“I heard the two of them talking later, in Natalie’s bedroom. I’d left one of my medications downstairs, and when I came back up, I heard Natalie saying she never should have told him, that she knew no one would want her once they found out. She said it was my mother’s fault. Hers and my father’s. She sounded so desperate; it was painful just to hear her voice. My mother left the bedroom, crying. She saw me standing there but waved me away.
“The next morning I was packing to go back. My mother came into my room and sat down on the bed next to my suitcase. She started folding my clothes, the way she did when I was little. She didn’t say anything for a long time. Then she picked up one of my blouses and held it against her mouth, shaking. She wouldn’t let me touch her. Once she stopped crying, she told me Natalie had gotten an infection years earlier and would never be able to have children of her own. She was talking so softly I could barely hear her. Then she folded the blouse again and smoothed out the wrinkles with the back of her hand. ‘I’m good at this part, aren’t I?’ she asked. She laid the blouse in the suitcase, and left. We never talked about it again. She was dead before another year went by.”
Alice sat up and took a sip of her coffee, gone cold and bitter, and forced herself to swallow. “Natalie must have gotten the infection after she had the abortion. I can understand it now, why she felt the way she did. It wasn’t only because of my RA.”
“You mean, because you got pregnant?” He was still holding on to her hand. She closed her eyes and turned away from him, giving him the chance to let her go.
“Yes.”
“And the other picture? The one of you?”
It was like being a wounded bird in a box: trapped, everything dark. She couldn’t see. All she could hear was the sound of her own heart beating its way out of her chest, so desperate to be away. Yet someone’s hands held her carefully, gently, not wanting to do more damage. She could barely feel him holding her, began to wonder if it was her imagination and she was alone; but then he started to murmur, so quietly, and she knew he was still there. Alice took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
“There was a storm.”
* * *
They were in the attic, the three of them, trying not to listen to the wind tearing the house away. It wanted to get in. Like something rabid, it was shrieking and moaning, throwing things at them: bricks, trees, whatever it could find. She could hear the squeal of nails being pulled from wood and the steady slosh of water against the foundation of the house, as if they’d already lost their moorings and been set adrift.
All morning the forecasters had reported on the tortured path of Agnes; first a hurricane, then merely a depression, and finally, unexpectedly, back to tropical storm when it combined with a nontropical low, exploding over Pennsylvania. It sent the Genesee, the Canisteo, and the Chemung over their banks; swelled the Chesapeake and the Susquehanna; threatened to overtop the Conowingo Dam; swept away train tracks, then houses, then people. But it was never supposed to make it so far north.
Natalie threatened Therese, who had been ready to abandon her longtime charges and head for higher ground. Between the two of them, they’d managed to haul Alice up the stairs once they realized water was coming into the basement. Alice lay on a thin quilt, propped between two pillows, sensing the movement of humid air as Natalie paced in the dark, the electricity long gone. She tried to focus on the ragged sound of her breathing, her own panting preferable to the unrelenting bellow of the storm.
“You have to call the doctor.”
Natalie’s hair was pulled back in a sweaty knot, and even in the milky beam of the flashlight, Alice could see red flowering in her face. She wiped a hand across her forehead, then crouched down next to Alice, pulling a blanket up over her midsection. “And how am I supposed to do that, Alice? It’s a hurricane. Listen to me.” She fought off Alice’s grasping hands. “No, listen to me. The phone lines are down. No one’s coming. It’s just us.”
Her back was going to break into pieces, she was sure of it. Everything inside of her was on the verge of exploding, and all she could think was Yes, let it. Let me blow apart into a million bits, as long as the baby is all right.
“Natalie, promise.” She willed all the strength she had into her hand and grabbed her sister’s arm with a death grip, squeezing it through the surprise of another contraction. “Don’t let anything happen to my baby. Promise.”
