But Not Forever

by Jan Von Schleh

  “What was her name?”

  “Kathleen Mary Margaret Hanley McKay. A mouthful. Let’s go in the house and get some lemonade. We can go through the old family Bible and see if there’s something in there. Families used to keep track of things by keeping important papers in the Bible. And our family tree is in there, too.”

  He set a carton of lemonade on his desk and rummaged around his study. “When Grandma was still alive, the house stayed neat and tidy. I’m not as capable in that department.”

  He stood on his toes in front of the bookcase and ran his hands across the top shelf. “Here we go. What’s this? I haven’t seen this old box in probably forty years.” He brought down a big leather book and an old metal box and set them on the coffee table. Lia and I sat down on the loveseat on either side of him and watched as he blew dust off the tattered black leather cover and flipped it open. Crispy, yellowed papers tumbled out. He set them aside.

  “Here you are, girls. See across the bottom of the tree? Niki and you, Lia, run up this line to your mother, Kate. Jules, Evan, and Sonnet run up to their dad, Terrence. And then both run up this road to me.” He traced the lines with his finger. “See how it works?”

  “Grandpa, you were born in 1945, Mom in 1971, and Uncle Terry in 1970.” Lia studied the dates. “And your dad, Patrick, was born in 1910. So, he was thirty-five when he had you.”

  Lia moved her finger through the names. “Kathleen Mary Margaret Hanley married Arthur McKay in 1897. They had four kids. Casey, Edward, Sonnet, and Patrick. Your dad was the baby.”

  “Our Sonnet here was named after my Aunt Sonnet,” said Grandpa with a quick rub to my back. “My grandparents built this house and raised them all right here.”

  Lia touched the children’s names. “Their kids all died, except your dad, Grandpa. All of them died in 1918, the same year.”

  “The Spanish Flu came through Seattle and killed hundreds and hundreds, including those three.” He shook his head. “I don’t think Grandma Kerry ever really got over it.”

  My head jerked up from the page. “Grandma Kerry? I thought you said her name was Kathleen Mary Margaret?”

  “She went by Kerry. She took it as a nickname for the little ones—she worked as a nanny until she married. Quite a woman, a little bitty thing. She left her family to come to America alone when she was just thirteen.”

  “Twelve,” I whispered. “Not thirteen.” I felt the couch shift. I clenched my teeth, fighting tears, and ran my finger over Kerry’s name. Born 1879 – Died 1975. My friend lived to be ninety-six years old.

  Just as I had hoped she would, Kerry had eventually left Monte Cristo and found the McKay family on Queen Anne Hill. She married their son Arthur and called her baby girl Sonnet—named after me, not the other way around. Her two oldest boys died at sixteen and nineteen years old. And Sonnet died when she was fourteen. Fourteen.

  The children’s birthdates swam on the page in front of me.

  My sweet Kerry. I didn’t think I could bear it.

  A tear rolled down my cheek and spattered on top of Aunt Sonnet’s name. I got up from the couch and walked down the hallway to the bathroom where I stood at the sink, catching my breath and splashing cold water on my face. I heard Grandpa walk past the door and down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  Lia eventually cracked the door open and wedged herself in. “That’s your Kerry? The nanny? She’s our ancestor?”

  I nodded and sniffed and rubbed a towel across my eyes.

  “Grandpa left the room and I started digging around inside the old box and found this.” She handed me a stained envelope with Sonnet McKay, born 2000 written across the front in old-fashioned writing. “And here’s your ring. I found it in the box, too. But how can that be?”

  My ring glimmered up at me from the palm of my hand. Nothing made sense and everything made sense. I wiggled it on my finger and kissed it, welcoming it back. “It’s just a beautiful mystery like my entire life lately. How can any of this be? Let’s go outside, Lia. I’ll read it out there. Will you go tell Grandpa?”

  I sat down on the newly mowed lawn. The old-fashioned writing curved in elegance across the paper, so different from the blocky letters that everyone used now. I turned the envelope over in my hands and lifted it to my nose. It smelled musty. It opened easily—the old glue had evaporated leaving behind shiny brown marks on the edges of the flap. The date on it was August 11, 1974. My birthday, twenty-six years before I was born, and a year before she died.

