Flying Home

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “No.” Austin turned to Liana. “I see Mercedes has shown you our infamous charity records.”

  “Not much of a filing system.”

  “I haven’t had time to do anything with it. Grandmother used to have everything organized, but in the past ten years or so, it’s gotten out of hand. She never liked computers much.”

  Liana took a deep breath. “I could get it organized and on computer as part of the job you’re hiring me for. I mean, if you’re interested.”

  Austin smiled. “I’m definitely interested. Your last bill was quite reasonable, and we might as well work this job in now since we have a little cash flow with the Whittaker donation I told you about. Truthfully, it might take organizing everything to update the finances anyway. I don’t know how Grandmother got along.”

  “She didn’t bother much about papers—she just wanted to help those poor children.” Mercedes moved past Liana toward the door. “Come along, now. There’s pie to be eaten.”

  “Do you still have that videotape I made of the orphanages in Ukraine last year?” Austin asked on their way down the hall. “I’d like to show it to Liana.”

  Mercedes nodded. “I have it. But after the pie, okay? I want her to at least taste it before you drop the weight of the world on her shoulders.” Austin snorted, but he acquiesced to her request.

  The slice of apple pie, topped with a generous dollop of freshly whipped cream from Mercedes’ prized milk cow, was the best Liana had ever tasted. Mercedes certainly had a way with food.

  “She’s the granddaughter of Patches,” Mercedes explained, giving them each another spoonful. “That’s the cow Austin basically raised from birth.”

  Austin nodded, his eyes faraway. “Her mother died, and we had to give her a bottle. Patches was a wonderful cow. I miss the old girl.”

  Liana remembered the pictures of the cow on the walls in Austin’s office. She didn’t know how long cows lived but figured Patches was gone by now, given Austin’s comment. “My mother loves to cook,” she said.

  “And you don’t?” Mercedes took a bite of apple pie.

  Liana smiled. “I love to eat—and that’s almost the same thing. One of these days when I stop running around so much, I’m going to get nice and round. They say my mother gained weight before she died.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Mercedes said. “When you said she liked to cook, I assumed she was still living.”

  Too late, Liana realized her mistake. What was it about these people and this place that made her so let down her guard? “I meant my adopted mother loves to cook. I know it’s a bit confusing. I was orphaned when I was four, and my aunt and uncle adopted me.”

  “Before that she lived in India,” Austin added.

  “India? How exciting! I’ve always wanted to travel somewhere overseas.” Mercedes put down her fork. “Do you remember it well?”

  Liana shook her head. “Not consciously. But sometimes when I’m dreaming . . .” She fell silent, mentally shaking herself. This was her private memory, not open for discussion. “I don’t remember.”

  “You must want to go back.” Mercedes looked at her eagerly. “I bet you’d remember if you went back. At least some of it.”

  “When I was a teenager, I always planned to take a trip there.” Liana swirled her fork in her whipped cream. “I used to think I could learn about my parents. You know, by talking to people who knew them.”

  “Your aunt never talked about your birth mother?” Austin poured himself a tall glass of milk from the pitcher Mercedes had placed on the table.

  “No. I asked a few times when I was really young, but it always made her upset.” Liana hadn’t pursued the matter, not willing to risk Christian’s wrath. “I’d ask now, but . . .” Once again Liana had to stop herself from talking. But we really aren’t that close, she finished silently.

  Mercedes helped herself to another slice of pie. “Maybe going to India would be a good idea then.”

  “Maybe.” Liana suddenly felt she was fighting for air, and the wonderful-tasting pie had turned to rubber in her mouth.

  “HeartReach used to be active there,” Austin said. “Grandmother switched most of our focus to Ukraine when it freed itself from the Soviets, but we still fund a literacy program in India.”

  “Sounds interesting.” Liana was grateful to Austin for the change of topic. She had been about to excuse herself from the table so she wouldn’t break down in front of them.

