by Terrie Todd
“I know. But things like that weren’t talked about back then. It just wasn’t done. Poor Mom. It must have been so lonely, keeping such an important secret.”
Benita gave her mother and both children a hug before they walked out the door. After they left, she showered, dressed, and cleaned the apartment from top to bottom. In one corner of the living room, she gathered the things they would want to show Ramona: the silver suitcase, Gram’s quilt from Katie-Lynn’s bed, photo albums from her wedding and the kids’ baby years, and the old ice-cream maker. The store was quiet and Ken didn’t complain about Benita abandoning him. He must know her mind and heart were focused elsewhere today.
Grace arrived in the middle of the afternoon, out of breath, her arms laden with photo albums.
“My goodness, we’re going to overwhelm her.” Benita smiled. “Come on in, Mom, I want to peek at those.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Grace held the albums tightly. “Not until we can show them to Ramona together.”
“But I haven’t seen some of those for years!” Benita protested.
“Maybe not, but Ramona hasn’t seen them at all. Trust me, it will be more fun this way.” She added the albums to the growing pile in the corner.
“Oh, fine. Have it your way. I should get downstairs and help Ken anyway. He’s being incredibly patient with me.”
Grace was full of nervous energy and more animated than Benita had seen her in years. To keep busy, she prepared supper for the family after picking up Katie-Lynn and James from school. Benita worked in the store alongside Ken through the late afternoon and they closed at six o’clock sharp. As soon as the store was locked up, all five of them sat around the table and enjoyed Grace’s lasagna. Benita alternated between taking trips to the washroom, checking her watch against the clock on the kitchen wall, looking out the window, and glancing at the items in the corner of the living room. James and Katie-Lynn tried everyone’s patience with their dish-towel snapping and bickering over whose turn it was to wash or dry.
When the phone rang, the three adults looked at each other, and Benita picked up the phone.
“Hello? Yes, hello, Ramona.” She smiled at Grace and Ken. The children, not fully understanding the drama unfolding in their midst, could sense something more important than the arrival of an old family friend was happening, and they paused in their dishwashing.
Benita pointed toward the window and mouthed “They’re here.”
Grace looked out the window and gasped.
“It’s her,” she said. Benita looked over in time to see Grace’s knees buckle beneath her, landing her on the arm of the sofa. She ran to the window to see for herself what had so startled her mother, but by this time their visitors were at the storefront door and out of sight from where she stood. Ken was on his way down to let them in.
“Katie-Lynn, stay here with Grandma.” Benita followed Ken down the stairs. By the time she reached the bottom, Ken had opened the door and was shaking the hand of a dark-haired man in his mid-forties. This would be David, Ramona’s son. He didn’t look familiar to Benita, but when he stepped aside to make way for his mother, Benita saw Ken’s face freeze in shock.
“Oh. Oh my—” was all he said.
The woman before them stood still, smiling Gram’s smile. “You must be Ken.” The voice sounded different, but otherwise it was as if the Gram of Benita’s childhood had walked through the door and back into her life.
The woman reached out a hand to Ken. “I’m Ramona.”
CHAPTER 54
July 1950
Eva Roberts had been gone a full twenty minutes and Cornelia still sat at her kitchen table, her coffee now cold. “It’s time,” she murmured.
She stopped to check on Gracie, who was sleeping in her bed with a picture book across her chest and her beloved stuffed bunny squashed under one arm. Cornelia thought her heart might burst at the sight of her beautiful little girl, so unaware of her mother’s past.
She climbed to the attic and dragged her mother’s old silver suitcase into the middle of the room, where sunbeams cast enough light into the space that she could see what she was doing. She clenched her teeth and began piling diaries onto the floor, speeding up as she worked. She resisted the urge to stop and read them.
“It’s time. It’s time,” she repeated as she gathered the notebooks into her apron and started back down the stairs and outside with the load. Quickly, she headed for the burning barrel at the corner of the vegetable garden.
