One last morning Laurie started off his day with pie. Jane seemed to sense the impending change, for she clung to her uncle, then fussed on the ride to the airport. Laurie tried not to worry how the rest of Lynne’s day would proceed as she gave him her love, and that for Stanford. Laurie kissed her cheek through the open driver’s side window, then watched as she drove away from the terminal, hearing Jane’s cries carrying through the air.
As Laurie began his voyage home, Stanford attended to tasks in his office, but his mind was far away from artists, focused on the one heading east. Agatha too had Laurie on her mind, hoping his return would settle Stanford’s anxiety. He had admitted to her only yesterday where Eric was, which pained Agatha, yet she would refrain from writing to Lynne until Lynne mentioned it first. Agatha had stew simmering, both for Stanford and Laurie’s comfort as well as her own.
In Miami, Eric spent another day outside of Seth’s window, ministering to that man while considering how Lynne and Jane were again living by themselves. Eric prayed that Laurie had a safe flight home; he also sought peace for Seth, who was still making progress, but at times it was painstaking, as Dr. Sellers eased from his patient more details from Korea. Eric was grateful not to have been drafted, even if now he was so far from his wife and daughter. And again he hoped their coming baby would be another girl. That was a topic of which he and Seth often spoke, which ushered in darker issues that kept Eric as a bird of prey. He wasn’t sure how long this part of Seth’s recovery would take, but Eric didn’t expect to be home by Halloween.
On that first day of October, Marek spent his morning dictating letters to Mrs. Kenny. He’d prayed for all within his flock, adding Laurie and Seth to that list, as well as the Aherns. Once Lynne, Laurie, and Jane had left on Saturday night, Renee had mentioned the dossiers from which she and Sam had to choose. Marek had noticed how only Renee had spoken about those files, while Sam’s eyes had flitted around the room, often settling on the painting of boysenberry vines. Marek thought it another stunning piece, but had found Sam’s disinterest in the dossiers intriguing. Marek added those orphans to his prayers, then considered another letter that he would write after Carla left for the day. He’d given great consideration to Lynne’s feminine perspective, a term that still stirred his smile, yet the words he wanted to say to Klaudia remained elusive. Perhaps when he sat down with a pen in his hand, the right thoughts would emerge.
In Oslo, it was late afternoon and growing dark. Klaudia sat by herself on the bus, as Sigrun had a bad cold. This was the second workday Sigrun had missed, but Klaudia didn’t mind, although she felt badly for her friend. Sigrun had become a small pest, daily enquiring if mail from America had arrived. Klaudia didn’t expect Marek would be so bold as to send any more, and if he did, she’d…. A bump in the road took her from that thought, then she stared out the window, her stop was next. She stood, walking to the front of the bus. Within minutes, she was standing on the sidewalk, wrapping her scarf snugly around her neck.
She walked slowly, a stiff wind blowing, but she ignored it, cooler temperatures on the horizon. She was used to Norwegian winters, more the length of them to bother her, but she chalked that up to her age. She would be thirty-six a few days before Christmas, but often felt much older in part that Sigrun was forty-three. Perhaps it was also due to Gunnar, who had been five years Klaudia’s senior. He’d been dead for ten years and while Klaudia rarely considered him, lately she had dreamed of him, but that was only due to…. She scuffed her shoe along the pavement, then looked up, seeing Sigrun’s front door. Klaudia should stop by, see how her best friend was. But if she knocked, regardless of how poorly Sigrun felt, the question would be asked, and Klaudia had to forget about….
As the wind grew stronger, Klaudia moved ahead, reaching her own front door. She peered in the mailbox, finding it empty. Her heart pounded, then she inwardly berated herself. If he sent another letter…. She unlocked her door, stepped inside, the entryway cold. Closing the door, she turned up the thermostat, removing her coat. She stepped into the kitchen, turned on the light, then set her purse on the nearest chair. Laying her coat over that chair, she rummaged through her bag for cigarettes. Lighting one, she took a long drag, then she shivered. Winter was around the corner, which would hover over Scandinavia for months. Marek Jagucki lived in the American West; did he know such dark, forbidding weather, did he carry the bitter memories that still haunted Klaudia twenty-plus years after the fact?