  “Another piece?” Mercedes offered. “Come on. It won’t be as good tomorrow.”

  Liana let Mercedes put another slice next to her half-finished one. She began to eat as the conversation drifted to the planting and the new calves they were expecting this summer. Her pie had regained its delicious savor, and she relaxed.

  After much of the pie had disappeared, Mercedes washed the plates while Austin took Liana to the living room and showed her the video footage he’d taken at several orphanages in Ukraine. “I’m not sure which orphanages these are,” he said at the beginning. “I filmed a lot of them, and after a while they all looked the same.”

  Liana saw what he meant. Cribs crowded together side by side, holding babies and young toddlers. Narrow walkways between each row allowed their caretakers access. Small children dressed in bulky layers of clothing, some smiling, but many with faces red from long bouts of crying. Peeling paint on the walls, larger cribs where toddlers played together, little tables with older children eating, tiny children sitting on many small toilets. There were mounds of stuffed animals.

  “Most of those we provided,” Austin said of the toys. “A good number of these orphanages exist solely on foreign help. Even orphanages subsidized by the government have inadequate conditions.”

  “So many children,” Liana said, her eyes fixed on the screen. “Why are there so many unwanted children? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Austin’s face turned grave. “From my understanding of what happened there and in other countries like Romania during the decades of Communist rule, some of the authorities wanted the people to have many children, to raise up armies for the Soviets. Birth control was not permitted.”

  “But that was then. Most of those children would be grown or nearly grown by now.”

  “Ah, but change comes very slowly, not to mention that birth control is expensive. That means abortion often becomes the birth control of choice, frequently very late in the pregnancy so the women won’t get pregnant again as soon as if they aborted earlier. Of course, that then creates a moral dilemma, and as a result, hundreds of Ukrainian women give their babies to orphanages rather than abort them. Others keep their children, but they just can’t possibly fill so many hungry stomachs and are eventually forced to give them away.”

  Liana swallowed hard, her throat feeling full of cotton. “What about adoption? I’ve heard of so many couples here who want children.”

  “Many adoptions have taken place since the Soviets fell from power. But bureaucracy makes adoptions difficult. There are still too many children to take care of—too many to imagine.” Austin motioned to the screen, which now showed a group of children with obvious deformities. “As you see there, a great number of these children are born sick or disabled because of the gross lack of prenatal care.”

  “Why do they make them sit on the toilets? I don’t know much about it, but some look too young for potty training.” The images hurt Liana’s heart. A part of her wanted to cry out in rage; the other wanted to run away in denial.

  Austin’s mouth twisted in sympathy. “I know exactly how you’re feeling, believe me. I’ve experienced the very same emotions. But there is a method behind the madness. As soon as they’re able to sit, they put them on toilets after every meal until they go—even if it takes an hour or more. Saves on diapers. They mostly use cloth there, and when a baby pees, they seem to just stick on another layer of clothing until it’s time to bathe them.” He shook his head. “We sent a bunch of disposable diapers just before my grandmother died, but when
I went there I found that most of them ended up on the black market. That’s when I hired Olya. You’ll see her here in a minute—ah, there she is.”

  A short-haired woman with light blue eyes, too-heavy makeup, and a thin, pinched face came on the television. She was speaking Ukrainian with a man, and Liana’s eyes were riveted on her. There was something familiar about her, though she couldn’t pinpoint what. Had she been in another part of the video? Or was it something about her words? Then the woman began speaking heavily accented English and the impression vanished.

  “I found Olya Kovalevsky last year,” Austin was saying. “When I discovered that so much of our aid went to the black market, I fired the previous director. I was angry—furious, actually—that he’d let that happen. He claimed it was how business was done and that I should be grateful that at least a little went to the orphans. But I wanted better. I found Olya, and she . . .” Austin hesitated. “Well, the truth is she had a little sister her family was forced to put in an orphanage. That orphanage later burned down, and Olya never found out what happened to her. She doesn’t know if her sister died or if she was adopted. She still feels a lot of guilt, though there wasn’t anything she could have done differently. That’s part of why she’s so dedicated to helping the children. I like to think it helps relieve her guilt—however imagined—and it helps me to know the aid is going where it should. If the orphanage directors don’t use it for the children, they don’t get any more. Period.”

