The Apple Orchard

by Susan Wiggs

  “I was in Berkeley,” Shannon said softly. “Just back from Erik’s funeral.”

  “Whoa. You went to his funeral?”

  “I...I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was in shock, and I... It was something I needed to do. I didn’t know anyone, just introduced myself as a friend of Erik’s. I expressed my condolences and went away. Could be Magnus knew more about me than I realized. Perhaps Erik had said something.”

  Isabel shut the laptop. “What a mess he made.”

  Shannon placed her hand on Isabel’s arm. “He wasn’t a terrible person. None of us was. He was young, younger than you two are now. He made a stupid mistake. With me, and with Francesca. His legacy is something amazing, though. Look at the two of you. You are the legacy. You’re both in the world because Erik did what he did, so there can be no regrets.”

  * * *

  In the morning, Tess found Shannon in front of the main house, standing on the stoop with her suitcase. Battered and worn in spots, it was the same one she’d used for years.

  “You always leave,” said Tess, trying to stifle a too-familiar sinking feeling.

  “I have a job. I have responsibilities.”

  “You have a daughter.”

  “I have an incredible daughter.” Shannon stuffed her hands into the pockets of her tunic-length jacket. “And about Dominic Rossi—I’m hardly the one to give advice in this department, but I just want to say, if it turns out you really like this guy, then let yourself like him, Tess. I wasn’t the best role model for making a relationship work, but you can do better.”

  Tess felt a flood of warmth in her cheeks. “Romantic advice from you,” she murmured. “That’s a new one.”

  “I mean it, Tess. I’ve been watching the two of you together. I never...let myself be vulnerable. You have the chance. I wish...” She shook her head. “I have to go. Really.”

  Tess took a deep breath. For once, she was going to speak her mind with her mother. “I get it. But before you go... I’ve never said this before, but sometimes I need you, Mom. You. Not your expertise at your job, or your excuses. You. When I was little, I used to think there was something wrong with me, that you were never around.”

  Shannon smiled wistfully. “Now you know better. There’s not a thing wrong with you. It’s me. I know it’s not very helpful, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry I kept things from you, and sorry you had to find out this way. I know it’s no excuse, but I truly did think it would be better if you didn’t know.”

  “I just don’t understand how you could think that.”

  “It can be worse—knowing. My father was never married to my mother.”

  “So you’ve told me. But at least you knew who he was.”

  “I’m glad you think so. But growing up in a small Catholic town in Ireland, it was impossible to avoid the gossip.” She winced as though the pain was still fresh. “I never told you this, but my father had a wife and several kids.”

  Tess frowned, digesting this new information. “Wait a second, what?”

  “He was married when my mother took up with him. And, yes, I’m sure my mother realized how wrong and foolish she was being. He made all the promises a man makes to his mistress—he was going to leave his wife, and my mother, she simply needed to be patient while he negotiated his freedom, divorce being a tricky business in Ireland at the time...and like the worst of clichés, she fell for it.”

  Tess stared in disbelief, trying to rearrange her thinking about the grandmother she’d known. “Nana? She was always so levelheaded.”

  “Not when it came to my father. I spent my early years in Ballymun, outside of Dublin, and back in those days, the shame was horrible. I had to go to the same school, the same church as my father’s ‘legitimate’ family. It was torture.”

  Tess could too-easily picture her mother in the close-knit clannish community of Ballymun, being jeered at and shunned. Prior to this, all Shannon had ever said of her early years was that at the age of thirteen, she’d moved with her mother to Dublin. Nana had founded Things Forgotten. It had never occurred to Tess that they’d been fleeing a terrible shame.

  “I’m sorry you suffered,” she quietly told her mother. “But that doesn’t mean I would have.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I didn’t want to take that chance. I never wanted you to feel the way I did in Ballymun, so that’s why we moved around so much, why I was always leaving. Tess, can you forgive me?”

  “You were trying to protect me.” She felt frustrated, though. Her career was all about unearthing the past, yet now she was discovering whole gaps in what she knew about her own history, more than she’d ever suspected.