“Shoot. Forgot the matches,” Cornelia muttered. She dropped the diaries on the grass beside the barrel and headed back into the house. After checking once more on Gracie, she carried the matches back outside. She’d get a good fire going and toss each notebook in separately, watching to make sure they all burned completely.
Last week’s Winnipeg Free Press already lay in the barrel, and Cornelia struck a match and lit the newspaper just as a horn sounded behind her.
Stuart. Why was he home so early? Should she toss all the diaries in at once and risk snuffing out the fire?
“Whatcha doin’?” Stuart called to her as he climbed out of their car.
With one foot, Cornelia shoved aside a notebook that had fallen from the stack and headed toward the car, hoping Stuart would go straight into the house. “Just thought I’d burn some garbage.”
“I wouldn’t start any fires today, Corrie,” Stuart warned. “It’s too dry. If it rains tonight, I’ll burn it for you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Cornelia tried to appear nonchalant. “Why are you back so early? You and Daddy can’t be done already.”
“We’re not. Turns out we were short one bundle of shingles. Your dad’s gone to town for more, and I thought I’d run home for a snack. And a kiss.”
Cornelia kissed her husband squarely on the mouth and ushered him inside. Glancing back, she could tell by the lack of smoke rising from the rusty old trash barrel that her fire had fizzled.
An hour later, Stuart was back at the shingling job with Charles, Grace was up from her nap, and Cornelia knew her resolve had fizzled just like the fire. Back at the burning barrel, now with Grace at her side, she looked at the stack of diaries and sighed.
“I just can’t do it,” she said.
“I can help you, Mommy,” the little girl said. “What are we doing?”
Together they gathered the notebooks. Carrying three of them in her pudgy arms, Gracie followed her mother back into the house and up to the attic. They laid the diaries back in the silver suitcase.
“What are these books?” Grace asked.
“Just some stories, sweetheart.”
“Will you read them to me?”
“No. They’re grown-up stories.”
“I’m going to grow up. Can I read them then?”
Cornelia sighed. “Maybe one day, my girl.” She closed the lid and pushed the suitcase back to its dusty corner.
CHAPTER 55
October 2007
Benita drew a deep breath and took Ramona’s hand. “Hello, again” was all she could manage. She tried desperately not to stare.
“Hello, Benita.” Ramona gestured toward the younger man. “This is my son, David.”
Benita shook his hand in silence and finally glanced over at Ken. He continued to stare at Ramona.
“Forgive us, Ramona,” he said at last. “You, uh . . . it’s just a little overwhelming. You look familiar to us.”
“I do?” Ramona looked pleased. “Well, that’s good news, don’t you think? You . . . said your mother would be here?” Ramona asked, looking around.
“Yes,” Benita said. “Uh . . . I mean, yes, she’s upstairs with James and Katie-Lynn, our children. Please, come on up.”
Benita let Ken lead the way. As she followed at the back of the group, she could see Gram’s walk, Gram’s gestures, even Gram’s fashion sense, in Ramona. Sh
e hoped her mother would still be sitting down when they reached the top of the stairs.
“Everyone,” Ken said as they entered the room. “I’d like you to meet Ramona and her son, David.” He pointed to the kids. “Ramona, this is James, this is Katie-Lynn. And this”—he walked over to Grace and put a hand on her shoulder—“is Benita’s mother, Grace.”
“How do you do, Grace?” Ramona smiled, but Grace only stared and said nothing.
Katie-Lynn broke the awkward silence. “You look like my Gram. Were you her friend?”
“Oh, sweetie. I, uh—” Ramona looked around at the other adults, eyebrows raised. Finally Grace spoke.
“Katie-Lynn, Ramona is part of our family. That’s why she looks so much like Gram.”
“But she doesn’t look like you,” James observed.
