DIAMOND OF THE ROCKIES
The Rose Legacy
Sweet Boundless
The Tender Vine
Twilight
A Rush of Wings
The Still of Night
Halos
Freefall
The Edge of Recall
Secrets
Unforgotten
Echoes
www.kristenheitzmann.com
Secrets
Copyright © 2004
Kristen Heitzmann
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Scripture quotations are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®.
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-0-7642-2827-8
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Heitzmann, Kristen.
Secrets / by Kristen Heitzmann.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-7642-2827-7 (pbk.)
1. Secrecy—Fiction. 2. Older women—Fiction. 3. Grandmothers—Fiction. 4. Home ownership—Fiction. 5. Sonoma (Calif.)—Fiction. 6. Grandparent and adult child—Fiction.
I. Title.
PS3558.E468S43 2004
813'.54—dc22 2004011996
* * *
To Barb Lilland
For the pleasure of once again blending words with you
May the Lord make you increase,
both you and your children.
May you be blessed by the Lord,
the maker of heaven and earth.
Psalm 115:14,15
My deep and heartfelt thanks to Kelly McMullen
for hours of brainstorming, reading and feedback,
for legal information and lots of other tidbits.
To Theresa, for sharing my tears
Liz, Theresa, and Kelly, for feeding my family
Judy, for your prayers
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINTEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY - TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY - THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY - FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY - FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY - SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY - SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY - EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY - NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY - ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY - TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY - THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY - FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY - FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY - SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY - SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY - EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY - NINE
CHAPTER FOURTY
CHAPTER FOURTY - ONE
CHAPTER FOURTY - TWO
P R O L O G U E
1931
Antonia gripped her grandfather’s hand and tugged him into the darkness. “Come, Nonno. Don’t resist me.” His limp was more pronounced than ever, but haste was necessary. His shock of white hair glowed in the candlelight. There was no gas or electricity in the cellar, and no light in the passageway but the brass lantern that swung from her hand.
“Come—” Her words froze at the noise overhead. Through the wood and stone and earth it sounded like marbles spilled on a tile floor. But it wasn’t. She had prayed Papa was wrong, that they had nothing to fear. But he was right. Signore!
A desperate urge to rush back, to fly up the stairs, seized her. They had found Papa! What else could it be? But Nonno’s grip tightened on her hand. He said nothing, but the look of pain in his eyes galvanized her will. Nonno needed her. Gently she led him deeper into the silent stone throat that swallowed their presence as dread seeped behind.
Her heart cried, Papa. But her tears were silent. They must make no sound that might carry up and out. Suddenly the clasp of her grandfather’s hand became a claw, and he stumbled to his knees.
“Nonno?” She dropped beside him as he crumpled, a shriek building inside her as he gripped her hand to his chest. Nonno! She must run for help! She must—
He clung to her and rasped, “No, Antonia. You must not be found.”
Not be found? What did her safety matter if she lost the ones she loved most in the world? Tears dripped from her chin. Frantic thoughts scurried like mice in the tunnel even as great wells of grief drained from her eyes. She could not leave his side. She could only cling to his hand and echo each of his ragged breaths until they ceased. She closed her eyes in silent keening. Nonno …
CHAPTER ONE
Sunshine.
Dew upon the grapes.
A blue heron in the sky, legs trailing like ribbon.
Nonno’s hand in mine. He stoops, plucks a grape,
the globe gorged on black earth and prayer.
Small, in his long knobby fingers.
A thick, tannic skin, but inside, the glut of
fog-swept mornings and lazy sun-drenched hours.
“Is it time?”
He curls it into my palm, closes my fingers over it. “Soon.”
And he smiles.
The nurses at St. Barnabas hospital had given up trying to chase them out. As long as the family left a path for the medical professionals, they could keep vigil around the bed, and prayers filled the air like the oxygen tubed into Nonna Antonia’s nostrils. Lance breathed in the faith of his family and exhaled his own.
Though bent and crinkled, Nonna had been the heart of their home his whole life, and they were not letting her go without a fight. He leaned close and squeezed the bony hand in his. Others might have taken that spot, like Nonna’s own son—his pop—or Momma or his sisters, but in truth it was his place. Lance wouldn’t say that out loud, but he didn’t have to.
Nonna knew he was there. Even sedated, she knew, and his grip told her he’d be there as long as she needed. These last couple years he’d wandered, trying to find reasons for questions without answers. But he was there now, and they both needed the connection of that handclasp. I’m here, Nonna. If he could pass her his strength he would. Comfort and courage and a little of what he’d learned on the streets. Fight back. Don’t let them take you down.