  Just then, Isabel came out through the foyer. “Oscar said you’re leaving.”

  Shannon nodded. “He’s giving me a ride to the Santa Rosa airport.”

  “I see. Well, it was very nice meeting you. Promise you’ll come back.”

  “Of course. I wish I’d been of more help.” Shannon gave Isabel a brief hug. Then she turned to Tess and hugged her, too. “I raised a smart daughter. You’re going to figure this out, one way or another.”

  * * *

  Tess studied the shadows haunting Isabel’s eyes. A sleepless night was etched there, in those dark half-moons.

  “You okay?” asked Tess.

  Isabel nodded, pulled her shawl around her. Despite the bright morning sunshine, the days were getting shorter, chillier. “Yes,” she said. “You?”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice at telling my mother goodbye. I just wanted to make sure you’re not, I don’t know, upset by the things she told us.”

  “What happened, happened. And like she said, we’re in the world because it happened.”

  Tess suspected they were both feeling weighed down and emotionally exhausted by the drama and tragedy of what had happened in the past, not just to their father, but to both their mothers.

  Tess had quickly grown to care about this woman; they’d gone from being strangers to sisters, bonded by their worries about Magnus and his estate. Isabel’s need to hold on to Bella Vista was a tangible force; it was clear even when Isabel was engaged in the simplest of things, like sweeping off the stoop or walking down to the crating warehouse.

  Isabel turned toward the house. “I feel the need to bake something. How about you?”

  Tess gave a little laugh. “Never been tempted, thanks.”

  “You probably think it’s silly, all the time I spend in the kitchen.”

  “Not at all,” Tess said swiftly. “I’m envious, in fact. The way you take care of people here is remarkable to me. I love how you cater to their most basic needs in such a beautiful way. It’s your gift, Isabel.”

  “Thanks.” Her smile was fleeting, a little bashful.

  Tess thought about her mother, and how disconnected she was, and a shiver passed over her. Please don’t let me be that way, she thought.

  “I need to do some thinking, make some calls,” she said. “I’ll see if the Trianon gallery is still in business. And we should talk to the Maldonados. Do you think they’d be open to that?”

  “Possibly. I can give them a call, invite them over.”

  “I feel like going to see Magnus,” said Tess. “It’s kind of strange, but sitting there with him...it helps me think.”

  * * *

  By now, the people in the reception area knew Tess, greeting her with pleasant nods as she made her way to the elevator. Ironically, the maternity floor was one below the ICU. When the elevator stopped there, she caught a glimpse through the nursery window of little bundles, wrapped like special gifts, in their clear bassinets. Today, an exhausted-looking but smiling Latino man got into the elevator with her. He held a toddler by one hand and in the other was an empty baby carrier. Though he said nothing, Tess could feel his pride and excitement at the prospect of bringing home a new baby. The little kid with him bounced up and down on the balls of her feet and whispered something in Spanish to her dad.

  What a magical time in the life of a fami
ly, thought Tess, and she felt a surprising twinge of something that might be envy. Or yearning. With Dominic, she was feeling things for the first time, and it was risky and exhilarating and impossible to resist. She felt so torn between the life she thought she wanted and the life she’d glimpsed here. It was so unlikely but at the same time so seductive.

  The elevator stopped and she smiled at the man and the little girl as they got out. Then the doors swished shut, and she was whisked to a different world, one where worry and desperation hung in the air, mingling with the smell of disinfectant. Stripped of all privacy, the mostly elderly patients lay in their mechanical beds, surrounded by monitors, drip bags, oxygen tanks.

  Don’t let it end here, she thought.

  She stepped into Magnus’s suite. His vitals were noted on the whiteboard, and the lights had been dimmed, the blinds of the single window shut against the day. She took a seat on a rolling stool by the bed.

  “Hey, Magnus,” she said, having taken to speaking with him as if he could hear her. “I could really use some help here. I feel as if Isabel and I have collected a bunch of puzzle pieces, but we’re having trouble putting everything together.”