“Stop talking. Therese knows what to do. She’s done this before, haven’t you, Therese?” Therese nodded, but her eyes were static with fear. Alice could see Natalie’s pale fingers fanned across Therese’s upper arm, the three of them linked together. We’re like a barrel of monkeys, she thought, sliding into delirium.
“Promise. Kaboutermannekes.”
“Alice.” Natalie grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. “Stop talking gibberish or I swear I’m going to throw something. I can’t think.”
“Don’t let our souls be lost. Promise.”
“You need to sit up. Bite down on this and let go of my arm.”
Natalie was behind her then, holding her up, and there was a damp towel that tasted of something medicinal, the alcohol burn of it running down the back of her throat. She felt Therese’s hands slide under the blanket and over her belly.
“Don’t push until Therese says to, Alice. Do you hear me?”
She nodded and bit down hard on the towel.
“Tijeras,” Therese said. Scissors.
Alice fought to get away from them then, from everything, clawing at anything within her reach.
Natalie pulled her arm back and slapped her across the face, screaming, “Damn it, Alice! It’s for later. For the cord. You’ve got to calm down. You’re going to hurt the baby if you keep this up. Understand?”
Then there was a pain so sharp it had its own teeth, its own breath, and in its wake, a monstrous cracking noise in her head that sped down the length of her spine like a bullet, setting each of her nerves on fire as it passed. Her body glowed like a hot coal, orange to white, then started shaking, trying to loose itself from her center. Some other force was in charge of her now, a force that made her bend and buckle, and welled up in her throat, pushing out of her with a howl to match the storm. The house is coming down, she thought. The house is falling down around us. And even though she was sure her eyes were open, no matter where she looked, she could see only black.
* * *
“I had a girl.”
She was caught in a splice of time. Phinneaus rocked her with the steady rhythm of a metronome, his arms a safe haven from the spell of the attic that reached to pull her back. The storm had passed, the wind reduced to whispers. She couldn’t understand what was being said; the words were too fuzzy and indistinct to interpret, but someone there needed her. She heard the sharp cry of a bird, then nothing.
“A girl. Tell me what you called her.”
“I wanted to call her Sophia.”
“Sophia Kessler. I like the sound of it. You would have been a good mother, Alice. I’m sure of it.” He stroked her hair, and she felt the swirling specks of memory congeal and settle back into their usual place, a safe distance away, their outline hazed by the accumulation of years.
“When I woke up I was in a hospital.” She remembered the room, so white it seemed to reverberate. “There was an older woman in the bed next to mine, with her leg in a cast. She cried in her sleep. I understood what it meant. I wasn’t in the maternity ward.” She’d asked for the baby, and the nurse, young and inexperienced, had looked away for a moment to compose her face before turning back again, smiling as she tucked in the sheets. Someone will be in to talk to you.
“After that, I only wanted sleep. I chased after it, prayed for it. The doctors were very accommodating with their drugs.”
She pulled her hands away from him and stuffed them into the pockets of his jacket. It was too much—this touching, the telling. A low sun glazed the window. At some point it had become late afternoon.
“Natalie explained everything later, once I was home. She was sitting in a chair next to the bed. She kept her hands on the arms of the chair. She didn’t touch me. She told me when Therese delivered the baby, it was stillborn. I said I’d seen her. I’d held her in my hands. She was moving. Natalie just kept shaking her head.”
You’re just remembering it the way you want to, Alice.
But I heard her. I heard Sophia crying in the attic.
Only because you wanted to.
“Natalie had taken care of everything by then. She drove me to the cemetery the next day, showed me the grave under an oak. There was a bench nearby. I wanted to sit there, but it was raining so hard we couldn’t get out of the car. She told me she’d chosen something for the headstone, part of a verse from Psalm eighty-four—‘Yea, the sparrow hath found an house.’ I never got to see it; the headstone was still being engraved.”
“ ‘And the swallow a nest for herself.’ That was one of my mother’s favorite psalms,” he said.
