Mothers and Other Strangers

by Gina Sorell

  “And Lafina? Do you know what happened to her?” I asked hopefully.

  Ingrid smiled. “After you left, Lafina came to stay with us. Isaac was just a toddler, and I was alone. There was so much to do and so much land to take care of; she needed the work, and I needed the help. After a few months, I convinced her to bring her son Welcome over to play with Isaac. We were both raising children on our own, and it bothered me that she had to be away from her son so much. We used to hide the two of them in the backyard, where nobody could see them together. Welcome was only a child, not an employee, so under apartheid, he wasn’t allowed to be here. But we were careful. And over time more of her family came, and I found work for them so they could stay. We built that house for them, away from the road, and away from anyone who might be looking,” she said, pointing to a ranch-style bungalow on the far end of the property. “And we raised the kids together, as a family. She died peacefully ten years ago, surrounded by love. I still think of her every day.”

  I smiled at the thought of Lafina being a part of this place and having a family of her own. I was glad that after everything I’d feared, she’d had a good life. “Thank you. I really missed her.”

  “And she missed you, very much.”

  “All these people I never knew,” I said, looking at the photographs. “Did you know about me?”

  “Yes.”

  I took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eyes. “And are you the one who sent the obituaries?” It came out like an accusation.

  “I am.”

  “You knew I was alive and yet you never contacted me. Weren’t you curious how we were doing, all alone and far away? Didn’t you care?”

  “Of course I cared,” she said, biting her lip. “Rachel used to write to me when she was away on her trips with the Seekers. She’d tell me just enough to let me know that she was okay, and to update me on how you were doing. But I never allowed myself to reach out to you, and believe me, I came close to doing so many times over. But it would have been dangerous for Rachel.” Ingrid stopped herself and shook her head. “My sister had a past, Elspeth. A past that you weren’t supposed to know anything about. That was always the deal. And then about a month ago, just before she died, she made me promise to tell you the truth, but only if you asked. Now I wonder if it was wise of me to make that promise, if you wouldn’t be happier not knowing. I’m not sure what good it will do at this stage. You can’t go back and change things.”

  “But I can’t go forward either. I’m stuck and I’m tired of it. Whatever it is, it’s better than not knowing.”

  “Are you sure?” she said quietly, giving me one last chance to change my mind.

  Ingrid saw the way her mother admired the wealthy family next door. Mrs. Robins dressed beautifully and spent most of her time at her home in Cape Town. It was the old man, Mr. Robins, who had first started growing grapes on the land after having made his fortune buying and selling diamonds. The farm was a hobby for him and his boys and a private place to take his mistress. Ingrid used to watch as her sister, Rachel, played with Mr. Robins’s sons, Howard and Leo, and she could tell by the way they looked at Rachel and chased her around that they both had a crush on her. It was something Hannah encouraged as Rachel got older, eager for her prettiest daughter to marry well.

  “Howard’s the one you want as a husband,” Hannah told Rachel one day as she combed her hair for her on the porch. “He’s smart and a hard worker, and he knows he’d be lucky to have a girl as beautiful as you for a wife. He’ll appreciate you more, and work harder to keep you happy.”

  At the end of Hannah’s speech, Ingrid looked pointedly at her sister, who carefully cradled her bandaged hand in her lap. But Rachel turned away, and Ingrid bit her bottom lip to stop herself from saying anything. She knew her sister wasn’t looking at Howard. She knew she was in love with Leo. Leo who drank too much, laughed too loudly, and, according to their mother, would never amount to anything. Ingrid had caught the two of them rolling around in the fields the week before, the week Rachel hurt her hand.

  “She’s going to kill you if she finds out about this,” Ingrid said to Rachel when she found her at the side of the house trying to wash the blood of her lost virginity from her dress.

  “Please don’t tell her,” pleaded Rachel, as she carefully fed her soaking-wet dress between the rollers of the wringer on the washing machine.

  “Why?” asked Ingrid. “She thinks you’re perfect. It might do her good to know the truth.”

