Hold Her Heart (Words of the Heart)

by Holly Jacobs

  “I had Ned bring down your hope chest,” she said. “It’s in the living room. I’m sure Logan will carry it next door for you. I wrote you a notebook, or journal if you’d rather. And there are other things. Gifts I bought you. Some old family photos. I bought you a notebook, much like the one I wrote in for so many years. I thought that this experience—meeting me—might be hard on you, and I’ve always found writing a way of coping with my pain. The chest—” Her sentence ended abruptly as she jumped up and rushed out of the room.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve got to help her,” Ned said, racing after her.

  “Food makes her sick,” Fiona said. “Dad had to fight to help cook the spaghetti. I told her she didn’t need to have a dinner for you. I told her that you’d understand, but Mom can be stubborn. She said that she’d fed hundreds and hundreds of kids in your name, the least she could do is have dinner with you, even if she wasn’t up to cooking it.”

  I’m not sure why, but the thought of her having a dinner for me when food made her nauseous hit me. I could feel tears creeping to the edge of my eyes, but I blinked them back. “I should go.”

  “She’s probably done for the night,” Fiona said, sounding much older than nine. “But you’ll be here tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m in town for a while.”

  “Don’t you have to work?” Fiona asked.

  I shook my head. “I work for myself. I can work anywhere there’s an Internet connection.”

  “Just like Mom. She works from home, too,” Fiona said.

  I didn’t know what to say to that, but I didn’t need to say anything. Fiona seemed capable of carrying on an entire conversation on her own. “I’ll tell Mom to call you when she’s ready for company. She’ll want to see you as soon as she’s able.”

  “Tell her that I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I will.” Fiona hugged me. “I’ve waited for you my whole life.”

  I patted her back. I knew I was coming to meet Piper, and I’d been prepared for Ned, but Fiona had been a complete surprise.

  She led us to the living room. “That’s for you,” she said, pointing at an obviously old wooden box. It had once been blue, but the paint was worn and faded, as were the red flowers that had been hand-painted on the front.

  “It’s been upstairs under Mom’s bedroom window my whole life,” Fiona said. “I always called Amanda’s box. For years, she added a charm on your bracelet, and she’s bought you some other little things, but it’s the notebook that you’ll want. I’ve never read it because it was for you. Just Mom and Dad have.”

  I started to reach for it, but Logan said, “Let me carry it for you,” and he picked it up without waiting for me to respond.

  I wanted to say no. I didn’t want someone else touching this gift. But I nodded at him and turned to Fiona. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell your mom and dad thank you for dinner.”

  “Our mom,” she corrected. “And I will.”

  I didn’t know how to explain to a nine-year-old that while I knew that Piper had given birth to me and I felt a connection, she could never be my mom. My mom had been Margaret Ahearn and my father was Patrick Ahearn. I would always be Pat and Maggie’s daughter. I couldn’t sort it all out, so I didn’t respond. I just followed Logan across the driveway and back to Ned’s old house.

  I unlocked the door for him and followed him as he carried the box into the living room. “She’s really sick.”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “If I’m not a match . . .”

  “Then someone else will be,” he said with far more assurance than I felt. “Ms. Pip’s strong. She’s fought her cancer for years because of Ned and Fiona. Now she’s got you to fight for, too.”

  I nodded, but I wasn’t sure I believed him. I walked to where he’d set the box down. I leaned over and touched it.

  There were bare spots where the paint had given up completely, and in other places the blue had faded to almost gray. Small red flowers graced the front face of it. Time had changed them into a dusty rose, but it was easy enough to make out what they were.

  The top, however, was more difficult. Decades of people putting things on top of the chest had hastened its aging. I could barely make out the letters T. P. E. and the numbers 1837 on the lid.

  T. P. E.

  I was no antique expert, but most of these boxes were for a woman’s trousseau. T. P. E. would pack the chest with items she hoped she’d use in the marriage she dreamed about.