In his reply, he’d made no mention of how he had survived, and while Klaudia was relieved that he had, she wondered how had he managed to escape that…. She took another drag from the smoke, then set it in the ashtray. She rubbed her upper arms with her hands, then used the toilet. The house was still cold, although she felt heat emerging in the usual places. Yet even standing close to those warming waves, her fingers were icy, her knees knocked, her heart…. She tightly shut her eyes, for the last thing she wanted was to cry over a man who for as hard as she’d tried to forget was still stuck fast inside her. Marek was wedged within her heart, and damn Sigrun all to hell! It was her fault for making a big deal out of something so, so…. Klaudia shook her head, then laughed out loud; Sigrun deserved to be very ill for stirring all this grief. Then Klaudia stared at where she stood, alone in a cold house in Oslo; why in the world was she there at all?
She hadn’t wanted to leave their village, pleading with her parents that they couldn’t go, they couldn’t leave…. But of course it had been the right decision; life under the Soviets would have been miserable, although not as bad as…. But at the time, Klaudia couldn’t fathom abandoning the only man, the only person, the only one…. While she’d never heard Marek’s screams among those which emanated from that burning structure, he must have perished alongside them. To consider anything else would have driven her to madness, although once the smoldering piles had turned to cold gray ash, Klaudia had inspected the ruins, the only one brave enough to get that close, or as others said, the only one crazy enough to poke around a gravesite. Yet, no one ever gave the Jagucki clan a proper burial; those piles remained untouched, and Klaudia assumed that they still existed. No one had possessed the courage to stop what had happened, and they never had the decency to organize the appropriate closure.
Then Sigrun wanted to visit that art gallery. Again, this was Sigrun’s fault, Klaudia fumed. They had gone on a Saturday, just the two of them, because Harald never went to anything other than football matches. Klaudia knew nothing of this Eric Snyder, and truthfully, Sigrun hadn’t either, but the reviews were good, and it was something to do. The paintings were indeed beautiful, until Klaudia reached the one of the man with the most brown eyes, the deepest eyes, yet, they twinkled. Oh how bright were those cocoa brown eyes, so vibrant, so, so…. Alive, which had made Klaudia’s heart skip several beats, her legs weak, her eyes teary, and her guts churn. There was no way Marek could be among the living, yet regardless of his bearded face and that ugly collar around his neck, there he was, holding a little brunette with the bluest eyes Klaudia had ever seen. The baby had to be a girl; Marek had a daughter, which had nearly caused Klaudia to scream right there in the museum. But she’d managed to maintain her composure, returning to his eyes staring at her, eyes knowing all she had seen, heard, endured. Those eyes burned through the steely layers that had hidden her soul since the doctor announced something was terribly wrong with Klaudia’s son. She’d named her firstborn for the man in that painting, but Klaudia’s baby was retarded while that little girl sat with her daddy, fully aware of how much she was loved.
Except that the baby wasn’t Marek’s. Klaudia had wept hard reading those lines, trying to catch her breath, then easing that fact among so many others, that Marek was alive, in America of all places, and was a minister. That last point had disgusted Klaudia, making it easier to calm her still racing heart, but she’d lost so many tears before reaching that detail that Marek’s note wasn’t more than soggy paper. Yes she burned it, but only after it had taken two days
for it to dry, and so that Sigrun would have no idea the extent of how distraught Klaudia had become over it. Yet damn her to hell, Sigrun still knew anyway.
Now Klaudia felt a rising heat, and she cracked her knuckles, then smiled. She stepped to where her cigarette had mostly burned to ash, then sucked back what remained, trapping nicotine far into her lungs. She exhaled a noxious cloud, but not only tar and other ingredients. Anger and regret swirled alongside the hollowness of her heart, which again was well shielded. Marek Jagucki might be alive, but he was still as dead as the rest of his family. For Klaudia’s sake, he needed to stay that way.
That evening in the United States, Laurie and Stanford celebrated their reunion, first in bed, then in the kitchen, bowls of stew in front of them. Stanford had called Lynne before dinner was eaten, but after Laurie’s return. Lynne had sounded happy for the news, if not a little lonely, but Stanford assured her they would visit in January.
Eric spent that night hunting lizards, not thinking about Seth’s small setback. Dr. Sellers had assured Seth that these roadblocks were a matter of course, but Eric had felt dizzy as Seth was given an increased dose of Thorazine. Part of Eric’s lightheadedness had been from hunger, and he might not visit Seth for a day, giving both of them some space. Eric ate his fill, then found a tree in which to rest. He prayed for his family, then dozed off, dreaming of that long flight home in December, 1961.