  “Ingrid, please,” said Rachel. Her hands were shaking, and her eyes kept looking to the driveway for their parents, who were due back at any moment.

  “After everything she has planned for you, you just go and throw it away without thinking!” yelled Ingrid. It was just like her sister to think only of herself. If Rachel didn’t do what their mother had planned for her, then everything that Ingrid had to put up with, every sacrifice she had to make so her sister could marry better, meant nothing. “I’m going to tell her. You can’t do this!”

  “Ingrid, don’t! We’re going to get married.”

  “She’ll never let you.” Ingrid could already picture her mother in one of her rages, and the thought of it made her stomach turn. She saw Rachel’s eyes widen and followed her gaze to the end of the driveway, to where their parents had returned. Rachel started pushing her dress frantically through the rolling pins with one hand while working the crank with the other.

  “Ingrid please help me, I’m begging you!”

  Ingrid hopped up on the stool next to the washer and grabbed the hand crank, turning it over as fast as she could while Rachel shoved her dress through. Rachel didn’t know how to wash clothes, that was Ingrid’s job—she was the one who had to do the laundry, she was the one who had callused hands and sore arms from working the stupid machine, not Rachel. All she had to do was hang the laundry, that was easy. Ingrid was so mad at her sister, and so focused on trying to finish before their mother made it up the path, that she didn’t know what had happened until she heard the scream. And then she saw Rachel’s hand caught between the rolling pins.

  “Ingrid,” Rachel gasped.

  Ingrid fought the urge to be sick at the sight of the mangled hand, and as gently as she could, she rolled the crank backward and pulled it out. Rachel collapsed on the ground as Ingrid called out to their parents, who started running toward them.

  “Please, please, promise me you won’t tell. Promise.”

  “My mother was furious at me for hurting Rachel, and when my father insisted it was an accident, she blamed him for bringing home the machine. She was terrified that a less-than-perfect Rachel would be harder to marry off. I felt terrible—it was my fault, and I owed Rachel. So I kept her love for Leo secret, and when I discovered he’d gotten her pregnant, I kept that secret too. But maybe if I hadn’t, the accident wouldn’t have happened.”

  It was late September 1947, the year before apartheid, and Mrs. Robins was having her annual spring fling party at the family’s vacation home in Muizenberg Beach. The queen had just completed her first visit to South Africa earlier that month, and all over Capetown, people were full of pride, as the British newsreels had heralded the city as glamorous and cosmopolitan. The country was filled with an optimism that had only been heightened by the queen’s tour. In honor of the historic visit, Mrs. Robins decided to give her party a royal theme. Leo had complained to Ingrid about having to get fit for a new tuxedo, and how it angered his father, who was already annoyed by the extravagance of the affair, and accused Mrs. Robins of just wanting to show off. Rachel sat awestruck as she listened to each new detail that Leo shared about the decorations, the champagne, and the guest list, which included Capetown’s wealthiest families. After weeks of dropping hints, Leo finally asked Rachel to attend as his date. Hannah had insisted that Ingrid go along as well, worried that the Robinses would think poorly of Rachel if she was to attend unchaperoned. She bought Rachel long gloves and a new dress that they couldn’t afford,
and Rachel wore her hair up, with little white lily of the valley flowers arranged in front to look like a crown and simple diamond earrings that once belonged to their grandmother. Ingrid was wearing the one good dress she owned, and she tried to dress it up with a beautiful silk embroidered sash that Rachel had surprised her with.

  “Howard insisted on driving with Leo up front,” Ingrid recalled, “and Rachel and I rode in the back. Rachel was so excited. The Robinses’ mansion was perched atop a cliff overlooking the ocean. It glowed in the darkness, lit up by tiny candles that lined the winding driveway to its entrance. As we got to the front door, Rachel squeezed my hand and said, ‘We’re here, we’re finally here.’ She was thrilled to be part of this night. And I worried that her wanting to belong would shine too brightly on her and make her an object of ridicule. But I needn’t have worried. She was absolutely charming and breathtakingly beautiful, and that was all anybody noticed.”