“I thought it was kind of her, to try to pick something meaningful for me. I was grateful for that. When we got back to the house, she gave me all of my medicine and watched while I took it. As I was falling asleep, she told me she’d sold the house. That we’d be leaving in two days.”
Phinneaus stood up and walked over to the corner window, looking out at the yard. Alice watched as he rested his open palm against the glass, the breathing aura of fog that flared around it. His silhouette was a pillar holding up the entire room.
“What about the father. Did he know?”
She’d been waiting for him to ask. She kept her head down and didn’t say anything. Then she got up from the sofa and walked to the window to stand next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder and gave a little tug until he faced her, then shook her head. “No. He never knew anything about it.” She paused and let go of him. “Do you hate me?”
He looked away from her but shook his head. “No. But if it was me, I’d have wanted to know.”
“He wasn’t you.” It wasn’t the pardon she’d hoped for, but it was what she deserved. “I don’t know what he would have thought, but I should have given him the chance to tell me.”
“I’m not judging you, Alice. I imagine you had your reasons.”
“I’m not the person I was then.”
“None of us is.” He folded her up in his arms, and she leaned into him, overcome with tiredness, barely able to stand on her own feet. I could stay just here, she thought, never moving again and I’d be happy.
“What about the other woman? You said her name was Therese?”
She rested her head against the crook of his neck. “I never saw her after the night of the storm. Natalie let her go. She said she didn’t think I’d want to see her again. Not after what happened.”
“What was Therese’s last name?”
“Something with a G. Garza, I think.”
“She’d been with you a long time?”
“Ever since I got sick when I was young. She came in twice a week to help with the housework after I was diagnosed. It was too much for my mother to handle, between all of my doctors’ appointments, and her social commitments. Why are you asking?”
“No reason, really.” He bent his head and whispered in her ear, “You’re tired. It’s been a long afternoon and I need to check on Frankie. The boy’s getting too sly for his own good. Who knows what he’s been up to today.”
“That boy is a sweet and lovely child, which you well know.” She pressed her lips to the back of his hand and laughed at the look of shock that spread across his face, the tinge of delight. “Phinneaus Lapine, I believe you are blushing.”
“You’re making me forget there’s anything outside of this room.”
“What was it you said to me earlier? That you were still here? I’m not going anywhere, either.”
He looked at her, his face marked with caution. “I hope that’s true.”
* * *
It was strange to sleep without the wish of being someone else. Like the hoary frost of winter that iced the evergreens, her skin cloaked her bones differently, fitting her well. That was the gift he’d given her. Her pillow was sweet with lavender, the sheets cool. Instead of pinning her hair up, she fell back onto the bed and let it float around her, a wild mess of tangle and curl. There was an unaccustomed comfort in being only herself.
In the morning she came into the bright kitchen, ravenous, and surprised Saisee by asking for green tea and a second biscuit.
“Do I know you?” Saisee asked, peering over the rim of her glasses. She laid out a column of morning pills for Alice to swallow and put the kettle on the stove, a crock of honey on the kitchen table. “Mr. Phinneaus said if it’s all right by you, he’d be over later.”
“When did he call? I didn’t hear the phone.”
“Did I say he called? I did not. He showed up early this morning, not long after I got here, and went straight on into the dining room, workin’ on all those papers of yours. Whole dining room table’s covered with ’em. I don’t know where we’re gonna have supper.” She beat a wooden spoon against the side of her thigh and arched her eyebrows.
Alice went into the dining room. Saisee was right. The table was blanketed with neat stacks of papers, arranged edge to edge, each stack topped off with an index card bearing a brief description of its contents. Bills. Bank statements. Lease agreement. Receipts. Steele and Greene. She circled the table, wondering how he’d managed to do all of this in the space of a few hours. A marvel of orderliness. At the center of the table, the hub to his many spokes, he’d set his yellow legal pad. There were two questions written across the top of the page in Phinneaus’s precise script: “T. Garza?” and “ASK?” A chill ran up the center of her back. She returned to the kitchen to finish her breakfast, but she’d lost interest in eating the second biscuit and couldn’t keep from glancing at the table in the other room. The tune she’d been humming in her head dissolved and seeped away.