  “It’s good you found her, then.” Liana’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. She couldn’t believe people would cheat orphans.

  There were yet more images of another Ukrainian orphanage, though they could have been repeats of the first. Liana’s eyes became swollen and her heart heavy with the plight of the abandoned children.

  That was not all. Another emotion had begun in her chest almost from the outset of the video—an emotion that made it hard to swallow, to breathe. Though Liana had tried to ignore it, the feeling had grown near to bursting. Now a tingling began in her arms, traveling to the very tips of her fingers. She knew the emotion now. She had felt it yesterday when her car had stopped working, causing her to swerve into oncoming traffic.

  Fear.

  No, it was more than simple fear. It was helpless, heart-pounding terror.

  She jumped to her feet, averting her face from Austin’s concerned stare. “I can’t,” she said, her voice sounding strange and breathless to her own ears. “I can’t watch any more.” She fled, stumbling blindly down the hall. She opened a door, glad to see that it led to Austin’s room.

  Throwing herself on the bed, she took in huge gulps of air to stop the threatening sobs. It’s just a video, she told herself. She’d seen worse on television commercials of small children in Africa. Why did this so affect her?

  A sudden, overwhelming anger flooded her body—out-of-control anger that made her want to scream and break things. An anger that blotted out the fear. What is happening to me?

  But she knew.

  “Why, Lara?” Clarissa asked. “Why did you rip the dolly’s clothes and tear off her arms and head? Why did you color her all black with the marker? Tell me, sweetie. I want to help.”

  Liana had no answer.

  “And why did you smash your new tea set?” Clarissa knelt before her to look in her eyes. Her voice took on a note of hysteria. “Please talk to me! Why don’t you ever talk to me?”

  “Clarissa, don’t.” Behind her, Travis reached down to help Clarissa up.

  Crouched by the bed among the broken toys, Liana watched them warily. The light from the uncurtained window shone starkly on Clarissa’s tearful face. They didn’t let her have curtains anymore, not since she’d pulled them down again. They hadn’t fixed the holes she’d made in the wall, either.

  “I’m calling a doctor,” Travis said. “This can’t go on.”

  Liana wasn’t afraid. She liked doctors. Her daddy had been a doctor.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s a type of detachment dis order,” the doctor said the next day. “But I’m not sure how that’s possible because she was not orphaned and neglected as a baby. I think it must be that she is still grieving and that these anger tantrums will pass if you continue to love and support her.”

  He was right. For a while clothes, toys, bedding, and walls had taken the brunt of her silent fury, but eventually the tantrums had faded, and she began to speak more and more—first to Christian and then to the others.

  Liana remembered little of that black time; she didn’t want to think of it now, even if it somehow related to the feelings she’d experienced while watching the video. Hands over her eyes to block out the light, she tried to make her mind go blank. To think of nothing. Or better yet, to think of Christian’s eagle, flying free in the clear blue sky. The thought calmed her.

  There was a tap on the door. “Liana?”

  Austin.

  She sat up, running her hands under her eyes to catch any stray tears. Crossing the room, she opened the door.

  His brows were drawn into a tight line. “Are you all right?”

  “I think I’m just tired.”

  “It’s been a long day.” He looked as though he wanted to say more. Finally, he added, “See you tomorrow then.”

  “Okay, goodnight.” She shut the door behind her, feeling more than a little silly. The abrupt anger was gone and so was the fear. In their place came an almost overwhelming urge to eat, though after Mercedes’ bounteous dinner and two pieces of apple pie she couldn’t have fit in a single morsel if she tried.