  “Read it to me, Lia. Please?” I handed the letter to her as she sat down next to me. I lay back on the grass and watched puffy clouds skate across the baby-blue sky.

  Dearest Sonnet,

  If you are reading this letter, you have found the Bible and have seen the family tree. I remember how you cried for me when I told you my story of leaving Ireland when I was just a wee girl. You had such a big heart and are most likely sad about my darlings taken to heaven so young. Don’t be. I want you to know I have had a truly good and happy life.

  I kept the ring, Sonnet. It was all I had left of you. Instead, I sold my cross and the gold chain you wore around your neck. Along with some coins from Emma, it was enough to buy me passage to Seattle and a new life. You sent me to the McKay home on Queen Anne Hill. And that is exactly where I was meant to be.

  You told us of your life and your family that night we rode up the mountain to old Simeon. And he had a message for you. He said you had come to us in Monte Cristo for a purpose. We now know, do we not, the reason was to bring me the ring and send me to Seattle, to the arms and the love of my Arthur. Our youngest, Patrick, lived through the flu epidemic and eventually had Brad, your grandfather. I have lived long enough now to meet my great-grandchildren: Terry, who will one day be your father, and little Kate, who will be your aunt. And you will come to Monte Cristo when you are fifteen and I am sixteen and be the great catalyst of my life. And the catalyst for our entire family.

  I have kept you in my heart for nigh on eighty years, but I will not live long enough to see you again, my dear girl. For you, it has been just a moment, but for me a lifetime. Even with the tragedies, I would not wish for anything more. Thank you for that, Sonnet. Thank you for my life.

  Your great-great-grandmother and devoted friend,

  Kerry McKay

  Lia put the letter back in the envelope and set it down next to me. She stretched out, her head next to mine. “Wow. Just wow. Who gets to have fun with their great-great-grandmother when they’re both the same age? It’s really just too much to even contemplate, and you lived it. Just three days ago, you were living it.”

  “I know. I’m the luckiest girl in the world. She kept Patrick alive so I could be born one day. And even after all those years, she was still thinking of me. She never forgot me.”

  “She’s the one with the strong eye genes? That was the tip?”

  “She had our eyes. How did I not see that when I was with her?”

  “I assume you were pretty busy freaking out about how to get back here. Not a lot of time to check out people’s eyes.”

  Just Tor’s. I folded the envelope with care and put it in my pocket. “Let’s get back. Rapp’s waiting.”

  Grandpa handed me a packet wound up in rubber bands as we got on our bikes. “It’s just some old photographs of the family. You seemed interested. I thought you might want them. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is perfect. And thanks, I’ll take good care of them.” I set the package in the bike’s white basket. I’d wait to go through them when I got back home in a couple of days. I couldn’t take any more family emotion today.

  “Glad to see you’re wearing your birthday ring. I wasn’t sure you liked it at first.”

  I held my hand out to him. The tiny diamonds sparkled in the sun. “It’s the most beautiful ring in the world, Grandpa. I adore it. It will always remind me of where I come from when I forget to remember.”

  He threw his head back and hooted. “Well, that’
s wonderful. I think.”

  At that moment, I had never loved anyone as much as I loved him. And after my birthday-brattiness, he still loved me, too. My grandfather—and Kerry’s grandson.

  I really was the luckiest girl in the world.

  RAPP and Evan met us at the door, hot and sweaty, with half-eaten sandwiches in their hands.

  “Where were you?” Evan asked.

  “We just biked up to Grandpa’s. I wanted to say goodbye one last time.”

  “Can I talk to you, Sonnet?” said Rapp. “Alone?”

  We walked out onto the deck and leaned up against the wooden railing. The yellow birthday balloons were gone and the birthday cakes long ago eaten. Rapp set his messenger bag down on the decking and broke his crust into three pieces, flinging the last bites into the yard for the birds. Nothing to come between us today.