  What had Piper put in mine? Were the items part of her hopes and dreams for me?

  Logan cleared his throat, reminding me he was still there. “Do you want me to leave while you open it, or would you rather I carry it upstairs?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think I can open it tonight.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said softly.

  “It’s only been a day. I thought I’d meet her and suddenly know just what to do about all this. How to feel about it all. Her being my birth mother and dedicating all those books to me, and now this.” I pointed to the chest. “And her being sick and knowing how much Ned loves her.”

  Ned hadn’t said much at dinner, but I could see his love for Piper every time he looked at her. “And a sister. I didn’t expect that. I just don’t know what to do, what to feel. I—”

  “You don’t have to sort it all out tonight,” Logan said. “Listen, why don’t you go upstairs and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day.”

  “I need to call my dad first.”

  “I’ll head up and leave you to it then. If you need anything, you know where my room’s at.” Logan said the words with a wicked grin and a quirking of his eyebrow.

  Despite feeling utterly overwhelmed, I laughed, which I knew had been his intent.

  “I’ve got to go to work a twelve-hour shift tomorrow. Seven at night to seven in the morning. I’ll be around during the day if you need me. Afterward, make yourself at home. I didn’t get to the grocery store, but you’re welcome to whatever you find in the kitchen. Ms. Pip and Ned always stock the pantry before someone moves in.” He turned and started up the stairs.

  “Logan,” I called, stopping him in his tracks. “Thank you for taking me in and for coming to dinner and—just thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  He left, and I slumped on the floor next to the hope chest, my back against the chair. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and hit Dad’s picture. It didn’t ring on my end before he answered.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d call tonight,” he said by way of a salutation.

  I traced the faint letters on the box with my finger. “It’s been a very long day.”

  “How’d it go?” he asked.

  That’s all it took. I told him about the drive, about Logan and then meeting Pip, Ned, and Fiona. I told him about Ned finding me all those years ago and coming to my graduation. I told him there was a video and Fiona had watched it on my birthday every year. About her quoting my speech. And dinner.

  “Piper had dinner with me, Dad. Even though food makes her nauseous. Fiona told me Piper said she’d fed hundreds of kids in my name, so she was determined to feed me. That’s what she did, Dad. She gave me to you and Mom, and ever since she’s worked in my name. Amanda’s Pantry. Fiona wasn’t exaggerating. She did it for me. And all the books, they’re dedicated to me. I feel . . .”

  When I didn’t say anything, Dad filled in, “Overwhelmed?”

  “Yes. And humble. And maybe selfish.”

  “Selfish? How so?” he asked.

  “I could have come sooner. Piper waited for me. And I could have come. I planned to find her, but life got in the way. I never felt like I was missing anything. I had you and mom. I was complete. But she was missing me.”

  “Siobhan, you’re there now. You’re being tested to see if you can help her. That’s not selfish, sweetie. And I’ve always believed that things happen in their own time. You can’t rush them. You simply have to take where you are and be conten
t.”

  “Thus speaks the philosophy professor,” I teased. Then seriously, I added, “I love you, Dad. No matter what, I need you. You do know that?”

  “Honey, I do. I am not threatened by Piper. And if your mom were here, she wouldn’t be, either. We had a discussion like this before, you know.”

  “I know. You said you and Mom would support me looking for Piper.”

  “No, not then. After we lost your mom and I introduced you to Margo. I was so afraid that you’d think I was replacing your mom. I could never do that. And loving Margo doesn’t mean I loved your mom any less. You and Piper? It’s sort of the same thing, and I understand that. When I told you about Margo, I said—”

  “You said, that your heart was big enough to love someone else without displacing anyone,” I quoted. I remembered that conversation and how nervous he had been.

  “Hearts are elastic,” he said. “I’m not sure the great philosophers would put it like that, but I think it’s apt.”

  I needed this moment of talking to my dad. I still didn’t know how I was feeling, but the swirling emotions had at least slowed down. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “It sounds as if you like these people, and that’s good. It’s a good place to start. And if you come to love them, I won’t feel as if it means you love me any less. If your mom were here, she’d say the same thing.”

