by Silke Ming
“Show it to me,” she said.
She stared at the photo, but had no idea who it was because the hat had hidden most of the woman’s face. She turned it around and found the date. September 1964.
“That means this was taken just before you were born. She seemed happy.”
“We don’t know if it’s my mother,” he replied.
He searched the trunk, but found no other photos. He found his father’s birth certificate and other documents like old bank books, old receipts, and purchase documents for the home. There was also a letter from St. Jude’s, a government-run mental institution, with the name Claire Balsam and dated June 16, 1967. He kept looking at it, turning the document over, and checking and rechecking for more information.
“What are you going to do?” Summer asked.
“Keep looking through this trunk,” he said curtly.
“What I mean is now that you’ve got this information, are you going to get in touch with the detective?”
“I don’t think so. I would prefer to keep this under wraps.”
“Aren’t you going to search for her?”
“Yes, but now that I know the name of the institution where he put her, I know where to start my search.”
He kept on digging through the dusty contents and came upon a letter with his first name printed across the front of the envelope. He perched himself on a second trunk beside Summer and opened it.
Dear Seamus,
I know we did not have the kind of relationship that a father and son usually share, but there were things which I did not have a chance to clear with you before you disappeared. You have probably considered me a father in name only, but by the time you read this, you may have children of your own and will understand why I acted the way I did. You were not the easiest child to handle, especially after your mother was taken from the home. It was a very difficult time for me, alone and caring for a very young child.
“She wasn’t taken. The bastard put her in a mental hospital, and all this time I blamed her for leaving me with him.”
“Read on,” said Summer, eager to hear the rest of the contents of the letter.
You told me time and time again, that I had taken your mother away from you and you would never forgive me, but I had to send her away because she was ill. I tried to explain it to you when you were a teenager, but you would have none of it, and then you left home. I tried to find you and finally gave up.
Many years may have passed as you read this letter, and I want you to forgive me for any hurt I have caused you. In my own way, I have tried to be a good father, and later, I tried to make amends. I hope your time in the home, which I built with you in my mind, was a comfortable time.
Fondest regards,
Your father,
David Balsam.
He returned the items to the trunk, examining each one for any further details that would lead him to his mother, dead or alive. He opened the old bank book. Every month, on the same date, there was a transfer of four hundred dollars from his father’s account. He wondered where the money had been deposited. The last transfer shown was during the month in which he had died.
“If you contact the bank, perhaps they can offer a little more information,” Summer told him.
He grew silent as he put the last of the contents back into the trunk. Summer could only watch his pain, as the reality about his mother set in. The letter from his father and the bank book were the only items he kept aside. He held his hand out to Summer and she held it.
“Lock the trunk,” she said.
“There is nothing of importance in there,” he replied.
“That’s true, but you should still place the lock on it.”
After thirty years, he finally knew what had happened to his mother. Was she still in the institution or had she passed away? He handed her the key and she securely locked the trunk, keeping its contents safe from prying eyes.
He sat on the sofa and lifted his feet onto the coffee table, while Summer went to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of wine. She handed him a glass and he sipped on it, still not saying anything.
“Are you going to contact the institution?” she asked, rubbing the back of her hand along his cheek.
“Yes, I think I’ll start on Monday. I’ll go up there to see what I can find out. Will you go with me?”
“Naturally,” she said. “I’ll go with you.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her gently on the forehead.
“You have made a real difference in my life, Summer. I don’t think I could face this without you.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the telephone, which Summer answered.
“I’m sorry, Fred,” she said, looking at Seamus. “He is not here right now. I’ll ask him to get back to you.”
“What did he want?” Seamus asked.
“He didn’t say.”
“I’ll call him back sometime next week.”
“Why so long?” she asked. “Perhaps it is something important.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He sighed deeply.
“Seamus,” she said, pulling up a chair and sitting directly in front of him, “I have accepted your proposal of marriage. Perhaps this is not the right time to be bringing this subject up, but I want you to know that I love you, even with all your faults. However, I cannot and will not accept anymore interference from Lana or Fred Podesta. I want you to promise me that all that stuff is in your past and we can have a good life together.”
“I know I have made a lot of mistakes. I know that, but I can’t lose you, so I promise you that I will never, ever do anything to hurt you or to belittle you. I have no idea why Fred called, but please trust me that all those interferences are behind us. It will just be you and me, and possibly my mother, if I can find her.”
She gazed at him as he continued to speak.
“I’m happy not to be alone at a time like this. I think about Jean-Louis and Hoana. They seemed contented together, but now they have gone their separate ways. He is still in Tahiti and she is in Paris. It was the best day of my life when you walked into it. I never thought for one moment that I could have this kind of relationship with you. I was very screwed up and didn’t know it. You walked into my life, so decent and levelheaded, and I seduced you.”