  The sigh and hiss of a pump was the only reply. Since he’d been taken off the ventilator, he looked more human but frail and vulnerable, as if he could slip away at any moment. She studied his face, the pale skin lined, the white hair tousled. She fancied she could see the face of the boy in the old photos, and the proud young husband, the grieving father, the indulgent grandfather. The man who’d had a child out of wedlock.

  She wondered what his voice would sound like...and if she’d ever get to hear the sound of his laughter.

  Lately when Tess came to see him, her impulse to obsessively check her messages wasn’t quite so strong. The hospital was one of the few places where she got a good signal, yet sometimes she was content to just sit here, to listen to the rhythm of his pumps and monitors and think about everything—or nothing at all.

  “I’m losing my edge, out here in the country,” she confessed. “I should really go back to the city and get on with my life.” She placed her hand on his. The wrist was encircled with bar-coded hospital bracelets. His skin was warm and papery-dry. “Something’s keeping me here, though,” she continued. “Actually, a lot of things are.” She squeezed his hand. “And you’re one of them.”

  She looked up the Trianon gallery and discovered that it was still in business, and that Mr. Christiansen was still in charge. When she called, she was told he was gone for the day.

  “I’d better get going,” she told Magnus. “I’m getting too emotional, hanging out with you. Just...please get better, Magnus. We’d love to have answers from you, but it’s more important just to know you’re here.” The moment she spoke the words, she felt a wave of emotion that left her breathless. This man was a stranger, but he was so important to her.

  When she returned to Bella Vista, she discovered Isabel in her manic-baking mode. The kitchen was filled with the aromas of butter, vanilla and cinnamon. She’d created Danishes and rugelach and crispy twisty things that promised to glue themselves promptly to Tess’s hips.

  “How’s Grandfather?” Isabel asked, dusting flour from her hands.

  “The same.”

  “Was his color good?”

  “I guess.”

  “What do you mean, you guess? Did he look pale, or—”

  “He looked like a guy in a coma, okay? I mean, it’s not okay, but...” Tess snapped, suddenly irritated with Isabel. “Listen, if you want to see how he’s doing, then go see him.”

  “You’re right, I need to do that. I’ll go later, take some ginger molasses cookies to the staff.”

  Tess felt a mixture of exasperation and admiration. “Man does not live by cookies alone, Isabel. I’m not like you. I can’t make myself believe that a well-cooked meal is going to fix what’s wrong with me.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” Isabel muttered. “Please. I never got to have some big life in the city—”

  “You never ‘got’ to?” Tess wanted to tear her hair out. “Right, you were forced to suffer here at Bella Vista, in the bosom of a family that adored you.”

  She flinched.

  “Have a cookie, Tess.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “They’re good for what ails you.” She held out a perfectly baked cookie on a spatula. “A peace offering.”

  “I don’t need a peace offering,” Tess stated. “And what makes you think anything’s ailing me?”

  Isabel’s eyes turned dark. “You won’t let anyone get close to you, Tess. Not your mother, not me, not even Dominic, and he’s crazy about you.”

  “Baloney.” Yet her heart skipped a beat at the notion.

  “You travel the world, running from...what? From yourself?”

  * * *

  Tess’s cheeks were still hot with fury when she left the house. She had to get out, had to go...somewhere. Away. Away from Isabel and her grief and desperation, and from the fact that when Tess looked into her sister’s eyes, it was like looking in a mirror. This was something she’d never had to deal with before, and she wasn’t sure she liked it, the fact that she was inextricably tied to someone who was nothing like her...yet at the same time, everything like her.

  Like Isabel, Tess was scared, too. She was scared of living a lonely life. Both sisters feared the things they couldn’t control; the unknown made each of them nervous. But unlike Isabel, Tess was not going to give up on herself, hiding from reality. Nor did she want to be the person her mother had become, traveling through life alone the way her mother did, never forming a deep bond with anyone. Maybe that was what filled her with crazy daydreams of Dominic. Something was coming over her, something real and powerful, like some kind of madness, or like a dream.

