She would discover her birth father to be a decent man also.
This story was now no longer so unusual. Forty or even fifty years later, more and more accounts were surfacing of people who had had children no one had ever heard about in the circles of the birth parents. Sue had tried to take consolation from this, the child born to teenagers, the father unaware, the mother sworn to secrecy, but it had not helped. She picked up her keys. Before she could put them into her purse, the telephone rang.
“Could you come and join us?” Peter asked.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just leaving to go back to work.”
“Well, could we have lunch together tomorrow?”
You don’t get it, she wanted to scream. You might be her father, but you can’t walk in after all these years and take over, as if you’re part of anything except the heated moment of conception.
“I need to think about it,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I feel more rushed because I’ll be heading back east tomorrow.”
“There isn’t any rush, you know. She’s here and she’s lived in the same place for a long time.”
“She asked me to come to meet all of her family at some point.”
Sue closed her eyes and sighed, putting her hand over the receiver. This was not welcome news, even though Gwen had told her that was what she wanted. Even though by the time Peter returned to the city on another visit, Sue would have met almost everyone. She had no reason to feel that she would be eclipsed by Peter.
“Whatever develops with Gwen will take time,” Sue said finally, aware once more of being thrust into a situation so new that she had no way of knowing how to deal with it. Everything was full of surprises. Even this man who was the father of her child was almost a stranger, creating, with each contact, something unexpected for her to consider.
“Yes, of course,” he said.
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful for the way you’re being so gracious,” she said.
“I think I understand,” he said.
“Okay then.”
“You have an interesting life,” Peter said.
“I suppose that’s true, but how do you know?”
“I do, that’s all.”
She had not told him about Thomas and Kate and she wondered what else he knew to cause him to consider her life interesting. Maybe he could see the potential in the contact with Gwen for step-grandchildren soon. Sooner than he knew with the prospect of the imminent birth in Stratford. What would that child call her? Just plain “Sue”? It was hard to imagine being called “Nanny” or something similar after having her grandmother of that name in Toronto dominate her life when she was quite young. As the train had rushed south when she was five or six, she had imagined walking into Union Station with its high vaulted ceilings and finding Nanny waiting for her at the door where the passengers converged to leave the trains. Gramps had always been there with her, leaning on his cane. Nanny had shaken the hand of the porter when Sue stepped down onto the platform and Gramps had given him some money. It was a tip, he had told Sue later.
“Thank you for looking after our granddaughter,” Gramps had said. He was used to the situation as Maggie had visited on her own the previous summer. It was yet to be Wally’s turn.
“Have a good time,” the porter had said to Sue.
She had smiled at him. He had been the first black person she had encountered other than in photographs. It seemed hard to believe now, as the city became increasingly diverse, that she had ever assumed it could be any other way. As a small child, her eyes full of new sights, Sue had been mesmerized. Sometimes, she missed that child who had found the world such an exciting and bewildering place. Now, it seemed as if life might be changing again. The child she had been, so filled with wonder, seemed to be merging with the woman she was becoming.
“Listen, I’ll be in touch,” Peter said. “In the meantime, thanks for everything.”
As she put the receiver back in the cradle of the telephone, her caged emotions threatened to overwhelm her. All she could think to do was to walk briskly down to Bloor Street and let her feelings gradually dissipate. She thought again about those early trips that had ended in Union Station. As soon as Nanny and Gramps had all of Sue’s luggage in tow they had gone to find the car. Old Bessie, Gramps had called it. He had sat in the front beside Nanny, his withered left leg, the outcome of childhood polio, preventing him from driving. Anything could happen when Nanny started up Bay Street between the high towers. She muttered if anyone drove their car too close to hers. Sometimes, she had even yelled out her window. When that happened, Sue had put her head down, hoping to make herself invisible.
As she walked now along the few blocks that ran west through the Annex, Sue heard people speaking many languages. There was the noise of voices, of traffic, of a distant siren. She revelled in watching people and noting how much more lively the city had become since she had first moved to it. If you live long enough, you get to see both your world and yourself changing as if through the lens of a kaleidoscope, she thought.
When she arrived back at the house, there were two new messages.
“Sue,” Gwen’s voice said. “Thank you for making it easy for me to meet Peter. You’re very kind and very generous. Give me a call when you have time. My mother is coming to the city for Christmas and she wondered if she might meet you then. I hope so.”
And the other message: “I’ll be working a little late and then going out to the farm for the night,” Hans said. “But could I bring my things in tomorrow and stay through Christmas?” Could he bring one of his dogs?
Sue was suddenly excited, as she visualized spending the season with Hans. It was what she had longed for before it was even possible, except possibly for the dog. She could just imagine Rusty pacing at the door to get out and then finding how the city confined him, the way it also did for Hans. She would make sure there was a celebration that would make it special for Hans, although she could not imagine Rusty would be easily fooled.