  All night long Ingrid stayed on the edges of the party, watching how easily her sister was able to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Robins and their guests, how quickly she could put people at ease, and how readily they laughed at her jokes. While Rachel kept her composure and only drank water, Leo seemed to have a never-ending glass of champagne and then moved on to hard liquor. His charm disintegrated into sloppiness with each drink he took, until he crashed into a waiter and landed on the floor. Howard took him outside and Rachel and Ingrid followed.

  “You’re leaving,” said Howard, dragging his brother away from the house and across the garden.

  “Oh I am, am I?” shouted Leo, pushing Howard away and falling down in the process.

  “Stop it please, people can hear you,” said Rachel. She turned to look back at the house, where a small group of guests were watching them.

  “What people? I don’t give a fuck about them. They’re nobody, just a bunch of freeloaders!” Leo shouted back at them.

  “Stop it, you’re embarrassing Rachel,” said Howard.

  “How sweet, sticking up for your girlfriend.”

  “What are you talking about?” stammered Howard, his face going red.

  “Please, we’ve all seen the way you look at her, it’s pathetic.”

  “Leo, enough.” Rachel walked toward Leo and helped him up.

  “You know it’s true, Rachel. Then again, maybe that’s what you want, someone who’ll follow after you. Maybe he’s the one you should be with.” Leo was stumbling on his feet, walking toward Howard, when Rachel stopped him.

  “He doesn’t mean it, he’s drunk,” said Rachel to Howard.

  “He’s always drunk, and he always will be.” Howard reached out and gently placed his hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “But he’s right, you deserve better.”

  Leo swung at Howard but lost his balance and caught Rachel in the stomach instead, knocking the wind out of her. Ingrid ran to her sister and screamed at Leo, “You spoiled brat, do you have any idea what you might have done?”

  “Ingrid don’t!” Rachel gasped. She gripped Ingrid’s hand tightly and with her help, slowly got to her feet.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Leo said, grabbing Rachel’s hand and pulling her away.

  Rachel looked back at Ingrid and Howard and said, “Howard, please make sure that Ingrid gets home safely.”

  Leo peeled out of the driveway, swerving as he did so, and Ingrid feared the worst. Rachel knew there was no way Leo could get them home safely, so she begged him to pull the car over and let her drive, and he did.

  “Wait a minute! Mother was driving?”

  Ingrid nodded and looked at me, her eyes wet, her face full of sadness. “Yes. She said they argued the whole way home. Leo was really drunk. He said he didn’t want to be tied down and told what to do. He accused her of trying to trap him, of being after his money. Here she was, believing she would be his wife, and he was accusing her of being a golddigger. She reached over and slapped him, not seeing the other car coming until its lights flooded her windshield and sent her crashing into the side of the mountain. The couple in the car was killed instantly, and Rachel was sure that her life was over, but then everyone assumed that it was Leo who had been driving, and she let them think so. She was devastated and racked with guilt when they brought her home, and she refused to come out of her room for weeks. I begged her to tell me what was wrong, and that’s when she admitted that she had been driving. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want my pregnant sister to go to jail, so I alone kept her secret.”

  I thought of all the times my mother had gotten upset when I’d tried to talk about that night. The terror she said the person driving the car must have felt, knowing they were about to take the lives of others. And all along it had been her, and only Ingrid knew. Not the Seekers, not Philippe or Henri. I wondered if deep down my mother feared that the events of that night were truly unforgivable.