“You didn’t seduce me, Seamus. I was twenty-five years old and understood right from wrong. From the very first day I walked into this home, I was attracted to you. I thought you were different. Quite different from anyone I had met. Do you really want to know what I thought of you?”
“What did you think of me, Summer?” he asked, leaning forward and holding her hand.
“I found you to be pompous, cold, mean-spirited, and narcissistic, but you were a great lover, not only great, but an exciting lover,” she said with a smile.
“Did you really think that of me?”
“I certainly did, and underneath the rough exterior, I saw someone in need of love and affection. I was only taking the job until something better came along, but I fell in love with you. That’s why I’m still here.”
“Oh, Summer, I really love you,” he said, pulling himself to the edge of the couch. “You’re right about everything you said. Never in a million years did I think our relationship would evolve like this. I expected a quick roll in the hay because you and I were both in the same boat. Both in need of sexual fulfillment. I was well aware of my faults, but I didn’t care. Since you came into my life, you have shown me what it means to be a good person.”
He paused before he spoke again.
“Does this mean that all is now well between us?”
“It is a conversation we should have had a long time ago,” she replied.
He pulled her to the couch and hugged her. They sat silently gazing into the fire, and he laid his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes.
“What do you think happened to her, Summer?” he suddenly asked.
“I wish I knew, Seam
us. Let’s keep it to ourselves for now. What I mean is, let’s not tell Millie anything about it.”
“Why not?”
“I think we should keep it between us right now. It would be better if we didn’t bring her into this right now. There will be time enough for us to tell her about it.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Suppose she has already passed away?”
“I’m sure you would have heard about it.”
“It would probably be better if she were dead. At least she wouldn’t be living in those inhumane conditions, constantly stoned out of her mind.”
“Don’t torture yourself. On Monday we will know a lot more about what really happened to her.”
Summer’s thoughts turned to Millie. Could she be Seamus’s mother? She, too, had lost her son and had no idea where he was, and even though Seamus had offered to help in locating him, she had turned him down. Maybe she was wrong in what she was thinking, because Millie showed no signs of mental illness. She was a levelheaded and responsible woman whom they trusted. What would the outcome be if she turned out to be Claire Balsam? She is Irish. She truly loves him, and she also loves Summer it seemed.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said, rubbing her arm.
“I was only wondering what would happen when you eventually find her.”
“We’ll have to wait to find that out I’m afraid.”
Chapter Nineteen
It seemed like one of the longest weekends they had spent together. Seamus sat cloistered in his studio and painted nonstop, while Summer concentrated on her university schedules and sometimes passed the time on the couch reading a book, waiting patiently for Seamus to end his solitary confinement, and impatiently for Monday morning to arrive. She felt a bit nervous at the thought of visiting the institution, because she was afraid of what the outcome could provoke. They thought they would just drive out to the address on the document and speak to the authorities face-to-face.
* * * *
“You’re out and about at an early hour,” said Millie, surprised at seeing them both dressed and ready to go.
“We’ll be back around midday,” Seamus said as they went out the door.
“See you then,” said the woman, staring after them.
She thought that their early appointment must have something to do with the divorce. The registered letter had arrived from his lawyer the previous Thursday, and she believed they were keeping everything close to their chest. She stared up at the painting of Summer, then went ahead with her chores.
* * * *
“This doesn’t look like a mental hospital,” said Summer.
“You’re right. It’s too modern a building and I haven’t seen a sign anywhere that says St. Jude’s.”
“Maybe we should ask someone,” Summer suggested.
“Damn!” shouted Seamus. “All this way and it’s no longer here.”
He parked the SUV and approached an elderly man walking his dog on a leash. The hospital, the man said, had been demolished a year ago and the patients were moved to another building about ten minutes away. Seamus thanked the man and continued driving in the same direction. Soon they saw the sign for St. Jude Hospital ahead. They drove around until they came to the entrance, and Seamus parked the car and they walked to the main door. It was locked, so he rang the bell. A man in a nurse’s blue uniform appeared at the door. They introduced themselves and stated their case. He said the administration office wouldn’t be open until nine thirty, so they should return then.
“Do you know if Mrs. Balsam is still here?” Seamus asked.
“Is she a patient or part of the medical staff?” the nurse asked.
“A patient,” Seamus said, staring in the man’s face.
“I’m sorry. I don’t recall the name Balsam. Is she a relative of yours?”
“My mother,” he replied.
They left and returned at nine thirty and spoke to the manager on duty, Mrs. Holstein. She was a robust woman with blonde hair and heavily made up, looking totally out of place in such a position. She wore a pair of jeans and a linen blouse. Summer had envisaged a stern-looking woman with a stethoscope around her neck and hypodermic needles in her pockets. She was relieved that the woman was so affable, and also so young and modern.