  “Thanks, Daddy.” I hadn’t called him that since I was younger than Fiona. It just slipped out. Maybe right now I wanted to be that little girl again.

  When I was Fiona’s age, life was simple. My parents adored me. I adored them. And because of them I knew I could be anything I wanted to be, and they’d be there for me. Like tonight, when I called Dad. He’d picked up before the phone rang on my end. He’d probably been sitting with it in his hand.

  “Really, thanks, Dad. I love you. Good night.”

  “I love you, too. You call me tomorrow. And as soon as you hear from the doctors.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  I clicked the button and sat the phone down on the edge of the chest. It was easy to imagine people doing the same thing over the hundred-plus years it had been around.

  I traced the letters again. T. P. E. I wondered who she was, this woman who’d originally owned the chest. And one day she’d passed it to her daughter. Then that daughter to her daughter and down the line. A line of women. Here I was on the other end of that line, and I knew nothing about them. Where they were from, what they’re names were.

  I was a math and science geek. Though I worked with technology, I remembered enough of my biology classes to think of mitochondrial DNA. It was the DNA that comes from someone’s mother. It was microscopic bits that flowed down the river of time from one mother to the next. A long line of women, tied through time.

  There was a very good chance that T. P. E’s mitochondrial DNA flowed through Piper and through her to me. We were linked through blood. And if the poor odds landed in our favor, that blood might be able to help Piper. My bone marrow to be more specific.

  I thought of that long line of women who’d come before me and hoped beyond hope that because of them I could save Piper.

  I didn’t open the chest. I also didn’t sleep well.

  The room I was using was comfortable enough. It was small, like so many bedrooms in older homes. I didn’t mind that. I never thought a bedroom needed to have much more than a bed and a dresser or two in it. This one was adequate in that respect and had a small closet. It was painted a soothing light gray, and the bedding was a darker, steelier color.

  No, it wasn’t the room or the bed that caused my sleepless night. It wasn’t even the chest that sat untouched in the living room. I was curious about Piper, but what I’d already learned was more than I could handle.

  Every book she’d written she’d dedicated to me.

  She’d started a food pantry in my name.

  She’d never forgotten me.

  She’d waited for me.

  All night long those facts swirled around in my mind. I dreamed about her handing out food to babies. And in the dream, I saw her crying. A young girl, not much older than Fiona, crying.

  I gave up pretending to sleep at 5:00. To be honest, I got up about that time most days. I’d always been an early bird. When friends bragged about sleeping away a weekend morning , I couldn’t imagine it. I considered 6:00 a.m. sleeping in.

  I’d slept in yoga pants and a tank top. I slipped my OSU sweatshirt on and felt I was modest enough for a roommate.

  I wasn’t sure if Logan was a light sleeper so I tiptoed past his door just in case, and then down the stairs, and into the kitchen. I turned on the small light in the hood over the stove and took him at his word and made myself at home. I hunted for the coffee. If I was going to stay for a while, I’d need to go to the grocery store, sooner rather than later.

  Logan was right. The pantry was well stocked. I found the coffee and looked out the window as the coffeemaker chugged along.

  Ned’s backyard wasn’t as jungle-esque as Piper’s, but even in the morning murkiness I could see Piper’s garden encroaching on his. I looked at the chestnut tree—Logan’s tree. It looked sturdy in the corner.

  When the coffee was done, I found a mug and padded out into the backyard. The ground was cold and dewy as I walked along the woodchip path, through the hole in the fence, and into Piper’s backyard. I went to the bench we’d sat on yesterday and pulled my now freezing wet feet up onto the seat.

  For a moment I sat in the silent morning but gradually realized it wasn’t silent at all. I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of it waking up. There was a bird feeder up closer to the house, and I could hear the birds calling out. A series of chirps, clicks, and whistles. I realized that the yard was a cacophony of sound.