“Saisee, did you bring everything down from upstairs?”
“Her clothes are still up there. All those perfume bottles. No room for ’em anywhere else. I only brought down what papers I could find, like Mr. Phinneaus said to. You lookin’ for something in particular?”
Did she expect there to be something addressed to her? A letter of apology, an acknowledgment that however their relationship had evolved, the blame was theirs to share? That wouldn’t have been like Natalie, who’d remained resolute in her detachment. “I guess not,” Alice said.
There was a rap on the door, and Phinneaus swept into the room, stomping his boots on the mat under Saisee’s watchful eye.
“Good morning.” He came over to Alice and kissed her lightly on the cheek. His lips were cool as paper and carried a hint of the outdoor chill. “You slept well?”
Daylight drew the apparent change in their relationship with a deft stroke. Saisee cleared her throat and went upstairs, but not before favoring Alice with a knowing smile that reddened her face. Manners aside, the lack of space between them made it clear something had shifted since the previous day. She leaned back in her chair, not yet used to such immediate closeness. “I slept very well, thank you.”
He seemed not to notice, clearly distracted by his own thoughts. “Good. You’re done eating?” He gestured toward the half-moon of biscuit left on her plate and the tepid remains of her tea. “I need you to look at something.”
He hustled her from the kitchen, pulled a chair out from the dining room table, and nudged it toward her. She sat down and folded her arms in front of her chest, wishing she’d stayed in bed longer.
Phinneaus began his usual pacing. “Alice, yesterday you said you thought the name of the housekeeper who worked for your family was Therese Garza, didn’t you? And that Natalie let her go after the storm?”
She nodded. “Phinneaus, what is it?”
“I feel like I’m snooping into something that’s none of my business, but you did ask for my help in looking ov
er your expenses.”
“I know I did. And I appreciate it. I don’t suppose you’ve discovered millions of dollars stashed somewhere, have you?”
He ignored her attempt at levity. “The night before last, I told you it looked like the property in Connecticut had never been sold, that your house was being rented through a property management company, Steele and Greene. When I went through Natalie’s bank statements, I found out she was receiving deposits into her checking account once a month.”
“Maybe those were from her job.”
“I don’t think so. There were other deposits made every two weeks. Natalie wasn’t a salaried employee; her checks varied a little from one pay period to the next depending on the month and the number of days she worked. These deposits were made by a bank in New York, and they were always for the same amount. But that’s not what’s interesting.”
“No?” She felt a prick of annoyance at the word interesting and sat up straighter in the chair. All of this was fine for him. He had the suspicion of something undetonated and was in his element, cautiously digging away the soil to unearth it, while schooling her in his plan of attack, undaunted by any bones he might run across. But those bones belonged to her family, not his. And if Natalie had found a way to make some extra money, what difference did it make now?
Phinneaus took his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and frowned at the stack of ledgers piled on the table, tapping his pencil against them. “For the past thirty-five years, from September of ’seventy-two through this past September, Natalie wrote a check once a month to Steele and Greene, always in the same amount.”
He paused and turned to her. She was alarmed to see his look had changed from excitement to one of both pity and concern, as though he was trying to gauge how what he was going to say would affect her.
“There’s a notation in these ledgers next to every one of the checks dated from September of 1972 through June of 1990—eighteen years. Always the same notation: ‘ASK—T. Garza.’ Therese Garza. But starting in July of 1990 and through this September, the notation changed to just ‘ASK.’ Why would Natalie be sending checks to Therese Garza every month for eighteen years? And why would she be sending them through the company that’s renting out your house?”
The Gravity of Birds: A Novel Page 24
