and led him back to the table. “I’m starving. Let’s eat while we talk. I have a lot to tell you.”
While they ate, Ellie filled her father in on everything that she’d remembered and all she’d learned from her mother’s journals. “You’re welcome to read them yourself.” She eyed the journals stacked neatly on her desk. “But I’ll warn you, my grandmother was openly prejudiced against Jewish people. Mom was concerned that she would hurt Lia in some way because she resembled you. I’m sorry if that offends you, Dad. She was an evil woman. From what I’ve learned about her, I’d go so far as to label her a psychopath.”
“People like that don’t offend me. You know that about me. Maybe your mother sensed Lia was in danger and managed to somehow get her out of here.”
Ellie said, “There’s always the chance that something bad happened to Lia, even if it was an accident.”
He eyed the leather-bound journals as one might an unfriendly dog. “I should probably read them. I don’t care what your grandmother thought of me. It’s your mother. I’m not sure I can handle what she said about me.”
“She loved you, Dad. I’ve often wondered about that myself, but she is very clear about her feelings for you.”
“Then why didn’t she come to me when she learned she was pregnant instead of running away?”
Ellie wiped her mouth and dropped her wadded-up napkin into her empty bowl. She retrieved the top journal from the stack and fanned the pages until she found a yellowed newspaper clipping. She slid the clipping across the table to him. “On the day she found out she was pregnant, she saw this in the New York Times.”
The clipping was worn thin from years of being handled, but the photograph was clear enough to see Abbott with his arm draped around a woman’s shoulders.
Abbott glanced at the article. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with anything?”
“Who’s the woman, Dad?”
He scrutinized the photograph. “I have no idea. I must’ve known her at the time, but that was forty years ago.”
“Mom thought you were having an affair with this woman.” Ellie tapped her finger on the newspaper clipping. “According to Mom’s journal, her roommate, Louisa, claimed that rumors were circulating among your friends that you were seeing someone out in California.”
“That’s ridiculous. I was very much in love with your mother. I was planning to ask her to marry me and move with me out to California. I’d even gotten an audition for her in my next movie.”
Ellie folded her arms over her abdomen. “How did you find out she’d left New York?”
“I went to her apartment looking for her the min
ute I got off the plane from California. I had a diamond engagement ring in my pocket and everything.”
“Louisa wrote to Mom that she never heard from you, that you never called or came looking for her after she left New York.”
He banged his fist on the table in a rare show of emotion. “That’s a damn lie!”
She understood her father was upset, but she wouldn’t get her answers if she didn’t press. “Why would she lie about something so important?”
“I have no idea.” His eyes were dark with anger. “None of this makes any sense to me.”
“You’re right about that.” Ellie left the table and returned to her easels. “Dad, there’s something I need to ask you, and you need to tell me the truth.”
“I have never lied to you, sweetheart.”
“You’ve been a wonderful father to me. And I’m grateful for that. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you to discover you had a six-year-old daughter. But every time I’ve tried to talk to you about Mom, you shut me out.” She turned to face him. “Is that because you’re hiding something from me? Did you know I have a twin sister?”
“Honey, no!” Abbott stood up and crossed the room to her. “Of course not.” He fingered a stray lock of hair out of her face. “I would never have kept your sister from you.”
“Then why have you been so against me remembering the past?”
He sighed. “Because, right or wrong, I was doing what I thought was best for you. You were such a scared little thing when you first came to live with me in California. I suspected you were abused in some way. And I was terrified that those memories, if they ever resurfaced, would cause you to have a mental breakdown.”
“Is that why you were so angry at me when I decided to move to Charleston?”
“I wasn’t angry about you moving here. I was worried. Turns out my concerns were justified.”
For several minutes, they stood in silence staring at each other.
“I survived what happened to me here once, Daddy. Because of you, I went on to lead a happy life. With your help, I’ll survive it a second time. I’m almost there. But I can’t rest until I find my sister, if she’s even still alive. Will you help me?”
“Of course I’ll help you.” He squeezed her arm. “She’s my daughter. I have my own reasons for wanting to find her.”
“The only way we’re going to solve this mystery is if you tell me everything you remember. You may remember a detail that you don’t even realize is important.”
His shoulders slumped as he lowered his head. “We better make some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Abbott
They took their coffee out to the lounge chairs on the terrace. Abbott found it easier to tell his daughter his story through the darkness.
“I had the engagement ring in my pocket. I was going to ask your mother to marry me. How different things might have been for all of us.”
He closed his eyes as his mind drifted back forty years.
Abbott took a taxi straight from the airport to Nettie’s apartment in Greenwich Village. He could hardly wait to ask Nettie to marry him. Fancy proposals weren’t his style. When she opened the door, he planned to drop to one knee and slide the ring on her finger. He was confident she’d say yes. She loved him as much as he loved her. They had a bright future together in California as Hollywood’s new golden couple—a glamorous model turned movie star and her brilliant film producer husband.
He was disappointed to discover no one home when he arrived at her apartment. Sliding down the wall to the floor, he rested his head against his suitcase. Jet-lagged from his trip, he promptly fell asleep.
Sometime later, Louisa nudged him awake by digging the toe of her black leather pump into his ribs. He climbed back up the wall. “Do you know when Nettie will be home? I’ve tried to call several times in the past few days, but no one ever answers. Have you girls been out partying every night?” he asked in a teasing voice.