  “I’ve been wanting to apologize.” He clapped the crumbs off his hands. “I’m so sorry about wanting you to hide in the closet that day. If it hadn’t been for me, none of this would have happened. It was such a mistake.”

  I remembered how I felt standing with him in the mansion’s dark bedroom. Shy and stupid and scared. That moment seemed like a lifetime ago. “Someone very wise told me there are no mistakes. His name was Maxwell and he lived in Monte Cristo a very long time ago. You couldn’t have stopped it, Rapp. It was all meant to be. It was . . . destiny. All of it. Even meeting you.”

  “You knew my ancestor, Tor. What was he like?”

  “He looked just like you. Different hair. But you have his same body. Eyes. Everything.”

  “No, what was he like as a person? As a human being? Emma told us what he looked like.”

  What was he like?

  Aunt Kate’s yellow roses flung their beauty at us from the sunny part of the yard. A few days ago, I had been at the Mystery Mine and stumbled onto a lonely rosebush. The miracle of roses, the sight of an eagle, and Tor’s belief in me had given me the strength to save myself.

  “Tor was smart . . . and he was also resourceful and . . .” I paused, thinking. How could I paint a human heart for someone else to see? “He had this compassion, this empathy for others, that allowed him to listen, really listen and to let his own feelings just . . . show. His mom and dad, and two little sisters, Inge and Ensi, all died in a terrible fire when he was fourteen. He tried to save them and was horribly burned. After that, he left for America by himself. He suffered and was alone in the world—it’s why he loved Emma so much. But, Rapp, he was so much more than his pain. He didn’t let it define him. He woke up every day in his little one-room cabin that held a few pieces of humble, handmade furniture and nothing else, and made the most of the tough life he’d been given. The amazing thing was that he was happy. Really happy. You know?”

  Rapp nodded. “I think so. Yeah.”

  “He played blackjack and was good at it, good enough to win a pretty Christmas horse named Noel. He ran a crew of men, and most of them were older than him, but he had their respect because he was such a hard worker and was so kind. He even had the respect of the richest man in town, which is saying something for back then.”

  “In the letter you hid for us, you said he was the best guy ever. You liked him a lot.”

  “I couldn’t have found my way back without him.”

  A lacy, flame-red tipped leaf from the Japanese maple tree next to the deck fluttered down and landed on the railing next to his hand. “All I could think about when you were gone, was, I just wish I could have kissed her.”

  “That’s what you thought?” I tried not to look as shocked as I felt.

  He flicked the leaf. We watched it spin around and around to the grass, below. “It felt so right standing next to you when we found the house. So peaceful, as if it was just you and me and no one else standing in that forest. And then later in Emma’s bedroom . . .” He turned to me with eyes as intense as the tight knot inside me. “But you were so aloof. A million miles away. And now you’re back and I’m jealous of a ghost.”

  He had liked me that first day as much as I’d liked him. He had wanted to kiss me. “I have something for you. Wait here.”

  I ran upstairs and found a stack of clean clothes on top of my suitcase. The best aunt in the world had done my laundry. I picked out Tor’s jeans and black-and-red-checked shirt and reached for the belt. I pulled my hand away and stared at the curl of leather.

  No, the belt wasn’t mine anymore. What was mine from Tor, I held inside me. My pressed rosebud and the battle scar on my forehead were all I needed. I added the belt to the bundle and hugged it close. I ran back downstairs and held it out to Rapp.

  “That ghost? He would want you to have his stuff. He was pretty excited about the idea of you.”

  He held them out, pleased. “Vintage. All right. Thanks.”

  He took off his T-shirt and put on Tor’s shirt, a perfect fit, leaving it unbuttoned. An old, rusty nail, bent and coiled around a leather cord, hung from his neck. He buckled the belt low around his hips, and threw the jeans over his shoulder.

  He still smelled like paradise. “So, will you stay in Seattle with your uncle?”

