by Susan Wiggs
“Fine, then I’ll leave you to the mercy of the random friends and maiden aunts. And all those well-meaning matchmaking attempts.”
“Stop it. This is Lydia’s wedding. I’m going to be happy and look happy all day.” She looked around at the venue—their favorite bar, the Top of the Mark, now festooned for the ceremony and reception.
“Yeah, good luck with that. There are any number of women here who would love to be seen on my arm.”
“And some of them even have IQs in the double digits,” she said.
“Very funny. FYI, the last woman I dated has a Ph.D. in medieval studies.”
“That’s probably why she’s not dating you anymore.”
“Hey,” he said. “Just because you came back from the boonies with a broken heart doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me.”
She didn’t even bother protesting. Ever since returning to San Francisco, she had felt like a misfit in her own life. It should have been a comfort to come back to her own world, to work and friends and the city, to her apartment and the life she knew. Instead, she carried around an ache of loss that showed no sign of getting better. This, she thought, is why falling in love is such a terrible idea. This hurt. This feeling that nothing in life will ever be bright again. Now she understood why loving a man was dangerous. When you fell as hard as she had, the landing was painful.
“Sorry,” she said to Jude. “You’re right. This is Lydia’s day.”
The wedding was a beautiful, joyous occasion. Nathan, the bridegroom, set the tone for the event when he got all choked up at his first glimpse of Lydia, walking up the aisle in a cloud of ivory silk chiffon. Tess felt a rush of tenderness for her friend, remembering the times they’d shared as roommates and confidantes, analyzing their Saturday night dates, and vowing to stay single forever, because it was so much fun. Back then, Tess hadn’t known her own heart. Until recently, she hadn’t realized that what she yearned for, what she craved above all else, could not be found at a loud party, or a hip coffeehouse, or working at a dream job. She wanted a deep sense of connection, she wanted to love without fear, and she wanted to know it could last forever. She considered it both a blessing and a curse that she had found it with Dominic Rossi.
Maybe one day she would find it in herself to be grateful for what she’d found with him, rather than filled with regrets over what she’d lost. Not today, though. Today, it was all she could do to let herself delight in Lydia’s happiness. She could only imagine what it would be like to stand before friends and family in a beautiful dress, looking at a man looking at her, with all his love showing on his face.
Good for you, Lydia, she thought.
* * *
The weather was clear, the sun still out after the reception. She’d long since given up on the high-heeled pumps, swapping them for a pair of flip-flops she carried in her handbag. “Leaving already?” asked Neelie, her eyes sparkling from a few glasses of champagne.
“I’m going to walk home. Enjoy the sunshine while it’s here.”
“Take a piece of wedding cake.” Neelie took her hand and towed her over to the table, where a server was boxing up generous portions. “No one’s eating it, and it’s delicious. Organic lemon.”
A few minutes later, Tess found herself in the mirrored elevator, her heart speeding up as she remembered a night long ago, when she’d felt as if she were detaching from the world. She was a different person now. She knew what it was like to be connected...and she knew exactly what she’d given up.
It wasn’t the deal she’d made with Lourdes Maldonado that had sent her packing. She could admit that now. That was simply a conveniently timed exit strategy. Deep down, she knew that what had sent her running for cover was her own lack of courage. She didn’t believe she could dream and dare and risk everything, and she knew for certain she couldn’t let herself be the one thing standing in the way of a family trying to heal itself.
Christmas had come and gone; she had spent the day with her mother in New York, where they’d both had business to do. Now she was back at work, weighing offers from both the New York and London offices, much to Jude’s chagrin. Her job of finding and authenticating lost treasures was still interesting, but she found herself wanting more.
She decided to take the long way through the pretty streets of Nob Hill. She was in no hurry to get home.
There was a guy in Huntington Park with a “hungry, please help” sign and a little dog on a leash. She paused and wordlessly handed him the boxed wedding cake, which he acknowledged with a slight nod.
She left the park and headed down the hill, slowing down as she passed a rare empty retail space. She stepped back a few paces on the sidewalk to admire the shop front. It blended perfectly with the rest of the block, decked by moody-looking gaslights and hanging baskets trailing with ivy. This kind of retail space, in this Nob Hill location, didn’t come up every day. It embodied the finest period architecture, with huge windows and tall ceilings, a classic iron front with bas-relief swags of leaves and embellishments, painted with enamel the satiny black of piano keys.
A sign advertised that the space was available for lease. With its vintage character of days gone by, it had the potential to be as beautiful as her nana’s Things Forgotten. Tess would have poured her heart and soul into it and made it thrive. The impulse tempted her, made her imagine, just for a moment, taking another path. But she was missing the one thing that would make it happen—capital.
She regarded her image reflected in the window. She scarcely recognized the woman in the lime-green trench coat, her hair done in waves for the wedding. It was a day of rare sunshine but scant warmth. She looked healthier for sure, after decompressing from a stress she didn’t even know she’d had. She was no longer a gaunt smoker who spent sleepless nights in a panic. She still felt adrift, but in the way of surrender rather than resistance. Before her sojourn in the far-off Sonoma town, amid the rich splendor of the apple orchards, she hadn’t taken a sweet deep breath of pleasure in years. Being there had taught her to breathe again.