But he didn’t have to tell her that; he’d learned it from her. His throat squeezed tight, recalling the compresses she’d held to one bruise or another. “Don’t tell Pop, Nonna.”
“The man’s got eyes, ragazzo picolo. He might notice.”
But when it came to it, she had always backed him up. “Don’t be hard on him. He’s doing the best he can.”
Best was relative though, and that’s whe
re he came up short, unlike Tony whose best was the stuff of comic-book heroes. Another pang. Don’t pile on, he told his mind, but when had he ever taken his own advice? He looked around the room. Momma’s lips moved in prayer; Pop just held his head in his hands. He’d be exhausted after working his usual hours, then coming here when he got the call.
His sister Monica was trying to quiet Nicky, but the cramped space and choking worry must be driving the kid nuts. Monica sent him a glance, then slipped out around Lucy, whose toddler Nina was sleeping on her shoulder. His third sister, Sofie, should be studying. She was immersed in her doctorate program and couldn’t afford this distraction. Not that she’d prioritize it that way, but that was the reality.
This was going to take its toll on all of them. He was in the best position to keep watch, since his responsibilities were their usual nil. There was something to be said for that; it made you available in a crisis.
But Lance didn’t want to think of this as a crisis. They were still reeling from the last, from Tony. He glanced at Gina, small and dark, standing near the door, and knew the emotions churning inside her. His sister-in-law should definitely be home. He could handle things here. Nonna Antonia was a fighter. She’d swing back, and she didn’t miss. She’d swung for his backside enough times when she wasn’t too busy defending him.
They should go home and get some sleep. Pop hadn’t had supper. Lance caught Momma’s eye as she paused her praying. He nodded toward Pop, and she caught the gist. His family had a remarkable ability to communicate without words, though it didn’t stop them heaping on the words as well.
They’d probably worn the hospital staff ’s patience a little thin, and he wanted Nonna to himself. Momma was the one to get that done. She stood up and started herding. He could almost hear the collective sigh from the nurses’ station. Gripping Nonna’s hand, he smiled, dipped his head, and dozed.
Lance woke with a sense of urgency as acute as his need to use the men’s room. Nonna was awake. Her hand had pinched his with a death grip, and she was making noises like none he’d heard from her before. He made no sign that they horrified him, just leaned closer.
“What is it, Nonna?” He could make no sense of the sounds, and her agitation rose. He couldn’t risk another vessel bursting with her straining, so he furtively pressed the button for the nurse. “It’s all right. Give it some time and you’ll be able to say what you want.”
“Baa … baa…”
Her eyes showed a terror he’d seen there only once, and he didn’t want her suffering like that ever again. He brought her hand to his lips. “It’s okay, Nonna.” What was keeping the nurse?
But then she was there, a willowy angel of efficiency, taking over where he fell short. She must have doctored the IV, because Nonna stilled and then slept, but there’d been something she wanted him to know or do. “How long before her speech comes back?”
The nurse raised her thin blond brows. “That’s impossible to say. It’s different with every case.”
Nonna was not a case, and it would drive her crazy not to speak her mind. “What’s the soonest?”
“It depends on the extent of the damage and the area of the brain and too many other factors. It could be days or years.” She added gently, “Or never.”
“She’s trying to tell me something.”
The nurse nodded. “It’s very frustrating. But she needs to remain calm and allow the healing to proceed.”
“Can you watch her a minute while I make a pit stop?”
The nurse smiled. “She’ll be okay.”
Lance looked at her sleeping and guessed Nonna wouldn’t mind if he hit the bathroom, but her need was in his nostrils, lodged in his nerves and the bones of his hand. He had to learn what it was she had tried to tell him, but how? Maybe in the morning she’d be able to say more. He used the bathroom, then took up his place beside her, hooking his knee over the arm of the chair. “Good night, Nonna. Peaceful dreams.”
Lance woke to a hand on his shoulder and the steam of a macchiato in his nose. He hooked fingers with Chaz in greeting and whispered his thanks. “How’d you get in?”
“They assumed I was family.”
Lance grinned up at the tall Jamaican. They must have really worn down the staff.
Chaz nodded toward the bed. “How is she?”
Lance shrugged. “She’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t get it.” Chaz squatted down, his limbs hinged like grasshopper legs. He didn’t ask anything more, accepting better than Lance the limitations of medical clairvoyance. It was anyone’s guess how things would progress. And maybe Nonna would forget all about whatever had seemed so urgent.