Lynne and Jane had spent their afternoon with Sam, who brought in wood, then built a fire before his departure. Sam noted that Vivian Kramer had returned from Colorado and was hoping to return to work by the end of the week, assuming she had found a babysitter for Ann and Paul. Sam used those names like he knew the children well, but Lynne didn’t inquire past the basics. As far as Sam knew, Paul would start attending kindergarten while Ann would remain at home with a babysitter. After Sam left, Lynne started a letter to Laurie, sharing these details, asking him to keep her abreast of Seth’s recovery. Then Lynne fixed dinner for herself and Jane, checking on the fire when the pops decreased.
Sam returned to a quiet house; Renee would be at work late again, but she’d told him to not wait to eat. They were having leftovers, but Sam wasn’t hungry for food. He ached for information, but all Renee knew was what he’d shared with Lynne. Sam peered at the dossiers piled on the coffee table. He needed to go through them; Renee had been harping at him about it. But every time he tried, his vision grew blurry, not from tears, only that the words blended together, making the data unreadable.
He couldn’t even focus on the photographs; every time he tried, all he saw was a red-headed girl or a blue-eyed boy, and that didn’t made sense, in that the pictures in the dossiers were all black and white. Yes, descriptions of each child noted their hair and eye colors, heights and weights too. But Sam kept going back to the snippets Renee had revealed in passing, to Marek Jagucki of all people. She hadn’t said these things to Sam alone, but when that Pole lingered on Saturday night after Lynne, Jane, and Laurie had left, Renee mentioned Ann had red hair and Paul had blue eyes. Marek had found that interesting, but Sam had been floored, yet what did those characteristics signify? He picked up the stack of folders, opening the first one, seeing words, but they were fuzzy. Before they became completely unrecognizable, he discovered this child, a girl, was a blonde with grey eyes. He checked the next, a boy with green eyes, while the next was another girl, brunette with brown eyes. The next was another boy, a red-head but his eyes were green. The last file was that of another blonde girl, seven years old with blue eyes. Sam sighed, then closed that folder, placing all five back where they had lain.
He sat on the sofa, staring at the dossiers, feeling a strange lump form in the pit of his stomach. Ann and Paul belonged to Vivian; she was their guardian as well as their only living relative. How could he feel so drawn to them, he hadn’t even met them, only knew this information via Renee, and she’d only seen them as she’d left Vivian’s house. She had also spoken to their mother, and had watched their father lead them back to what was now their home, but Renee never described those adults. They were dead and their two children would be raised in this town by their elderly aunt, end of story.
Yet, Sam’s heart pounded, then he stood, huffing as he did so. Now he was hungry and he stepped into the kitchen, taking a container from the refrigerator. He’d made split pea soup last night as the weather had felt cool. It was now October, baseball season over, another bad year for the Red Sox. But Sam had lost interest after Eric left, barely scanning the sports pages. Seth had been a distraction, Lynne’s pregnancy too, and of course Eric’s absence. Yet those issues had been overshadowed by Renee’s change of heart, even if Father Markham had been on a retreat, and only now did files from St. Francis’ wait to be reviewed. If Sam and Renee ever had a few minutes together, they would discuss those orphans, choose one, then by Thanksgiving perhaps, one of those kids would be an Ahern.
Time seemed an elusive notion; very little of it for Sam and Renee together, plenty for Sam alone. Too much for Lynne, and was there enough time for Eric to ease Seth back into reality, then return before the baby was due? Laurie had seemed of two minds, eager to go home to Manhattan, but loathing to leave Lynne. How did Stanford consider time, Sam wondered. Perhaps it was business as usual for the art dealer, especially now with Laurie back. Then Sam grimaced, for Stanford thought Eric was in a mental institution, yet, how could Laurie tell him otherwise? Sam took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Sometimes the most unreal situations were actually the God’s honest truth, like Ann and Paul Hamilton. Then Sam shook his head. He had no right to assume….
The front door rattled and Renee’s I’m home rang through the house. Sam headed to where she stood, taking off her coat and scarf in the living room. “Hey honey. I didn’t expect you so soon.”