  “Right after Leo died, Mr. Robins had a heart attack, leaving the farm and everything else to Howard and making him a very rich man. Howard was a mess. He blamed himself for fighting with his brother that night and letting him leave the party. And he feared he had ruined Rachel’s life. He vowed to make it up to her if it was the last thing he did. He would talk to me and wait on the porch to see her, and my mother would beg Rachel to come out, but she refused. Then suddenly one afternoon she announced that she would be marrying Howard, and two weeks later she left. She was finally going to do what our mother had always wanted her to: marry well and move to the city. Mother used to get dressed in her best outfit and sit on the porch with an overnight bag packed, waiting for Rachel to visit and take her with her. At first she’d come every other week by train with Howard. But it wasn’t long until she started coming once a month and alone; Howard was busy at work, or there was so much to do at the new house they’d bought, and she had to get ready for your arrival. She’d share all the details with our mother, who would hang on every word, a dreamy look in her eyes as she imagined this elegant new home and this sparkling new life that she thought one day she’d be a part of, but she never was. Our mother had taught Rachel that she was better than us, and she finally believed it. We didn’t see her for ages, then Isaac was born and mother died in childbirth. Lafina brought you to the funeral.”

  “And my mother?”

  “She was in Paris with Philippe.”

  The whole room seemed to move, and though I knew it was the truth, I couldn’t quite believe I had heard Ingrid correctly.

  Philippe had met Rachel at a New Year’s Eve party thrown by Mrs. Robins. Howard’s mother liked to collect interesting people, and on a recent trip abroad she’d met Philippe and had been taken with him. She encouraged him to visit her in South Africa, where he could take part in the salons she’d been holding in her home for herself and fellow ladies of leisure who were looking for a little distraction. It was a distraction that was short lived, as Mrs. Robins, who tired quickly of her interests, moved on. But it was long enough for Rachel to catch Philippe’s eye, and for him to gain several wealthy new members. And when he returned to Africa a few years later, Rachel was looking for something and someone to believe in, and Philippe was happy to oblige.

  Howard’s dreams of winning Rachel over hadn’t played out the way he hoped. She’d been in love with Leo, and no matter how much she needed Howard, she never felt about him the way he wanted her to, and Howard knew it. He became paranoid that Rachel would leave him. He needed to know where she was at every moment and lavished her with expensive gifts of jewelry, trying to buy her love. Rachel started spending more and more time away from home, taking tennis lessons and art classes, studying philosophy and religion, anything she could do to distract herself, but nothing worked. And then she ran into Philippe on one of his trips, and he told her that she was able to change her own karma, and she desperately wanted that.

  “How old was she?” I heard myself ask.

  “She was twenty-two. I remember I had just turned sixteen, and Rachel took me out to a meeting and then to celebrate,” Ingrid said. �
�At the time, I thought the Seekers was just some weird group, another thing that Rachel was going to experiment with and abandon. I had no idea they would become such a large part of her life.”

  My stomach clenched as I recalled my own sixteenth birthday and my first encounter with Philippe. I needed air and stood and walked outside to the back porch.

  “Are you all right?” asked Ingrid.

  I nodded. “I suppose you think I’m crazy for wanting to find out what happened.”

  Ingrid was quiet as she slowly undid her braid and let her long hair loose down her back. I ran my fingers through my own hair and noticed it had the same curl as hers. The resemblance we shared was startling. Family. This is what it feels like to look at someone and see parts of yourself reflected back. I’d never had that with anyone but my mother, and she did everything she could to make sure she didn’t look like me.

  “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re brave. To have never been burdened by your family and their legacy and to choose to take that on…I don’t know if I would do the same.” She looked at me closely, her eyes squinting in the setting sun.

  “It’s a greater burden not knowing,” I said. “I feel like a half-finished jigsaw puzzle, and the pieces that are missing have been hidden from me. I’ve tried to fill them in, but it isn’t the same. I remember some things and yet I don’t know what is real and what is a false memory planted by my mother, a piece of fiction created to hide the truth.”

  “Sometimes the truth is painful, and knowing it won’t change anything.”

  “That’s not for you to decide.” I held her gaze. “Please, tell me about the fire.”

  Ingrid’s footing faltered for a moment, her knees buckling slightly. “You remember the fire,” she said, regaining her balance and looking far off into the fields.

  “I dream about it, but I don’t know what it means.” I told her about the dream and waited for her to speak.