Family Secrets

by Judith Henry Wall

  The headline of the accompanying story read, “New York Women Seeking Long-Lost Relative.” The dateline was Hayes, Montana, which made Myrna take a second look at the picture.

  Then she closed her eyes, placed a hand on her chest, and took a deep breath in an attempt to slow her racing heart.

  After all these years, how can this be?

  She took off her glasses, rubbed her eyes, cleaned the lenses, replaced the glasses on her nose, and looked again at the picture. Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a magnifying glass and examined the picture more closely.

  Only then did she allow herself to read the story. Myrna quickly scanned it, then went back and reread it with great care.

  Three sisters with the family name of Wentworth had grown up in New York City believing their father had been orphaned at birth and only recently found a letter that led them to believe that his mother might still be alive.

  They had traveled to Coal Town, a mining community, in Montana’s John Coulter County and then to Hayes, the county seat, searching for information about a woman they believe might be related to them and might have information about the circumstances of their father’s birth. Henrietta Worth Polanski, who was also known as Hattie, had grown up in the county. The article stopped short of saying that Polanski was their father’s birth mother, but anyone reading the article would wonder if that wasn’t why these women were looking for her.

  The rest of the article was a lot of nonsense about the sisters and their careers. The oldest sister had two children and was a fund-raiser for a private college. The middle one was an editor at a fashion magazine and was described as wearing “couturier Western.” The youngest sister was a hand and foot model but was interested in pursuing a career in photography.

  The article ended by saying that anyone who had information about Henrietta Worth Polanski was asked to contact the editor of the John Coulter County News.

  Myrna carried the newspaper and the magnifying glass to a window where she examined the grainy picture in the bright morning sunlight.

  So long ago it had been taken. For the yearbook.

  For the goddamned yearbook!

  Myrna closed her eyes, the pain of that time folding back upon her.

  It was her junior year. She hadn’t wanted to have her picture taken. Not for that yearbook or for the ones that had come before it. But none of the other students declined to have their picture taken, so when her turn came, she sat on the stool and stared at the camera. Most of her classmates would order copies of the yearbook and for days after they arrived would eagerly sign each other’s book. The signing ritual took place in front of the building before school, in the halls between classes, in the lunchroom, in classrooms when the teacher wasn’t looking, even in the restrooms. But the girl named Hattie couldn’t afford a yearbook and had no friends to sign it even if she could. Once the other miners’ children had been her friends, but she had become their worst nightmare. Mining had killed her father, and the owner of the mine denied her mother a widow’s benefit, leaving them poor as dirt. She became a misfit who wore her mother’s made-over dresses to school and her mother’s shoes, which were too narrow and made her feet hurt. Not a day went by that Hattie didn’t promise herself that someday she would wear shoes made of such soft leather that they felt as if she were wearing velvet bedroom slippers.

  Just thinking about that time and her mother’s narrow shoes made Myrna’s feet hurt. She wiggled her toes inside the supple leather of her handmade shoes. Then she touched the unsmiling face of the girl whose shoes would have been pinching her toes when the picture was taken and who—after the yearbook was published—would not be asked by a single classmate to sign her name below that picture or to write some clever remembrance on the flyleaf.

  Myrna had remade herself since that picture was taken, and she had systematically set out to destroy all evidence that Henrietta Polanski had ever existed. Once that task was completed, she had mentally let go of her. Months and even years could go by without her giving more than a passing thought to that time in her life and the person she had once been. She had erased the person she used to be and created a new being—a confident, clever woman who had made a tremendous success of herself.

  But now she felt that confidence slipping away.

  Myrna went into the bathroom and studied her face in the mirror. After all these years, would anyone see a resemblance between the face in the mirror and the one in the newspaper? Her company officers would be having their breakfast now in their expensive suites in Steamboat Springs’ finest resort before being brought to Eagles Nest in limousines for the afternoon meeting. They would have their newspapers spread out in front of them. Were they staring at the picture of Hattie at this very moment? Would they see something of the woman she now was in that long-ago photograph and wonder why she had changed her name? Why she was living a lie?

  Panic rose in her chest and pushed against its walls, causing her breath to come in short gasps. What if after all these years her true identity became known?

  She took a deep, calming breath. That was not going to happen, she told herself. She would do whatever needed to be done to make sure that it didn’t.

  She wondered if the appearance of the picture and article in the Denver Post on the day that the company officers of Aquila Industries were scheduled to be in the state was not coincidental.

  Maybe she should postpone the meeting and give the company officers time to forget about a picture in the newspaper that might have looked vaguely familiar.

  But she had never once postponed a meeting. They would think she was ailing or unprepared.

  She returned to her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a pair of scissors. Carefully she cut out the picture and placed it in the exact middle of her desk. She had been born Henrietta Rose Worth, but her parents had always called her Hattie. But that person no longer existed, she reminded herself. Hattie had been pushed out of existence by the person she had become.

  The person she had become. When she needed a new name, she had pulled one out of thin air and become Myrna Miles. With no middle name. Not even her children or Willy knew her real name.

  She had changed her last name three different times as three different men came into her life. For the last five decades she had been Myrna Miles Cunningham.