*
Thomas awakened to the sound of ice cracking on branches outside the window, glad to find when he looked at the clock that he had slept until eight o’clock. He stepped carefully out of the bed, trying not to awaken Kate. He hesitated when she groaned slightly, then crossed the room and opened the door carefully.
He did not smell the aroma of fresh coffee emanating from the kitchen as he usually did in the mornings since Florence had come to stay after the car accident. Surprised not to hear her voice as his footsteps approached the kitchen, he called out her name in a low voice. There was no response. Maybe she had not heard him. When he found the kitchen empty, he walked quickly to the hall that ran from the kitchen down past the master bedroom to the room where Florence slept. The quiet of the house felt odd. Florence had talked of going home soon, but they had all agreed she should stay until after the holidays so she could spend it with the two of them and Kate’s family. She had insisted on making the stuffing the night before, and he had been there when she put it in a bowl in the refrigerator.
When he knocked on Florence’s door, there was no answer. He pushed it open gently. There she was with the duvet pulled up to her chin, still asleep. As he approached the bed, he thought her opaque colouring strange.
“Florence,” he whispered, reaching out carefully to touch her hand, stretched outside the duvet and across her chest. It was cold. An image of his mother in the hospital bed, mouth hanging open, eyes staring at the ceiling, flashed across his mind. A nurse had come in and closed her mouth and eyes, but they had fallen open again.
Thomas had spent an hour alone with his mother before two men from the funeral parlour arrived to wheel her out to the hearse. He had never talked to anyone about how painful it was, how alone he had felt, knowing she was gone somewhere but not anywhere he would ever be able to sit as they once had and chat with h
er again. He had sat with tears streaming down his face, telling her he loved her, telling her he would miss her, as if she could hear him. But he had had to say those things, to spend quiet time with her before he could take whatever the next step was. To figure out what it was. And finally, he had gone to call for the undertaker to come and figure out what to do from there. When he saw his mother again at the funeral parlour for the last time, her eyes were closed and the coffin was ready to be shut for the service and cremation.
“Oh my God, Florence,” he said. “What do I do now?”
The door behind him slammed shut and he jumped. Florence must have forgotten to shut the window, he thought, as a breeze blew across the room. Kate came in with her dressing gown pulled tight around her.
“I think Florence is dead,” he said, his voice expressionless.
“What?” Kate said. “I’ll call my doctor.” As if there were something that could still be done to revive the older woman. As if she could put off the awful truth of the still body lying right there in front of them.
Thomas stayed with Florence. He could not remember the names of any of her relatives, and then realized he did not know any of them. He would have to find out. He shook his head, as if to rouse himself.
“The doctor will be here in fifteen minutes,” Kate said, coming to his side.
If it were a nightmare, he would soon wake up. “I ought to call Sue,” he said.
“What do you want me to do?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know,” Thomas said.
“This is awful.”
“Yeah.” He started out of the room.
“Where are you going?” Kate asked. “I don’t want to be alone in the room with…” She stopped.
“Come with me. I’ll call Sue.”
“She’s too far away to do anything. Besides, it’s Christmas.”
“I’m going to call her.”
Hans rolled over as the dog he had brought with him, a mix between a Border Collie and a Golden Lab, started licking his arm.
“Have to feed the mutt,” he said.
Sue wanted to lie in bed with his body against hers. Sighing, she wondered why he had not brought Rusty, whom she knew by now.
“Merry Christmas, love.” He rolled toward her.
“Merry Christmas.”
“I’ll bring you breakfast in bed,” he said as the dog started to make small unhappy noises.
She found it ludicrous that she was jealous of the dog. “Don’t go yet,” she said, reaching down and stroking his abdomen. Not jealous, she thought. Slightly annoyed. Hans was here and even so she could not have him all to herself on Christmas morning.
“Dog can wait,” he whispered.
“Phew,” she said with a smile of victory.
“Did you know I’m still crazy about you?” he said.
“It crossed my mind.”
After a while, she started to moan and the dog began yowling. Hans groaned as he held onto Sue and moved quickly. Then, he fell back onto the bed.
“Okay, Jenny,” he said finally. “I hear you.” He stroked Sue’s cheek. “Now that was a greeting!”
He disappeared down the stairs. A little later, she heard the back door open and close, thought the dog must be out behind the house now in the tiny yard, and fell asleep to whistling and chopping sounds from the kitchen. When she next awakened, it was to the sight of Hans presenting her with a tray.
“When in the world did you do this?” she asked.
“When you were sleeping,” he said. “Stuffing is made, too.” He took out a small package wrapped in red paper and handed it to her.
Inside was a pair of small gold earrings. “I must be dreaming,” she whispered.
“Good dream?”
“These are so beautiful. I am so grateful. Thank you, lovely man.”