But she didn’t. While his family arrived to fuss and worry over her, she remained passive, but as soon as they were alone again, she tried to express it. He absorbed her frustration, but could not interpret her message. “You’re going to be just fine, Nonna.”
But that wasn’t what she wanted from him. The doctor had explained things to her, to them. She had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage on the left side of the brain. While there were new treatments for a clot-caused stroke, which could sometimes prevent or reverse damage quickly, bleeding in the brain still required time to heal.
She was exhibiting aphasia, a disconnect in the brain affecting her ability to talk, listen, read or write; and dysarthria, weakening the muscles of her face, tongue, and lips. There was some paralysis on her right side, and the doctor warned they may see emotional lability—sudden mood swings resulting in tears. As though her condition wouldn’t be enough, Lance thought.
He was having mood swings of his own, mostly resulting from his inability to understand what she needed. The message had lost none of its urgency, though Nonna still only forced it when they were alone. It was something for him and not the rest of the family. That formed an overwhelming need like a hole inside him, growing with every day.
He started bringing things from the house that she might be wanting. Her prayer book, her recipe cards—of nearly the same importance—her jewelry box that held the gold locket from Nonno, his wedding ring, and the other pieces of jewelry he’d given her over the years. The items were nothing of tremendous value, and they didn’t prove to be the thing she wanted anyway.
Lance felt strange searching Nonna’s bedroom. He’d hardly ever been in there, since she herself spent scant time inside its walls. She was early to rise and late to bed and in the thick of it for the hours in between. But there must be something she needed, and that was where she kept her things— that or the restaurant kitchen, but he’d tried her recipes already, and he couldn’t imagine she wanted pots or utensils.
He had started with the things on the table beside her bed, then moved to the dresser top. Now he opened the top drawer feeling like a voyeur. These were his grandmother’s dresser drawers, and he had no business in them, except that he didn’t know what else to do. She had grown more agitated with each thing he brought, but there was encouragement to keep trying. He thought so, anyway.
So Lance fingered through her lingerie, feeling foolish until he found a packet of letters and pulled them out. Now this was promising. Love letters from Nonno? That might be something to offer comfort. He checked the drawer, but there was nothing else. He’d try the letters, and if she glared, he’d just have to keep trying.
But when he brought the letters, her excitement was evident. He set them on the table unit beside her bed, but she immediately started making noise. He snatched them up again. “You want me to read them?”
She squawked, a hard angry sound that he knew she didn’t mean. It was frustration and panic and, sure, some annoyance with his density. But what else was new? “Nonna, I don’t know what you want.” He tried to put the letters into her hand, but she pushed them back at him.
Maybe it was one particular letter she wanted. He untied the string and took them out one by one for her to see. They weren’t all the same writing. Some were definitely Nonno’s script, but others were in there as well,
and when he got to one of those, she groaned.
“Do you want me to read this to you?”
She groaned again with a hand motion that seemed to indicate she wanted to hold it. He handed it over.
“You want me to open it?”
A sharp sound showed her irritation. If she didn’t want the letter out, was it the envelope? It was addressed to her, but that wasn’t what she wanted him to know. He pressed her finger to the return address.
Suora Anna Conchessa
Santuaria di Nostra Signora del Monte
Liguria, Italy
“You want me to write this person?” Only the look in her eyes showed him her answer. “Call her? You want her to come?”
Her sound of frustration matched his own. “What, Nonna? I’m not a mind reader.” She’d have slapped his hand for that tone if she could. “I’m sorry.” Lance tried again, staring at the address and trying to guess what she wanted from him. Her nail paled where it pressed the address. “You want me to go there?”
Nonna sank back to the pillow with a sigh.
“You’re sending me off to a convent.”
A flicker on one side of Nonna’s lips.
“Great. Well, maybe when you’re stronger …”
She opened her eyes and glared. He wished he didn’t know her so well that every glance communicated something.
“If I leave, who’s gonna make you behave?”
She growled low in her throat.
“All right. I’ll go.” He’d go to the ends of the earth for her, but what was up with some Italian nunnery? Whatever it was, Nonna’s adamancy was unmistakable, and beneath it, a fear that had taken up residence on her chest.
“You’re what?” Rico’s face showed what Lance felt.
“I don’t know any more than that, but it’s what she’s been trying to say.” Lance stuffed another shirt into his pack.
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