  She looked down at the picture of Hattie. “Stupid girl,” she said. “Why did you let them take your picture? Why did you even go to school that day in your mother’s tacky old dress and her skinny shoes? You already knew you were going to run away and leave that awful town behind. What were you waiting for anyway? If you’d already left, you would have saved yourself a whole lot of trouble. And I wouldn’t be looking at this picture of you.”

  What else was waiting out there for the three sisters from New York to discover? Myrna wondered.

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Think, she told herself.

  After a time, Myrna’s breathing began to slow. And her pounding heart. She opened her eyes, picked up the phone, and punched a button.

  “Good morning,” the familiar voice responded.

  “Would you please come to my office?” Myrna said.

  Eighteen

  STILL in bed, Ellie mumbled that she hadn’t slept well and had no intention of going downstairs for breakfast. She requested that her sisters bring her coffee and juice, then burrowed back under her pillow.

  Vanessa and Georgiana were discussing their plans for a return trip to Coal Town as they headed toward the elevator. “Maybe we could visit the old folks home like we did in Deer Creek,” Georgiana suggested. “Surely there’s someone in the town who remembers Hattie Worth.”

  They were crossing the lobby when Georgiana’s cell phone began playing its tune. Vanessa waited while Georgiana dug the phone from her canvas backpack. She glanced at the number on the screen, then with a puzzled look put the phone to her ear and said, “Hello….

  “Yes, this is she,” she responded, and listen
ed for a few seconds more, then grabbed Vanessa’s arm and gave her a wide-eyed look. “But you just interviewed us yesterday!” she told the caller. “You mean the article has already been published and you’ve heard from someone?”

  As Georgiana listened, she kept glancing at Vanessa, her head bobbing. “Wire service! You mean it’s running in other newspapers, too? That’s amazing.” Georgiana indicated to Vanessa that she needed a writing implement.

  Vanessa dug a pen and a scrap of paper from her purse and watched while Georgiana wrote down a phone number, then repeated it to make sure she had it right. “And this person said that she recognized the picture and had information on Hattie?” Georgiana asked the caller.

  “Oh my gosh! That’s so cool!” she responded with a little hop and jump. “…Yes, I’ll let you know what happens.”

  Georgiana ended the call and yelped, “Bingo!” Then she took a deep breath. “The newspaper editor in Hayes filed the article she wrote with a wire service, and someone in Colorado has already contacted her about it.”

  “That really is amazing,” Vanessa acknowledged, “but don’t get your hopes up too high. It could be just a crank call. Or it could be someone who knew Hattie back in high school and hasn’t seen her since and hasn’t a clue as to where she might live or if she’s even still alive.”

  “But it could be her next-door neighbor who called,” Georgiana said, not trying to contain the excitement in her voice, “or it could have been Hattie herself.”

  Georgiana glanced at the phone number on the scrap of paper, then thrust it into Vanessa’s hand. “You’re better on the phone than I am. You call.”

  Vanessa used her own cell phone to call the number. Almost immediately a voice said, “Hello.”

  “Is this the person who called the John Coulter County newspaper about the story on Hattie Worth?” Vanessa asked.

  “Yes, are you one of the Wentworth sisters?” asked a pleasant but nervous voice that could have been male or female.

  “Yes, this is Vanessa, the oldest sister.”

  “This is so exciting,” the androgynous voice said. “You came all the way from New York looking for information about your grandmother!”

  “Do you know something about Hattie?” Vanessa asked.

  “I sure do. She’s not named Hattie anymore, but she’s the same person. I didn’t know about her other name until this morning. I work for her and live in her house, and she’s my best friend in the whole world. She would like to meet you and asked that I call you and invite you to come here. She recognized the picture in the Denver newspaper right away. It was taken for the school yearbook back when she was a junior at Coal Town High School. She didn’t like the picture or the high school, but she wants to meet you three ladies as soon as possible. Are you still up there in Montana?”

  “Yes, we’re in Helena.”

  “That’s good. What’s the name of your hotel?”

  “The Big Sky Inn. Is Hattie coming to see us?”

  “No, but she would like you to visit her.”

  “Where does Hattie live?” Vanessa asked.

  “In Colorado. We’ll send a plane for you.”

  “I need to talk this over with my sisters. Where in Colorado do you live, and how can I get back to you?”

  “Why don’t you girls just stay with us for the rest of your visit?” the voice continued. “It will give us all a chance to get to know each other. The newspaper article said that your sister Georgiana is interested in nature photography, and we live right in the middle of a whole lot of nature. There are lots of birds and animals and snakes and trees and rocks. Lots of rocks. I guess we got more rocks than anything else. Except maybe trees. Trees are all over the place. One of our planes will fly up there to Helena and bring you back here. I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up at the Big Sky Inn at one o’clock and take you to the airport. This is really exciting, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I suppose I do,” Vanessa acknowledged.

  “Well, I guess that’s everything I’m supposed to tell you. Now don’t forget. Be ready at one o’clock. I’ll be waiting when the airplane lands.”