  Rummaging through the suitcase Austin had brought in from his truck, she found her pajamas and toothbrush. She went to the bathroom, relieved that no one was around. She hoped Mercedes didn’t think her rude for retiring to her room without saying goodnight. Tomorrow would have to be soon enough for making apologies.

  But Mercedes came from her boys’ room as Liana emerged from the bathroom. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “Yes, thank you. Thanks a lot.” Liana stifled an urge to hug the woman—odd after so many years of not wanting anyone to touch her.

  “Goodnight then. Unless you want to talk.”

  “No, I’d better turn in. There’s a lot of work waiting in that closet tomorrow.”

  Mercedes chuckled. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be in the kitchen waiting for Wayne. He’ll be back soon. It’s nearly ten. He’s rarely this late except during harvest time. Goodnight now.” Liana watched her go.

  In Austin’s room once more, Liana checked her cell phone to see if she had any messages from the advertisement she had put in the newspaper. There was nothing. At least she had the charity job, and Austin hadn’t blinked at the other bill she had given him, which she had thought quite high. Apparently, freelancing had its advantages.

  A whimper at the door drew her attention. Opening it, she found Jellybean, wagging his tail excitedly. “Come in if you want,” she offered, “but I don’t have any more treats.” Clarissa would have never allowed dogs in the house, but Liana found she liked the idea of four-footed company. The dog rushed in and jumped on the bed.

  Shaking her head, Liana snuggled under the blanket. The room was silent, but outside the window she could hear dogs barking in the distance and the yowl of an angry cat. But nothing more. There was no tapping in her mind. She couldn’t hear it in the animals’ voices or in the light breeze that made the tree by her window sway. Nor in the soft voices of a man and wife greeting each other after a long day apart.

  No tapping of keyboards.

  Liana pushed her feet under Jellybean and promptly fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 11

  Diary of Karyn Olsen

  Saturday, April 2, 1966

  Today we buried my dad. Travis was very sweet, and he got along well with Mom, who decided at the last minute to ride with us. Clari was also there, and I could tell she approves of Travis. She’s a year older than he is, but they have a lot in common. They talked too
much about math and engineering (yuck!).

  I really can’t believe Dad’s dead. I think Mom’s having a harder time of it than Lydia. He should never have left us. At least I have Travis. I think a July wedding would be nice. I wonder when he’ll propose. Maybe then he’ll finally kiss me the way I want him to.

  Liana awoke, much later than usual, and stretched with the abandon of someone who had enjoyed a solid night’s sleep. Her foot touched the place where Jellybean had slept, still warm, though the dog was no longer there. Strangely disappointed, she sat up, craning her neck to see out the window. Through the sheer curtains, she saw nothing but the tree outside her window and the fields beyond. Birds sang cheerily as they went about their business, as though happy to be alive.

  “No nightmares or tapping,” Liana mused aloud. Was it because she didn’t ever have to return to the office that the tapping had finally stopped? Or was it because she was on a farm out in the middle of what seemed like nowhere? She didn’t think so. The beach, the mountains—those had also been reclusive places, but neither had succeeded in silencing the tapping. The only thing really different here was Austin and his family.

  She wasn’t about to pursue that vein of thought.

  Clutching her personal items, she made a dash for the bathroom, not meeting anyone on the way. A short time later, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved cotton blouse with her hair combed back and secured in a long braid, she ventured into the kitchen. She was met by Jellybean’s liquid brown eyes and Mercedes’ wide smile.

  “Oh, good, you’re up. Sleep well?”

  “Like a rock.” Liana slipped into the same chair she had used at the table the night before. Jellybean shuffled over and shoved his nose into her hand. “Hey, Jellybean. What do you mean abandoning me, huh? I’ve never had such warm feet.”

  Mercedes laughed. “Heard him scratching at your door, so I cracked it a bit and let him out. He had business to do outside.”

  “Good thing you let him out.”

  “I had to bring him right back in. Likes to terrorize the chickens while Darrel’s getting the eggs.”