“Dr. Howard told me to go home. Several appointments were cancelled. I was able to get a lot of paperwork done though, and he said I could get to the rest tomorrow.” She sounded tired to Sam, then she looked toward the kitchen. “You eat yet?”
He smiled. “Was just getting it out. Won’t take but a few minutes.”
She nodded. “Gonna use the bathroom first.”
Sam chuckled, placing her wraps on the sofa. Then he went into the kitchen, putting soup into a pot. By the time Renee joined him, the soup was starting to simmer. Renee sat in her chair, leaning back. “My goodness it’s been a long week, and it’s only Tuesday. You hear from the New Yorkers?”
Sam shook his head. “I assume he got back okay. I guess Lynne would’ve called if something happened.”
“Yeah, that’s true.” Renee sighed, then fiddled with her hair. “So Sam, after dinner tonight, why don’t we have a look at the….”
He knew what she was going to say before she could end her sentence, and he started nodding in agreement. In that split-second, Sam accepted that of course Ann and Paul belonged with their aunt, she was the only relative they knew, although they were so young. Paul was as old as Johnny, while Ann and Helene were about the same age. Sure, they only saw their aunt a couple of times a year, but no one else had been designated as their guardians, which now struck Sam as odd. Their parents must have had friends they felt were capable, yet they had entrusted one older woman to look after youngsters. As Sam considered that, stirring bubbling soup, waiting for Renee to finish her statement, the phone rang. He smiled as Renee paused; it was probably Lynne, calling to let them know Laurie was home.
“Hello,” Sam chuckled into the receiver. “Are your ears burning?”
“Excuse me? I’m trying to reach Renee. Is this the Ahern residence?”
“Oh, yes it is.” Sam felt foolish. “Um, Renee’s right here, just a minute.” He handed the receiver to his wife, then returned to the stove, taking the soup from the flame.
“Hello? Oh hi Vivian.” Renee glanced at Sam, but she didn’t seem concerned. Yet Sam’s stomach rumbled, but not from hunger. He stirred the soup, which steamed. But he wouldn’t dish it up until Renee was
off the line.
“Uh-huh,” Renee replied to her co-worker. “Yeah, okay, uh-huh. Wait, you what?” Renee tapped her foot, then she held the receiver with both hands. “Um, I dunno, let me ask Sam.”
He stared at her, forgetting about dinner, Laurie, even the dossiers. “What?” Sam said softly. “Ask me what?”
Renee trembled, placing her left palm over the end of the phone. “Vivian wants to know if I can go over there, she said both kids are crying. She sounds….” Renee stepped as close to Sam as the cord allowed. “At her wits’ end,” Renee whispered. “Do you mind?”
“No, of course, tell her you’ll be right there. Do you, uh, want me to drive, I mean….” Sweat trickled down Sam’s forehead. “No, I’ll stay here and….”
“Let me see what she says.” Renee whispered that, then cleared her throat. “Vivian, of course I can come over. Sam’s here too, shall we both? Oh, uh-huh, sure, okay. Yeah, right. Okay, we’ll be there in a few minutes.”
As Renee stopped speaking, Sam broke into a smile, which he immediately hid as soon as Renee caught his gaze. She nodded at him, then pointed to the end of the receiver, shrugging. Sam only saw her nod, for he then stepped away from the stove, headed to the living room, looking for his jacket. By the time Renee was off the phone, Sam had his keys in hand, wallet in his back pocket, and he was standing by the front door. Renee popped her head through the kitchen doorway. “Sam, what about dinner?”
“I’ll deal with it when we get back. Let’s go, Vivian needs us.”
Renee looked taken aback as she went to the sofa, where her wraps waited. Sam had the front door open before she could put on her scarf, and he nearly pushed her out the door. He ran to the Chevy, starting the car, leaving Renee to lock up. As she sat in her seat, he revved the engine, pulling out of the driveway. Then as he put the car into first gear, he gazed at his wife.
Renee wore a smirk. “So, where are we heading Sam?”
He nearly said To see our children. “Okay, tell me where to go.”
Renee giggled, then gave directions. Sam sped away, then braked hard at the stop sign that he never failed to notice. Renee didn’t question him, but she squeezed his knee, then kept her hand there. Maybe she didn’t feel the same, but Sam wouldn’t ask. He drove, also prayed, wondering just how red was Ann’s hair and what shade of blue were Paul’s eyes.
Chapter 140
The Hawk: Part Eight Page 4