And coming back to the city taught her that there was no such thing as a life of unmitigated happiness. What she knew now was that life was made up of moments, and some of those moments were filled with joy, some with anger, some with sadness. The hope was that at the end of the day, there would be balance—the light and dark, sorrow and gladness.
Tess had to make peace with the fact that she had walked away from the one thing that could save her. Now she had to find a way to save herself. Her task was to survive this and move on, and in time, trusting for no good reason that the ache in her heart would heal. She used to think her life was about finding old treasure, relating its history and bringing it out to the world. All along, she was looking for something else; her obsession with secret histories had to do with all the unanswered questions about her family. The real treasure she’d found was at Bella Vista—family and friends, and the fact that her heart was open to a kind of love she hadn’t known she was capable of. She had a sister who would always be part of her life. And if their prayers were answered, she would have Magnus, too.
Her phone made a soft chirruping sound, signaling a message. She checked the screen, frowning at the message marked Urgent.
“What the...?” Tess muttered. “What could she possibly want?”
* * *
“I must talk to you.” Annelise Winther opened the door to her apartment. The place had not changed since Tess had brought the old lady the lavaliere last fall. It was tidy but a bit shabby, filled with the smell of something baking, just as Tess remembered. “I have something to give you.” She bustled into the kitchen and handed over a small white cardboard box. “First, my lavender scones. I recall you like them.”
Tess caught a whiff of butter, sugar and lavender. “They’re wonderful.” She didn’t want to admit she’d given the original batch of scones to a homeless woman. She was mystified as to why Miss Winther would summon her to give her baked goods. “Thank you.”
>
“And this,” said Miss Winther, handing her a familiar-looking archival box. Inside lay the lavaliere Tess had restored to her. The winking facets of the pink stone and diamond baguettes still took her breath away. The day she’d brought the treasure to Miss Winther seemed like a lifetime ago.
Now Tess felt like apologizing to the old woman for pressuring her to auction it off. She finally understood what it meant, and why it was priceless. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Is there a problem with this piece?”
“On the contrary, I’ve discovered a solution for it at last. Do you know how stressful it is, keeping a jewel worth a fortune in my apartment or pocketbook?”
Tess smiled. “That’s what safety deposit boxes are for.”
“What is the point of having an object of beauty if you have to make an appointment to see it?”
“But I thought you intended to keep it.”
“It is a privilege of old age to change one’s mind. I’m giving the lavaliere to you. I don’t need it, and I don’t need the money, not after what that Tiffany tea service brought.”
“You can’t give this to me.”
“I most certainly can. I have no...family.” Her voice caught on the slight hesitation. “I’d like to give it to someone who understands its value, who will do something wonderful with it, and I expect you to sell the piece and create something vibrant with the proceeds.” She handed Tess an envelope. “The legal counsel at your firm drew up a transfer claim. It’s properly worded and notarized so there will never be a question about its provenance. I even made a digital video. It’s yours, and you’d be a ninny not to take it.”
“I’m not taking it. You should give this to a museum or donate the proceeds to a good cause. I don’t need charity.”
“No, but everyone can use a helping hand. You don’t have to do everything alone, Theresa. You don’t have to live your life alone.”
The statement touched Tess in a tender spot. “You hardly know me.”
She dropped the box into Tess’s huge handbag. “My mother used to always tell me to embrace my dreams. If I can give you a chance to do so, then it’s a gift to me, as well.”
Tess stood there for a moment in a blur of confusion. “Miss Winther.”
The old lady walked to the door and held it open. Her step was light, belying her age.
“Annelise!” Tess said.
The woman stopped and turned. “You won’t make me change my mind.”
“How did you know my name is Theresa?”
Miss Winther’s face blanched. “I...”
Tess’s stomach clenched. She thought about the framed needlework in Erik’s room, the card in Magnus’s hospital suite. “You’re Erik Johansen’s mother, aren’t you?”
She made a fist and pressed it to her breast. “Erik...who? That’s preposterous. I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I found the records.” Now Tess was bluffing, but she was also playing a very strong hunch. Every instinct she possessed was telling her that she might just be standing ten feet away from her grandmother. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “You can tell me. I want to know.” Annelise slowly closed the door. She returned to the parlor and sat down on a chintz settee. Feeling light-headed with a sense of unreality, Tess sat next to her.
The old woman lifted her hand and brushed Tess’s cheek with the lightest of touches. The gesture took Tess back to the day they’d first met. Now she understood the sentiment behind the gesture.
“Oh, Theresa,” said Annelise. “Times were so different then.”
Thirty
Now that she’d figured out the truth about Annelise Winther, Tess had no choice but to take her to see Magnus. The idea of returning to Archangel made her heart skip a beat, but it was from excitement, not panic. During the long drive from the city, Annelise talked nearly the whole time.
“People under siege tend to grow up fast or die,” she said.
“You mean, in Copenhagen during the occupation.”