“When was the patient admitted?” she asked.
“It was either in 1967 or 1968.”
The woman stared at them.
“That was a long time ago. She might have passed away.”
“I am aware of that, but I want to be sure,” Seamus replied, staring at her.
“And since everything is now computerized, we thought it would be easier to find out what happened to her,” said Summer.
“Are you also a relative?” Mrs. Holstein asked.
“She’s my fiancée,” Seamus interjected.
“You know this is confidential information,” the woman said.
“I am well aware of that, but I would like to find my mother.”
“This information will take a while. You see, Mr. Balsam, when the patients were relocated to this building, all our files were stored in the basement. Have you tried the births and deaths registry?”
“No I didn’t.”
“Please check with them and get back to me,” she said, handing him a card with a telephone number.
“Where are their offices?” he asked.
“I don’t know how well you know Whitney, but if you turn off the main road onto the Port Collier gravel road, and travel all the way to the Port Collier mall, you will find it there. You can’t miss it. It’s a small mall.”
“Thank you,” Seamus replied, and set out for the Port Collier Mall.
When he passed his home, Millie was outside dusting carpets. He blew the horn, but she never looked up. Even though it was a small shopping mall, they had a difficult time finding the little nondescript office at Port Collier.
“Seamus! Summer!” someone called out.
They turned around and saw Rachel. She was on her way to work at the mom-and-pop shop.
“When did you get back from vacation?” she asked.
“We have been back for a while,” Summer replied.
“You haven’t called me. I could use the money for the upcoming Christmas season,” she said to Seamus.
“We have been quite busy since we returned,” Summer said. “How is Ed? Are you still together?”
“Yes, we are. I think I’m in love.”
“Why don’t you come by and the two of you can chat,” said Seamus. “Right now we are looking for the Births and Deaths Office. Do you know where it is?”
“Oh yes. Let me show you where it is.”
They walked into the little office, which was occupied by only one female employee. She was on the phone and she signalled to them to take a seat. Finally ending her call, she took their information and went to a computer. It took about ten minutes and she returned with the information that no one by the name of Claire Balsam had passed away in the last twenty years. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. At least she was still alive, perhaps somewhere in the Whitney area. He immediately called the institution and reported his findings.
“Give me three days, Mr. Balsam. I’ll have someone search the files and I’ll get back to you.”
* * * *
Three days later, an anxious Seamus called the institution again, and was delighted with the information which they provided. Claire Balsam had been admitted to the hospital with a diagnosis of mental disease.
“Actually, Mr. Balsam, your mother didn’t have any mental disease.”
“Then why was she admitted to St. Jude’s?”
“Your mother was suffering from postpartum psychosis.”
“What is that?” he asked.
“This sometimes happens to a woman when she gives birth. She falls into a depression, and if not looked after, the depression could get deeper.”
“Is that anything like postpartum depression?” he asked.
“Yes
, but a bit more serious. Back then, there wasn’t a name for it, so of course it was deemed insanity.”
“So what happened to her?”
“The hospital was under the impression that she was afraid of her husband, and Mrs. Balsam blamed him for having her committed. During the years she spent here she showed no signs of insanity. Just deep depression. We decided she didn’t belong here and asked the nuns at St. Augustine convent if she could stay there for a time. They said yes, and so that’s where she went. She did not become a nun, but she helped out with the cooking and other tasks in the convent.”
“Are you saying that she spent more than twenty years in the convent?”
“I’m not sure the length of time she spent there, but I know it was quite a long time. Now give Sister Mary Joseph a call and make an appointment to see her. She will be able to give you all the information you want on your mother.”
An appointment was set up for the following Thursday with Sister Mary Joseph at eleven o’ clock in the morning.
* * * *
“How is life in the pine forest?” asked Toby.
“Life is wonderful,” Summer replied. “We have been very busy. Me, with my university work, and Seamus with his painting. How is Josh?”
“Still as gorgeous as ever! He’s been working very long hours because of the Christmas season. Have you heard anything about Lana or her husband?”
“Nothing,” she replied, careful not mention anything about the duo with Seamus in the room. “Have you heard anything?”
“Yes, I have a juicy bit of gossip. That rag sheet reporter who was snooping around your home a few weeks ago was arrested for trespassing. He was caught snooping into Lana’s bedroom window.”
“What on earth was he looking for?”
“Only God knows. I’m surprised you didn`t hear about it. It was all over the newspapers.”
“Well I was out of town last week. You forgot my birthday, Toby.”
“Darling, I’m so sorry. I`ll make it up to you. When is the party?”