  “I might be staying with Uncle Jack. Still trying to convince my mom and step-dad. I’d rather live here with my uncle than live at their new house with them. I hate that it has to affect my life just because they decided to buy into a winery and move to the other side of the mountains. I’ll be way over in the tiny town of Cle Elum, and my friends will be in Seattle.” He sighed and shook his head. “But we’re all cool now. We made up. So, TBD. If nothing else, I’ll be here again next summer. Will you?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  The trees in the back yard swayed and rustled as we stood close together, and the almost-fall sun sat softly on my shoulders. I was glad to be standing alone with him—glad we got to finally talk about things that needed to be said. I wanted to know him. Everything about him. I wanted him to know me.

  Reaching up, I tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. Letting myself go, I leaned into my heart and took the plunge—something I was getting pretty good at by now. I put my arms around his neck and stood on my toes. I kissed him. His lips were warm and soft and vaguely familiar, and his hands were hot through the material on my back. He wrapped his long arms around me and crushed me to him, rammed up against Tor’s jeans still lying across his shoulder, as if the three of us shared in the moment.

  He kissed me as if he was hungry for me. As if he’d been waiting forever and was amazed he finally had me in his arms. It was as good as I had imagined it would be. As good as it had been with Tor, but better. Because this time it was the right thing to do.

  With a happy sigh, I stepped back. “I guess I better go concentrate on my suitcase. Always a challenge when it’s time to pack.”

  He caught my hand and pulled me against him for one long, last, incredible kiss. He nuzzled my neck and whispered in my ear. “Now that I finally have you, I don’t want to let you go. You might decide to slip out on me again.”

  “As if that was my choice.” I laughed and snuggled my head under his chin and knew I was exactly where I was meant to be. “If you’ve missed me this much in two weeks, I can only imagine what you’ll be like when we see each other in a year.”

  “Who are you, friendly one? And what did you do with Sonnet?” His fern-colored eyes crinkled with his smile—just like the first time I’d kissed his long-ago ancestor. My body thrummed. I would see Rapp again next summer. A promise I tucked deep into the folds of my plunging-in-heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Emma

  1895

  The hour was late, and Emma knew if her father closed the study door, he wanted privacy. Before, she would have crept back to her room, but tonight she knocked anyway. She had one more indulgence to ask of him, but this time it did not concern her. “It’s Emma, Father.”

  “Yes, dear? Come in.” He sat behind his massive desk amid a pile of paper. On his face were small spectacles, somethi
ng she had not seen on him before. Or maybe she had never noticed.

  A single log in the fireplace sent just enough heat into the room to chase away the evening chill. The old grandfather clock announced itself with steady reassuring beats. It had been a feature in the house her father grew up in and now had sat in every one of his Sweetwine homes. The antique would go to one of her brothers someday and become an unfaltering fixture in his home. And time would then carry it off to one of his sons—and certainly on from there. Emma thought in those terms now.

  “May I speak to you on a subject that has importance to me? I ask one more favor of you before I leave, father.”

  “How can I help?” He cleared away papers and took off his spectacles. A sign of courtesy she was still getting used to from him.

  “Kerry’s four-year contract comes to an end on the first of November. I would like you to release her two months early so she has the ability to leave before the snow falls. She has been a faithful employee. There are more opportunities for her in a city. And she is sixteen now, almost seventeen, and must find a husband.”

  “Why are you discussing this with me? Your mother—your aunt—takes care of domestic affairs.”

  “Having you on our side will avoid trouble. She will go along with you. She may fight Kerry. And she will certainly fight me. Kerry has been faithful and true. We owe her this, father.”

  “And a replacement? Rose may be more amenable if there is someone waiting in the wings to take over with the boys.”

  “Precisely. The seamstress here in town, a Missus Love, has an assistant by the name of Goldie. And Goldie has a young sister who desires to go into service. She comes highly recommended by Missus Love who has had Anna assist her with sewing projects. The family lives right here in Monte Cristo.”

  He sat back in his chair and turned to the burning log. Embers popped and played a rhythm with the deep ticks of the clock. Emma knew he was considering his wife and his sons and the distress this would cause.