“Well, I was always told I looked more like my father,” Grace said. “And your mommy looks like me. But Ramona here—oh my.” She looked at the visitors. “You must have a seat. David, make yourself at home. Wait till you see pictures. I really don’t think we’re going to need any official confirmation. It’s obvious. At least it sure is to me. Look at that—my hands are shaking!”
Ramona looked down at her own. “Mine, too!”
The two women stared at each other in awe until neither could stand it any longer. Grace stood up from the couch, Ramona crossed the room, and they embraced so enthusiastically it was as if they had known each other all their lives and been separated for only a few weeks.
“I want to hear everything,” Grace said at last. She sat and patted the couch beside her. “Tell us how you found us.”
Ramona and David stayed long after the children had gone to bed. They pored over the photo albums, exclaiming over and over about the strong family resemblance between Ramona and Gram. Pictures of Cornelia from the 1980s were the most striking, since that’s when Gram would have been the age Ramona was now. Ramona explained that she’d been raised near Toronto by parents who’d informed her early in her life that she was adopted.
“They always told me I was extra-special because they couldn’t have children of their own. They called me their gift. They were nearly forty when I was born, so they’ve both passed on, of course.” Ramona pulled a black-and-white photo from her bag and passed it around. It showed a young couple, all smiles. The woman was holding a tightly wrapped infant.
“When I turned twenty-one, I contacted the Manitoba Post-Adoption Registry to learn what I could. They told me my birth mother’s name—Cornelia Simpson—and her last known address in Winnipeg. At the time of my birth, she indicated on her release papers that she was open to meeting me one day, but she hadn’t sent any updates.”
As she spoke, Ramona looked around the room and made eye contact with each person. “I came to Winnipeg and found my way to the address. The house had been torn down and the whole area was a big playground. I called every Simpson in the Winnipeg phone directory, but no one had any idea what I was talking about. It seemed like a dead end.”
All eyes focused on Ramona as she shared her story.
“After I married and started my own family, I let the issue rest awhile. I did spend one crazy weekend with a fat Manitoba phone book, going through every little town in the province and calling every Simpson I could find. Only once did I get any kind of meaningful response, from a Simpson in Roseburg. The person gave me another number to try, but gave firm orders that if it led nowhere, I was not to call the number back. When I called the second number, a teenager answered. It was another dead end.”
Benita and Grace gave each other a meaningful glance and then looked away as quickly as they could.
“After that, I gave up,” Ramona said. “I couldn’t handle the heartbreak and disappointment. But my husband and children knew about my search, and they knew the name Cornelia Simpson. So when David saw one of your posters, Benita, he called me immediately. And here we are.” Ramona smiled at Katie-Lynn, who smiled back.
“Wow. I wonder why Gram never updated the adoption registry with her name and address change?” Benita directed this question at Grace.
“Honey, I don’t think my father ever knew. I certainly didn’t. And Ramona—it breaks my heart to tell you this now, but I remember that phone call. That teenager was me. I’m so sorry. I never told my parents about your call . . . I’m not sure why.”
Ramona looked at Grace with sad eyes. “Oh, honey. You were young. Who knows how things might have turned out if we had connected then? Everything happens for a reason, that’s what I believe.”
“But who do you suppose gave you our family’s phone number?” Grace asked.
“According to the diaries, Gram never told a soul,” Benita said. “Maybe she did eventually tell her father.”
“No, that can’t be right.” Grace shook her head. “Grandpa would have been gone by the time Ramona made that phone call. He died when I was ten. Her call came when I was . . . nineteen, twenty maybe. What about Uncle Jim?”
“I don’t know if Uncle Jim knew either, Mom,” Benita said. “I read Gram’s diaries up to the point where she met your father and she still hadn’t told Jim then. Maybe she told him later. Or maybe he snooped in the diaries.”
Ramona smiled. “No. It was a woman on the phone, and she sounded old. I remember. It was listed ‘M. Simpson’ in the phone book.”