Louisa unlocked the door and held it open for him. “You’d better come in.”
Nettie’s empty bedroom served as proof that she was gone. He was angry and confused, and he all but bullied Louisa for information. But he left the apartment two hours later convinced she had no clue as to Nettie’s whereabouts.
Other than the first day they met, when she mentioned during her interview with Olga that she was from the South, Nettie had never spoken about her life before New York. He’d asked her repeatedly about her family and where she was from, but she refused to talk about her past. He’d never thought to press her, never dreamed the day would come he would need to find her. The South encompassed at least a dozen states, an area way too large to search for her.
Every day for the next week, on the off chance she was still in New York, he roamed the streets of the Village hoping for a glimpse of her. He went to her favorite coffee shops and restaurants. He stopped by the corner market, her dry cleaner’s, and the pharmacy where she got her prescriptions filled. He called all her friends and work associates, but no one had seen or heard from her. Left with no choice, and with production on his new film starting in a week, he boarded a plane back to Los Angeles.
Abbott realized almost immediately that he’d made a mistake, that cinematography wasn’t for him. He was good at directing films. One of his movies was even nominated for an Academy Award. He just wasn’t inspired by motion pictures. One autumn, he spent several days on a photo safari while on location in Africa. During this time, Abbott realized his true passion lay in photographing magnificent wild animals and their unspoiled habitats. As soon as he wrapped up that movie, Abbott resigned from Warner Brothers Studio and moved to San Francisco. For the next two years, he traveled to remote parts of the world as he built his portfolio. When his savings ran out, he paid the rent and supported his new addiction by freelancing for wildlife magazines, one of which was National Geographic.
He met Jenny in a neighborhood bar late one night. They dated a few months, and in a moment of lust, he asked her to marry him. By the time he realized that mistake, his first son was on the way.
Fifteen months later, Abbott was in his darkroom late one rainy Sunday afternoon when he heard the phone ring in a remote part of the house, followed by the shuffle of his wife’s bedroom slippers on the linoleum floor in the outside hallway. She knocked on the door. “Phone’s for you.”
He glanced at the stack of film rolls that needed processing. “Tell whoever it is I’ll call them back.”
“I tried. It’s some lady. She says it’s urgent.”
Abbott went to the kitchen to take the call. Jenny, with the baby propped on one hip, leaned back against the counter, taking deep drags off a cigarette while she eavesdropped on his conversation.
In a dignified Southern drawl, the woman introduced herself as Eleanor Pringle, mother to Ashton Pringle.
Having never heard of either, he asked, “I’m sorry, who?”
“My daughter, Ashton Pringle. I believe you knew her as Nettie Pearson.”
Nettie? After all this time. He collapsed against the refrigerator. “Of course. I know Nettie. What can I do for you?”
“Knew, Mr. Cohen, as in the past tense. My daughter passed away this morning. She asked me to call you in the event of her death. She’s been in ill health for some time. Giving birth to your daughter weakened her heart beyond repair.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention like soldiers. “Excuse me, did you say daughter?”
“Yes, Mr. Cohen, that’s what I said. Your six-year-old daughter is here with me now. But she won’t be this time tomorrow if you don’t come get her. I’m an old woman. I don’t have the energy for raising a child.”
Abbott swallowed hard, his mouth and throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara. “Where do you live, Mrs. Pringle?”
“In Charleston, South Carolina,” Eleanor Pringle said in a clipped tone. “If you catch the red-eye flight, you will get here in time.”
“If you’re not here by noon tomorrow, I will drop your daughter off at the front steps of the local orphanage.” She spat out the address, and the line went dead.
Feeling his wife’s steely gaze on him, he turned his back on her while he jotted the address on the notepad they kept beneath the phone. He replaced the telephone receiver and rested his forehead against the upper cabinet while he collected his thoughts. Six years old. He did the math in his head. The timing was spot-on. Nettie had run away to South Carolina to have his baby. Why hadn’t she come to him? He was planning to ask her to marry him anyway.
“Well?” Jenny stubbed out her cigarette. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I have to go to South Carolina on a family emergency,” he said as he brushed past his wife. “I don’t have time to explain.”
Abbott didn’t realize until months later that Eleanor Pringle had been bluffing. She had no intention of taking Ellie to an orphanage. She’d given him her name. He would have gone straight to the authorities. They would’ve helped him track down his child, and when they saw how traumatized she was, they would’ve brought charges against Eleanor Pringle for child abuse.
He rang the doorbell at the address written on the notepaper in his hand. When no one answered, he clanged the heavy knocker. A woman, dressed head to toe in black, with cropped gray hair and irises as dark as her pupils, answered the door. “Mrs. Pringle, I’m Abbott Cohen. I’m terribly sorry for your loss. I’m at a disadvantage here. Nettie . . . I mean Ashton never told me she was pregnant. I would’ve done right by her. I loved your daughter very much.”
Her fingers, gnarled like a bird’s claws with long pointy nails, gripped his arm, yanked him inside, and closed the door behind him. “This is not a social call, Mr. Cohen. We have business to conduct, which we will keep brief, and then you will leave.”
Magnolia Nights Page 16
