by V.
“I’m glad we’re all here and that this secret is out in the open,” Sophia whispered as she touched her mother’s hand.
I glanced at Sophia. “You never knew.”
“Not the whole story. Not the details. I noticed the furtive, involuntary glances they gave each other sometimes and knew they wanted to hide it from me. I respected their wishes. As I grew older I sensed the violence, the pain, but the fear I felt in them made me withdraw.”
“Did you ever wonder about your father? Who he was?” Conrad asked.
Sophia glanced at Deidre. “I asked them once about my father. They told me he had died before I was born but very little else. I could see it made them nervous, that they didn’t really want to talk about it. Eventually, I just gave up.”
“How does one tell a child,” Deidre whispered, “that her father did such terrible things? How could I tell her that I killed him to save us all? How could I tell her about violence like that? No child deserves to hear such horrific things about her father.” Deidre’s head tilted, her eyes saddened, and her face became clouded with despair as she looked at her daughter. “I’m sorry.” She began to sob.
Sophia rushed to her mother and knelt before her. “No, you don’t apologize for loving me, for protecting me. You and Momma Casey gave up every chance of happiness to keep me from suffering. You don’t apologize, you hear me? You hold your head high. You smile and you rejoice in the happiness you made possible for me. You cherish the strength and the courage that allowed both of you to do what had to be done, even at your own expense. Look at me.” She lifted her mother’s face to hers. “I am you. I am Momma Casey. And both of you are me. I smile because of you. I live because of you. I am a woman with a full life, with joyful memories, and with a bright future because of you. And you must never apologize for that. I am forever grateful for all you’ve done, and I will love you forever for that. I am proud of what and who I am, and you are proud of what and who I am. Always.”
Deidre caressed her daughter’s face. “I love you.”
Through my flowing tears, I glanced at Conrad. His face glistened with moisture. He caught my eye, and I motioned for us to leave the room. As quietly as we could, we made our way to the kitchen. Behind us, gentle sobs bonded daughter and mother more closely and more deeply than ever.
As for Conrad and me, we melted into each other’s arms.
Chapter 30
The Commission
The burial ceremony was simple yet meaningful. Deidre remembered their favorite tree where they spent endless hours in childish play, climbing it, playing with its leaves, and reading under its shade. She had visited their tree with Conrad and pointed to a branch they used to sit on as they shared many a story. Before the ceremony, Conrad had dug a small burial site, and we all gathered under their favorite branch to openly acknowledge the existence of Justin and bury his belongings along with his mother’s ashes.
Alyana asked one of the elders of her tribe to perform the burial ceremony, and the ritual brought with it a sense of closure.
“We shared our private stories when we sat on that branch. I think she’ll be happy here,” Deidre murmured. She turned to Sophia. “When my time comes, I wish to join her.”
“I’ll bring you back, Momma. I promise.”
I clung to Conrad, somehow overly conscious of this moment of mortality.
Two days later, my friends Iris and Sonia came knocking on our door, and the whirlwind of out-of-town guests, along with the preparations for the wedding, propelled us into a future filled with hope as we let the past peacefully rest.
I’d talked with my friends on the phone after they had received the invitation to my wedding, but the rascals hadn’t let on that they were planning to attend. They told me they needed to consult with their husbands and family. They promised to let me know a couple of days before the wedding. Now here they stood, with their husbands, letting us know that they were attending.
I couldn’t be happier. The three of us had been friends for years, working at the same school, and kindred spirits in our devotion to our students. Our friendship and the opportunity to freely share our challenges and frustrations allowed us to survive as long as we did. They were a bit older than me and had retired a few years earlier. Those years without them had been hard, and I’d missed them terribly. After they retired, both moved away to be closer to their children and grandchildren. We’d only seen each other when we got together for our yearly tradition of lunch and afternoon tea, accompanied by tales of our lives. They were both just as practical as I had been, and neither ever gave into any type of excess or activity out of the ordinary. Traveling to an unknown part of the country to be with me at my wedding would be considered excess. I never expected them to show up. Imagine my surprise.
“We’ve booked a couple of rooms at that little quaint bed and breakfast in town,” Iris told us.
“It’s so charming, we feel like we’re in a storybook,” Sonia added.
Harold and George were already deep in conversation with Conrad about how the house had been built. Our home had already captivated them.
“Both Harold and George were ready to come the moment we mentioned you lived in the middle of nowhere in the Cascades,” Iris went on.
“They heard there’s great fishing here and are looking forward to spending time getting to know these parts,” Sonia added.
Hearing them talk one after the other with such ease brought me back to how much the three of us would just go on and on chatting about anything and everything.
“I don’t know how you could think we wouldn’t be here for your wedding,” Iris said. “Sarah, you must be crazy to think we wouldn’t want to join you.”
“After you spoke with us, and we heard about the wonderful things you were experiencing, we were jealous. We wanted a little bit of that magic,” Sonia added.
And magic they got.
The days leading up to our wedding were filled with activities. Conrad and Tom had decided to open the store for only the first half of the day till after the New Year. As such, they would leave together shortly after breakfast and
Alyana would come over with the children. Along with Deidre and Sophia, we spent precious time connecting the past with the present and imagining the future.