  “I need to call you back after I make sure this is okay with my sisters,” Vanessa said. But she was greeted with silence. The line was dead. And she didn’t even know the name of the person to whom she had been speaking.

  “So, what’s the story?” Georgiana asked, her eyes wide with curiosity and excitement.

  “According to this individual, we have found Hattie, and it would seem that she has come a long way from her days as an inmate in the Deer Lodge prison.”

  Georgiana hugged Vanessa, then performed an impromptu dance around the lobby to the amusement of the desk clerk and bellhop. “Just wait until Ellie hears!” she said as she dispensed another hug.

  Georgiana’s lovely face was positively glowing with joy. “Aren’t you just thrilled, Nessa?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know Hattie’s current last name or the name of the person I just talked to. But she expects us to fly off to some unknown location in Colorado in ‘one of their planes’ to meet Hattie. It would seem that Hattie has overcome her modest beginnings. And her prison record.”

  “Well, good for her!” Georgiana said enthusiastically. “Come on, let’s go tell Ellie.”

  “What about breakfast?”

  “We’ll call room service.” Georgiana headed for the elevator.

  When Vanessa unlocked the door to their room, Georgiana rushed inside and pounced on Ellie’s sleeping form.

  Vanessa closed the door and watched while Georgiana straddled Ellie’s body. “Wake up, kiddo! We’ve got news. Big news.”

  “I don’t smell coffee,” Ellie said with her eyes still closed.

  “We found Hattie!” Georgiana said, shaking Ellie’s shoulders.

  Ellie’s eyes popped open. “You’re kidding!”

  “No, I’m not.” Georgiana rolled off Ellie. Then, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, she explained about the phone call from the newspaper editor in Hayes and Vanessa’s conversation with some nice person who worked for Hattie. “Was the nice person a man or a woman?” Georgiana asked Vanessa.

  Vanessa shrugged and sat across from her sisters on the other bed. “I never said this person was ‘nice,’” she pointed out. Although he or she probably was, Vanessa decided. And somewhat unsophisticated. Childlike almost.

  “Well, anyway,” Georgiana continued, “this person said that Hattie is anxious to meet us and wants us to visit her in Colorado and is sending a private plane to fetch us, so we’ve got to get packed and I need to wash my hair and buy batteries and I am so excited I can hardly think.”

  “Oh my gosh!” Ellie said, giving Georgiana a high five. “The old gal must be loaded. A real American success story. From rags to riches. And through the years she’s always wondered about the baby she gave away and if he had children and if he wondered about her from time to time. And now in her twilight years, she meets the granddaughters she never knew she had. It is a story begging to be told.”

  “A story by Ellie Wentworth,” Georgiana said with a grin.

  “With pictures by Georgiana Wentworth,” Ellie said, giving her sister a high five.

  Then Ellie turned to Vanessa. “How come you’re not excited?” she demanded.

  “I guess I’m more amazed than excited,” Vanessa explained. “And I don’t think you should count on Hattie wanting you to tell her personal history to the world.”

  “You’re just miffed,” Georgiana said in a teasing tone, “because the person that you talked to hung up before you found out his or her name and its exact spelling or Hattie’s current last name and its exact spelling or told him or her where to fax Hattie’s current curriculum vitae or to specify the exact geographical positioning coordinates from where the person was calling.”

  Vanessa ignored the teasing as she flipped open her cell phone and called the last number on her calls-received list.

  A record
ed voice informed her that no one was available to take the call. She was not given an opportunity to leave a message.

  Georgiana ordered three continental breakfasts while Ellie hurried into the bathroom to take a shower. Vanessa sat immobile sifting through her thoughts. Why was she being such a spoilsport? Wasn’t finding Hattie the reason why they came on this trip? She and her sisters were being presented with the opportunity to share an incredible adventure.

  Unless the seemingly ingenuous person on the phone was a con artist.

  She went downstairs to the gift shop. The Denver Post was sold-out, the clerk informed her, but she could probably buy it at the drugstore just up the street.

  Vanessa walked up the block and purchased a copy. Before she left the drugstore, she began leafing through the newspaper. The article and picture were on the back of the front section.

  The three sisters were presented as “bright, attractive New York career women searching for their late father’s birth mother.” The article mentioned that Vanessa was a single mother of two and explained what each of them did for a living. Nothing in the article would make an embezzler or con artist think the sisters were worthy of attention.

  But perhaps it was someone other than Hattie herself who’d recognized the picture. A someone who knew that Hattie was rich and planned to kidnap her long-lost granddaughters and hold them for ransom.

  Which seemed too far-fetched even to consider, Vanessa decided. And the voice on the phone had said that Hattie recognized the picture as being from her high school yearbook and that it was taken her junior year, information that was not mentioned in the newspaper article.

  Vanessa reread the article. This time she felt a bit of adrenaline flowing into her veins. The Wentworth sisters had pulled off a minor miracle. Looking through the high school yearbooks had been Vanessa’s idea. And now they were going to fly to Colorado and meet the woman who gave birth to their father.

  Their own mother would be pleased when she learned the success of her little scheme. Penelope’s daughters had renewed their sisterly bonds and accomplished their mission.