“Oh my gosh.” Grace’s hand rose to her cheek. “Aunt Miriam!”
“What? That can’t be right. Gram wouldn’t have told Aunt Miriam in a million years,” Benita said. “I can’t believe it was her. Oh, if only we had those diaries—you’d see what I mean.”
“Still no diaries, eh?” David said. He had been quietly listening in on the conversation all evening. The three women, who’d been entirely engrossed in their chatter, looked around them now and noticed for the first time that Ken had slipped out unannounced.
“He went downstairs about ten minutes ago,” David informed them when Benita wondered aloud where he’d gone.
“We should probably call it a night.” Ramona yawned. “It’s been a terribly long day. Can we pick this up again tomorrow? I want to know what you can tell me about my father, too.”
Grace and Ramona made plans to meet for breakfast and enjoy some sister-bonding time. After that they would pick up Benita and the three of them would make the drive to Roseburg and see what they could of the place where Gram grew up.
After they’d said their good-byes and the guests had left, Benita found Ken in the tiny backyard, leaning on the fence and looking out into the vacant lot. When she got closer, she heard muffled sobs and saw his face buried in the crook of his elbow. As he became aware of her presence, he took a deep breath and forced his breathing to become more regular. Benita put a hand on his shoulder but said nothing. They stood there for several minutes, looking at what few stars could be seen above the lights of the city. Benita gently rubbed Ken’s back.
Ken spoke first. “I miss her so much.”
“I know. I miss her, too.”
Ken wiped his face on the sleeve of his flannel shirt. “Did you know she told me I had a good head for business?”
“No. But she was right. You do.”
“No one else ever saw that in me.”
Benita rubbed his arm. “Gram would be very proud of you.”
Finally Ken turned and let Benita embrace him in a long hug.
“It’s getting chilly out here,” Benita said. “Let’s go to bed.”
Half an hour later, they lay awake staring at their bedroom ceiling in the darkness.
“Ken, I can’t tell you how much I regret not sharing the diaries with you. I should have realized how much they might mean to you. I’m so sorry, and I would give anything to get them back so you could read them, too. Will you forgive me?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “I already have.”
Benita
drew a deep breath. “For that, yes. But there’s more. I know I’ve been bitter and resentful toward you for a long time, for things that have little or nothing to do with you.” Benita could feel tears collecting in her ears and she rolled over onto her side, facing Ken. “I want you to know I’m sorry, and I’m working on it. I really want to change.”
“Is that Mr. Counselor talking?”
As much as Benita wished she’d come to this realization on her own, she knew she couldn’t take all the credit. “What if it is?”
“If it is, I might consider seeing the guy once or twice myself. You know, just to say thanks.”
Benita said nothing, but found her husband’s hand and held it tightly.
“I’m sorry, too.” Ken said into the darkness. “I know I’ve been hard on you. I’ve been thinking. I’d like to leave Richard in charge of the store tomorrow and go with you to Roseburg.”
Benita was delighted. “Are you serious?”
Ken flipped from his back onto his side and kissed her. “Let’s take the kids and make a day of it. It will be good for all of us.”
Benita fell asleep with a smile on her face that night. Ramona’s grand entrance into their lives was bringing good things.
The diaries may have been lost, but Mary Sarah had been found.
CHAPTER 56
It was a glorious Indian summer day when six adults and two children piled into the Watson family’s van. David had asked to join them for the excursion, and Grace had invited Uncle Jim along as well.
“He’s having one of his better days,” Grace said as they loaded her picnic basket into the back of the van. “But I’m not sure how helpful he’ll be in talking with folks in Roseburg. He’s been calling Ramona ‘Corny’ ever since we picked him up.”
“I suppose that further negates the need for official confirmation.” Ken hopped into the driver’s seat.
“Well, I do have an appointment with the post-adoption registry tomorrow,” Ramona said. “I may as well keep it. You never know what information they might be able to provide.”