Deidre recounted their early years, the fun times they had with their brothers, and how they played with their parents, Angela and Richard. Sophia’s own tales of growing up with two mothers were delightful, and I learned much from her recollections of how her grandmother Angela had guided her in understanding her own extrasensory capacities.
Midmorning my friends Iris and Sonia would join us, and together we chatted, made decorations for the wedding, cooked, or baked our specialties for the wedding reception to be held in our home. Many of our guests had insisted on bringing a special dish for the reception, therefore we concentrated on preparing appetizers from Spain, Mexico, and France, as well as Alyana’s Brie puff wheels and her special cranberry champagne cocktail.
The men would join us for lunch, and after that, the two visiting couples either went fishing or sightseeing while we stayed behind with the children and our wedding preparations.
With Deidre’s approval, we placed the photographs from the tin can into the photo album Angela had put together of her twin daughters. Sophia wanted to keep the photo album so that she could share it with her husband and children. We all agreed that Angela had more than likely meant it for her. Deidre, however, took out several photographs and gave them to me to complete the leftover frames. She wished me to place them on the dresser along with the ones from Angela, her parents, and my family. One was a photo of Casey with Justin in her arms and another of the two of them with baby Sophia. She gave me a third photograph she kept in her wallet of Sophia and her husband on their wedding day, flanked by Casey and Deidre.
The next day, Sophia added to my collection several photographs of her children and their paternal grandparents that she’d asked her husband to m
ail to us.
“I’m glad none of my children have inherited the violent streak from my father,” Sophia confided.
“I wouldn’t think so. From what I saw, it appeared to be more of a learned trait than genetic,” I told her, surprised with my own comfort in sharing my extrasensory perceptions.
“Thanks, Sarah. I appreciate your openness with me. I’ll treasure it for all my days.” She opened her arms and embraced me, a simple act of gratitude, yet life transforming for me, and a bond between us that would endure without end.
Conrad couldn’t stop praising my cooking, so one day Sophia begged me to make paella for dinner. She’d seen the photos of the paellas my mother and grandmother had made and how ecstatic we all looked around the table as we enjoyed every morsel. Conrad had already ordered a paella pan from The Spanish Table, a specialy store in Seattle, and had been waiting for me to make it, so along with Deidre, he joined in the chorus.
“Imagine the reaction when you prepare this spectacular Spanish dish. Your friends won’t believe it’s the same Sarah.” Conrad said.
“Well it isn’t. Is it?” I laughed.
“C’mon, Sarah, let’s do it. I’ll help. The whole family will be so impressed to see you put the paella together. We’ll do what you and your folks used to do. We’ll all gather in the kitchen, sip a glass of wine, and watch as you add each ingredient. It’ll be fun.”
“You’ll chop and make sure I get all the ingredients ready?”
“Sure.”
“Boy, it’s a tall order to make a paella without rehearsal, and it’s not the typical paella. It’s my mother’s own adaptation.”
“That’s even better. C’mon, we can do it.”
And with that assurance, we shopped for all the ingredients: meat, chicken, sausage, clams, shrimp, mussels, onion, garlic, peas, artichoke hearts, asparagus, and of course rice. Conrad and Sophia grew more excited with anticipation of the variety of flavors that made this dish so deliciously unique.
No one was disappointed. Conrad and I worked in perfect tandem as we prepared and added each ingredient, culminating with a beautiful paella, perfectly cooked. Everyone enjoyed each bite, including the children, who had a great time learning the Spanish names for each of the ingredients as they helped us assemble it. As Deidre savored the food, she reflected on the togetherness a paella creates as it is being prepared.
The day before our wedding, Conrad and Tom closed the store. Tom and Alyana wanted to work on the final touches for the wedding and preferred we weren’t around. Sonia and Iris went shopping for the perfect wedding gift, and Conrad took a morning off to go fishing with their husbands. Sophia spent the day with Deidre visiting their friends in the area, and I was charged with caring for the children, as long as we stayed away from the first floor.
So we went to my attic. I’d not been in the attic for a long time and missed it. This morning the sun shone through and through, and I knew we would be welcomed to enjoy our visit there.
“I like this room,” Elan announced when we stepped in.
“It’s pretty,” Nina added.
“I also like it a lot,” I told them. “I heard great stories in this room when I first moved here.”
Nina took my hand and led me toward the armchair. “Tell me the stories.” She pushed me down and crawled onto my lap.
“Well, the first story I heard was about the people who built this house and your new home. They are twins, you know.”
“Like the babies in Mommy’s belly,” Elan offered.
I nodded. “Did she tell you what it means to be twins?”
“They’ll come home at the same time. Not like first I came and then Nina came. That’s why I’m older.”
“Your new home—”
“It’s not new, Mama,” Elan interrupted. “It’s old like this one.”
“You’re right. What I meant was that it’s new to you and your parents because you just moved in.” He nodded. “So your home and this one were born at the same time. They have the same birthday; they’re twins.”