  Suddenly the sounds altered. The birds’ calls grew shriller and then stopped abruptly. Seconds later, there was the sound of someone running on the path.

  “I thought I saw you,” Fiona said. “You’re an early bird, like me. That makes sense ’cause we’re sisters.”

  She was fully dressed, but she obviously hadn’t brushed her hair. It stuck out this way and that from the remnants of yesterday’s ponytail.

  “If you sit here real quiet, you can hear my sparrows. They come to the feeder first thing every morning to check it out. If you’re sitting closer to the house, you can see a couple come up and make sure there’s feed, and then they call out to all the rest of them, and soon the feeder’s swarming with them.”

  “You like birds?” I asked.

  She nodded, sending more wisps of hair bolting from the ponytail holder. “Yeah. I like ’em all. When we used to go to the beach, I’d take bread for the seagulls. Logan says they’re flying rats, but I like ’em. Did you ever read Jonathan Livingston Seagull? I think that’s why,” she said, not leaving me time to answer. “They’ve got snowy owls out on the peninsula now and bald eagles. And blue herons. Oh, and there’s a whole part of the beach they close down every spring ’cause they hope some birds nest there. Plovers I think. I’d like to go to the peninsula and spot them, but Mom’s not really up to that, so we just watch them back here. I got her garden certified as a wildlife habitat last year for her birthday. There’s a little plaque near the house.”

  From where we sat at the back of the garden, the house was only just visible through the bushes and trees. In the summer, when all the leaves were full and green, I didn’t think you’d be able to see it at all. “I’m sure Piper loved the present.”

  “I think so.”

  “I don’t know much about bird songs, but I’ve always liked learning what groups of birds are called. They’re all something different,” I said. “A murder of crows, a raft of ducks, an unkindess of ravens.” I thought about Jonathan Livingston Seagull and added, “a squabble of gulls.”

  “I didn’t know those.” Fiona paused and then went back to what was really on her mind. “She’s really sick, you know.”

  “Yes.”
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br />   “If you can’t save her, then she might die,” Fiona said, voicing my secret fear.

  I didn’t want the responsibility of saving Piper. It seemed like too much. But I couldn’t say that to Fiona, so I warned her, “They said me being a match is a long shot.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “I got tested, you know.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t.”

  “Mom said no, I was too young. So last spring, I got on a bus and went to her doctor’s office. I told them I wanted to be tested. Of course, they said no. I was a minor and they couldn’t do any tests on me without my parents’ permission. When they said that, I started crying. I mean, really crying. You know the kind of crying that when you start it you can’t stop? That kind. It’s so frustrating to be a kid and to have everyone think you can’t understand and you can’t help. I just couldn’t stop. They were going to call Mom, but I made ’em call Dad. And when he showed up, I said if he didn’t let me get tested, I was going to run away ’cause I couldn’t live with knowing I might have saved her if they’d have just listened to me.”

  I looked at this young girl—my sister—with her sleep-tousled hair. She didn’t sound nine. She sounded like an adult. I realized that for more than half of her life she’d lived with Piper’s illness. She’d lived with the fears of losing her mother daily. It would be like living with a guillotine poised over your neck.

  “I wasn’t a match anyway,” she said softly.

  I set my coffee down on the bench next to me and reached over to her.

  “They said kids aren’t generally a match for their parents,” Fiona said. “I think Grandma feels guilty. Like if maybe she’d had more kids, Mom would have a better chance.”

  I wondered about this grandmother I didn’t know. Mom and Dad had both lost their parents before I came along, so I’d never had a grandparent.

  “You tried. You did your best,” I said, knowing how lame the words were even as I said them. “And I’m here to do mine. And if I’m not a match, either, maybe they’ll find a donor out there.”

  She shrugged, and I could see in her expression that she didn’t believe they’d find a donor. Rather than say so, Fiona said, “Mom will be up soon. Wanna come in and help me make her breakfast?”