The telephone interrupted them and he reached for it. “Merry Christmas,” he said, before handing the receiver to her.
“Sue,” Thomas said. “Everything was really quiet and Florence wasn’t up early like she usually is.”
Sue held the receiver slightly away from her ear. “Have you called the doctor?” she asked.
“She doesn’t have a doctor here. We called the one Kate goes to. She’s coming over. But there isn’t anything she can do. It’s too late. Florence is gone.”
“Oh, my.” Something that almost constricted her breathing rose in her throat as she heard Thomas gulp. Hans moved to put his arm around her shoulder.
“Sue, are you still there?” Thomas asked.
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” she said. “What would help most? We could come.” She looked at Hans and he nodded. “We could be ready to leave in an hour.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask that,” Thomas said. “After all, it’s Christmas.”
Hans mouthed the words, “We can go.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “Hans and I will be there in a couple of hours. Make it three.”
Thomas let out a long sigh. “This is awful. And she wanted to be here for the baby.”
“Yes, of course.”
When Sue hung up, she began to cry softly. Florence had accepted everything about her, something her own mother had not been able to do, even though she had loved Sue. Once more she had lost love that could never be replaced.
“I’m here,” Hans whispered. “We’ll go together.”
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.” And then, “Is it still snowing?”
“No, and the forecast says there won’t be any more for a couple of days.”
“Sometimes I think it might be better to have more than one mother,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Florence was like another mother. Someone who gave me permission to say and think about things my own mother never did. My mother lived as if the most important things never happened. You told me there was something I had to deal with, too.”
“Well, you have. That’s what you’ve been doing. And Florence knew what was important. I suspect she loved you and knew you loved her.”
“I suppose,” she said. “What about the dog? What about Jenny?”
“She’s game to travel.”
While Sue took a shower, Hans packed his shaving gear back into the small pack he had brought.
“We can use my car, love,” he said as she came downstairs into the front foyer. “Jenny is used to it and I don’t mind driving.”
“Thank you.” Too dazed to concentrate, Sue was grateful. If not for Florence and for Hans, she would not have found the daughter who had been taken away from her. Florence had, in her own gentle way, encouraged Sue to undertake such a search and to transform her life in so doing.
Sue packed an extra pair of slacks in her suitcase. Not knowing when they would return, she also rustled in the drawer for more underwear. The telephone rang again and she reached for the receiver. “Merry Christmas,” Maggie said. She had just awakened in Vancouver.
“Merry Christmas,” Sue said. “We’re just leaving for Stratford.”
“I didn’t know you were going there for Christmas.”
“Florence just died.”
“I’m so sorry,” Maggie said. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “I’m sorry,” Maggie said again.
“I met Peter Marshall.”
“My goodness. And?”
“He surprised me. Very apologetic. Very accepting.”
“It leaves me breathless.”
“Yes.”
“Angus wants to wish you Merry Christmas, too.”
Sue spoke to her brother-in-law. At the same time, she wondered if Florence had left any instructions about what she wanted for her funeral. If Thomas did not know, she had no idea. It had never d
awned on her that it might one day be her responsibility, nor had it likely dawned on Florence. Although her request that Sue act as executor of her will and the information about the safety deposit box in Chatham might have alerted her. She did not imagine there would be time to go there before they had to make decisions.
It was later than they had intended when she and Hans set out for Stratford. Light snow was still falling.
“I’m glad you’re driving,” Sue said.
Beyond the worst of the traffic, Hans muttered that the next intersection was Mississauga Road. “The route to the farm,” he said. “When I left, it looked as if there’d be enough snow for skiing soon.”
There had not been any purchase offers yet, but the agent expected more clients once Christmas was over. Hans had not figured out where to live yet and she could not imagine him in an apartment in the city. He was someone who needed to be free to roam fields and swim in rivers and ponds. To take photographs of nature. To listen to bird calls and frogs croaking.
Strains of Handel’s Messiah drifted through the car. Snowflakes formed shapes on the windshield and quickly disappeared with the sweeping arc of the blades. There was not much traffic. Every so often, the dog stretched up behind Sue and tried to lick her cheek.
“Oh, Jenny,” she said. “Puhlease! I’m not into kissing dogs.”
Hans laughed. “She likes you.”
“Yeah, but all the same!” She smelled the distinct odour of dog.
They drove quietly for a while as Hans concentrated on the road and Sue watched the snow fall. She had so wanted to see Florence.
“I have a message for you,” Hans said.
“What are you talking about?”
“A message from beyond.”
“Suppose I don’t want to hear it,” she said.
“Actually, you do.”
She brushed her hair back off her forehead with an impatient flick of her hand.
“It’s Florence.”
“That’s crazy.”
“When people die, they usually hang around for a while to make sure we know they’re all right.”
Sue sighed heavily. Jenny leapt up behind her again, put her paws on the seat, and started licking at her ear.
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