I don’t remember how long we stayed in the attic; time just didn’t seem to matter to us. I told them the stories I’d heard, crafting them for their young ears, and they were fully engaged. Elan explored the attic, listening to me while quietly looking into every trunk, searching every corner, opening every box. Nina was happy to sit on my lap for a long while and then joined her brother in the examination of the room and its contents while listening to my tales.
They didn’t disturb any item. They simply explored and became acquainted with the attic and its contents.
“You should write the stories, Mama. I’d like to hear them again. That way Papa can read them to me,” Elan said.
“Yeah,” Nina agreed. “I want Mommy to read them to me.”
“Well, I hadn’t thought about writing them down, but now that you’ve suggested it, I’ll give it a try.”
“Mommy will draw the pictures,” Elan said. “She’s good at drawing pictures. We’ll make a little book like the book my great-aunties made of the stories for aunt Sophia.”
“Sounds like a great idea. I’ll get started as soon as Papa and I come back from our honeymoon.”
“How do you put honey on the moon?” Nina asked.
I chuckled and held her tightly against me. “Oh, darling, the word honeymoon was put together in the old times to describe how two newlyweds feel. Let’s see. Imagine the full moon bright and shiny in the sky, and if you could taste it right after the wedding, it would be like tasting a delicious lollipop covered in sweet honey. It’s a way of saying that the newlyweds are filled with love and happiness. So the honeymoon is like a holiday, a time to enjoy the feelings of delight and sweetness, just as if you were tasting the moon covered in honey.”
“Oh,” she said. “Let’s go tell Mommy about our book. I’m hungry.”
Careful to avoid taking a peek at the livingroom, we made our way down to the kitchen for lunch and found Alyana ready for us. As we ate, we planned how to put our book of stories together.
After we put the little ones down for their naps, I hankered to go back to my attic. Alyana must have sensed I wanted time to myself, and she ordered me to get some rest. She wanted me relaxed and beautiful for the wedding the next morning.
“Alyana, you’re the one that should be resting,” I protested.
“I will. I’ll sit down on the sofa, put my feet up, and Tom and I will finish tying the bows. OK?”
“All right, it’ll be nice to spend time in my attic before Conrad comes back.”
“That reminds me,” Alyana added, “Papa should spend the night with us tonight. He shouldn’t see you until the ceremony tomorrow when Tom walks you down the aisle to present you to him.”
I hadn’t imagined not being close to Conrad the night before the wedding, but it made sense. He had not seen my wedding dress, and the idea of surprising him exhilarated me—although I would miss him.
Alyana had propelled me into the reverie of my own wedding. With all of the activity of the previous days, I’d not spent time thinking about it and had missed out on the enjoyment of anticipating the event.
Conrad and I agreed we would each write our own wedding vows, so I took mine with me to the attic and sat on Angela’s grandmother’s armchair to read them once more. For many days now, I’d not heard any more stories, and as I sat in the silence of the early afternoon, I wondered if I’d neglected the attic. But nothing cried out to be heard.
I’d used all of Angela’s frames with the exception of two, and I felt pretty sure I knew what photographs she had in mind for those frames. One was reserved for the photograph that would be taken tomorrow of the wedding couple and the other for the photograph of Deidre and her daughter, Sophia, standing in front of our Christmas tree that Conrad had snapped a couple of days earlier.
“Angela,” I whispered, “I hope you are content with the turn of events. I certainly can’t sense any discomfort from you.” I waited for a reaction
, but feeling only the comfort and embrace of my attic, I settled in.
I reread my vows, whispering to Angela, enjoying the peace and quiet, the warm embrace of the afternoon sun, and the imaginings of the future to come.
“Your great-grandchildren crafted the path of what I should do with the memories you’ve left behind. I’ll share the journey I’ve traveled through. I know there will be a book that will immortalize the lives of those you’ve loved and those whose pain and sorrow crafted the heritage you wish unveiled.”
When I paused, I thought I heard a sigh. It could’ve been a bit of wind seeping in, but I chose to believe it was the sound of Angela’s approval.
After the children woke from their naps, we were busy with the million final details in preparation for the ceremony and reception, as well as fixing dinner for all. The men had caught some delicious fish, and Conrad taught me how to clean and grill them. We ate a tasty “catch of the day” drizzled with olive oil and rosemary, accompanied by fresh vegetables, garlic mashed potatoes, and homemade bread, and enjoyed a delicious bottle of wine.
Tom and Alyana wished to decorate the house by themselves in order to surprise us the next morning. Conrad took his grandchildren home to put them to bed, and I put myself to bed and promised not leave my bedroom until the ceremony. Sophia and Deidre were to make sure I didn’t peek.
Letting go of Conrad for the night proved difficult. Neither one of us wanted to be apart, but we both understood the significance of the moment, and in spite of ourselves, we said good-night. Before Conrad left, he gave me Angela’s letter.
“Here it is for you to open tomorrow.”
I held the letter in my hands as if its contents were made of delicate crystal. “I thought we would read it together,” I whispered.
“It’s addressed to you. She meant it for you.” He smiled, caressed my face, and gently kissed me. It felt as if a warm feather floated between our lips. The exquisiteness of that kiss lingered with me for the remainder of the night.