  Walking, Tess decided as she struck out for the far edge of the property, was underrated. There was something in the rhythm and movement of a purposeful stride that loosened the clench of anxiety in her stomach. In the city she walked to get from point A to point B. Here at Bella Vista, she didn’t have a destination in mind. She just needed to move. Wearing a bulky sweater she’d found in the hall closet, she crossed the fields on foot.

  The weather was uncharacteristically foul, the sky heavy with brooding clouds whose bellies bulged with unshed rain. A wind like the siroccos of Italy swept down through the valley. The return stack orchard heaters, propelled by slowly rotating wind machines, breathed warmth into the chilly air of late autumn. She felt the crackle of dry grass and fallen leaves underfoot.

  The steep hills of San Francisco had always challenged her lung capacity, but lately, out here in the fresh air, she felt as if she could walk forever.

  Unfortunately, the weather didn’t care what her purpose was or how far she felt like walking. As she wended her way down through the orchard, the rain-swollen clouds crowded the sky, obliterating the light. Within minutes, the occasional droplets thickened to a steady downpour. Twin veins of lightning split the horizon, quickly followed by a roar of thunder.

  Great, she thought, feeling an icy trickle of rain down her back. Her heavy sweater fast became a dead weight on her body, heeled boots slipped through thick mud. A gust of wind shivered through the trees, adding drama to the downpour.

  She headed for the nearest shelter—Eva’s old fruit store at the roadside. With its wooden gingerbread construction and railed wraparound porch, it was a welcome refuge from the storm.

  The building wasn’t locked, so she let herself in through the creaky door in the back, recoiling from a thick swag of cobwebs. “Lovely,” she muttered. “This is all just so lovely.”

  The rain sounded like machine-gun fire on the tin roof of the building. Shivering with cold, she peered through the shadows. The space was vast, much bigger than it looked from the outside, with sloping display tables, rustic shelves and fixtures on the walls. She spotted a potbellied woodstove and some hurricane lamps, a long counter with a big cash register of tarnis
hed brass. Despite the dust, the vintage wrought iron fixtures and hand-lettered signs exuded an unassuming charm. Beneath the cobwebs and heavy air of neglect, the shop seemed suspended in time, as if it were under an enchantment. Large picture windows, one of them scored by a diagonal crack, framed a view of the sagging front porch and the road. Maybe she could flag down a car. Except that on this dreary afternoon, no one seemed to be around. The light was fading fast.

  She decided to wait it out here in the abandoned building. If Isabel got worried, so be it. Teeth chattering, Tess peeled off the sweater, which now reeked of wet wool. Maybe the electricity worked, if she could just find a switch. She took out her cell phone to use as a flashlight. Getting a signal at Bella Vista was impossible, but the flashlight app offered a bluish beam, just enough to spot a field mouse skittering across the floor.

  With a squawk of surprise, Tess jumped up onto a stool by the counter. Ugh. Rodents.

  Then she noticed something on the screen of her phone—one bar of service. Maybe she could make a call, get someone to come rescue her.

  Her finger hovered over the number to the main house, but she hesitated. Fresh off a quarrel with Isabel, she didn’t want to have to beg for help. Instead, she dialed Dominic. Of course she did. There was no pretending she didn’t want to see the guy.

  * * *

  A gleam of headlights swung through the storm. It was nearly dark now, and Tess’s fingers were numb. When Dominic came into the shop on a swirl of wet wind, she flashed on Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights and started to shiver again.

  “Nice day,” he said, looking around the place.

  “I thought so,” she replied. “Thanks for coming. The mice and I kept hoping the rain would slack off, but it’s not letting up. Yes, there are mice, which is why I haven’t gotten off this stool.”

  He found an old box of kitchen matches and lit one of the hurricane lamps. It exuded a plume of oily smoke, and its yellowish flame bathed the place in a golden glow. “You’re soaked,” he said.

  “And freezing. And miserable.” But so happy to see him, she couldn’t help smiling.

  He lit a couple more lamps. “Your lips are blue.”