“Yes. Although there were no official battles fought in Denmark, everyone, even the youngest of us, felt embattled. There was the constant pressure of keeping secrets and staying out of trouble. I was no exception, even as young as I was when it all started. Even though there was no active fighting, there were casualties. I remember seeing men who’d had a limb blown off by a bomb or mortar in some distant theater where the fighting raged. And in some way I felt just like them, someone who had lost a vital part of herself, whose entire future had been changed in a single moment. My missing family was like that phantom limb. I knew where it was supposed to be. I could feel it, but it was gone.”
“Listen, if this is hard to talk about—”
“It’s hard, but it should be talked about. Magnus’s accident was a horrible reminder that we’re fragile, we mortals.”
“How long have you known him?”
“I met Magnus for the first time the day my parents were taken away. He was just a boy, a few years older than me, but I believe he was already working for the Holger Danske—the Resistance. He spirited me away by boat to Helsingør—the place Shakespeare fans know as Elsinore, where my grandmother lived.”
“Did Magnus stay there with you?”
“No. I didn’t see him again until a few years later.” She took a handkerchief from her purse and briefly dabbed at her eyes. Then, with exceeding care, she folded the handkerchief in her lap. “I was flung out of childhood by the delivery of a telegram. After my parents were arrested, I was taken to live with my grandmother when the message arrived.”
“The telegram,” said Tess, keeping her eyes on the road, though she wanted to look at Miss Winther. Annelise.
“It was a mechanically produced telegram on extremely thin paper, as if the murder of my parents didn’t warrant a sheet of fine stationery. Of course it wasn’t called murder. Officially, the cause of death was typhus. That moment, when we read the telegram, created a clear dividing line between my childhood and some other state, not adulthood...but in that moment, I turned into a different person, hardened and fearful. I had never felt such emotional pain. The horror of a family being torn apart...it is the worst kind of nightmare. That was when my childhood ended, thoroughly and completely, never to be regained. In normal times, that change for a girl might coincide with the gentle appearance of womanly curves. But these were not normal times.”
“I’m so sorry,” Tess said. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“When my grandmother died half a year later, I was sent to a church orphanage. I hated it there, and ran away as soon as I could escape. The trouble was, I had no place to go...except to find Magnus. In time, I joined the Resistance, because even though I’d lost everything, I dedicated myself to helping others avoid the terrors of German occupation.”
“So you and Magnus worked together?”
“We did. There was a large group of us—all young, all angry and passionate as only the young can be. Ramon Maldonado was a member of that group. He’d been in the merchant marine, and threw in with the Resistance fighters out of a sense of adventure, at first. And then a sense of purpose.”
“He was a long way from Archangel,” said Tess. “Why would he be in Denmark, of all places?”
“A girl. When you’re young and in love, you don’t let something so small as a world war stop you. It didn’t last, though. In those times, very little lasted. I’m not sure what happened. The Resistance got very busy in October of 1943, when the Germans instituted martial law. The Nazis ordered a roundup of all the Danish Jews, and we took part in the greatest rescue of the war. Nearly all of Denmark’s eight thousand Jews were ferried to safety in Sweden. There was a very narrow strait between Helsingør and Sweden. The fishing boats sailed both day and night for two weeks.”
“That’s remarkable,” said Tess. “It must have been so gratifying for you.”
“It was. We were known as the Helsingør Sewing Club, organized by a man we knew only as Erlin
g. All the Jews, except five hundred, were taken to safety.”
“And the five hundred,” said Tess, feeling a chill. “Were they sent to Theresienstadt?”
“Yes.”
“So Eva was one of those.”
“Yes,” she said again. “Of the five hundred Danes at the camp, fifty-one were lost. All the others were rescued. By the time Denmark was liberated in 1945, Magnus and Ramon were more than just comrades in arms and coconspirators. They were best friends. Ramon gave us all a new life. In 1948, he arranged for all of us to come to California.” She paused, watching out the window. “I had nowhere else to go. All I knew of America was what I saw in the movie pictures. It seemed like a dream to me. Eva and I became fast friends during that time.” She paused again, watching the rolling dairy country pass by the window. “In America, life was perfect, except for one thing.”
Tess scarcely breathed, waiting.
“There was only one Magnus,” Annelise said with stark honesty, “and both of us were in love with him. We were all so young. Eva and I were still teenagers. I never told him the way I felt.”
“Why not?”
“Appearances were everything back then,” the old lady said, gazing out the window. “It’s odd, isn’t it, that we survived so much only to find we couldn’t survive each other.” She unfolded the handkerchief again, then refolded it. “Magnus chose based on who needed him more, and that was Eva. She’d always been fragile. And I kept my distance, though it was terribly hard.”
Tess didn’t say anything. Coming as she did from a line of independent women, she was in no position to judge anyone.
“As time passed, things between Magnus and Eva became strained. They wanted a child so very badly. And I...I wanted him so very badly. We lost ourselves in the situation. It was brief. I wanted it to last forever but I knew it had to end. Then I discovered I was pregnant.”
Tess tried to picture what the situation had been like, so long ago. Annelise—alone, pregnant, scandalized. Magnus and Eva, yearning.
