Four White Roses

by Judy Ann Davis

  Speechless, Torrie stared at him. Enemies? If last night was any indication of having enemies, Ivan Winters was the first person on her list. But somehow she didn’t think Ivan would stoop so low or even take the time to actually sneak into someone’s backyard and destroy a bed of plants. He would never get his lily white banker’s hands dirty. And someone knew what they were doing, judging from the plants scattered everywhere. They had chosen the roses, and they would have had to wear leather gloves or they were walking around Hickory Valley with a million scratches on their hands and forearms.

  When they were alone again, Torrie put on a brave face. “Well, there’s not much we can do here. Let’s get started for Elmira. We’re already late. I’ll phone Finn, and he’ll have someone come over and clean up this mess. Joe or he will be able to determine whether there’s any salvageable stock for re-grafting or rooting, and they’ll take the cuttings back to the nursery to preserve them.”

  Rich pulled her toward him and squeezed her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Torrie. I know how much these gardens mean to you, but especially the roses. Are you sure you still want to go to New York?”

  She nodded. She had been banking on selling some of the Austrian roses to help with her expenses. There was no way now she was not going to Elmira and triple her pay.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Willow Tree Assisted Living, just outside Elmira, was an upper crust, one-hundred-and-fifty-acre nursing home shaded by giant elms and crisscrossed with a maze of connecting walkways. Torrie and Rich wound their way between picturesque cottages and a showy condo complex for self-sufficient residents, complete with patios and two pools. The assisted living building they arrived at contained not only single person rooms, but also a multitude of facilities, including a library, common gathering room, exercise and craft rooms, and a reading salon.

  Rich was prepared to jump through hoops to find out information about his grandfather’s brother, Walt Redman, but was surprised when the manager at Willow Tree not only offered his condolences about his great uncle’s passing, but also pointed out Walt’s favorite companion, Mrs. Winifred Fox, who was at the moment in the reading salon beside the library.

  A stately-looking woman with long, well-manicured fingernails, Winifred had short, snow white hair clinging to her head like a helmet. Rich approached cautiously and politely introduced Torrie and himself. With the grace of the cultured, Winifred regally closed her book, careful to place the bottom edge of the book mark exactly on the paragraph she had finished reading. She placed the book on a stack and straightened them so all the corners were squared and orderly before she motioned with a bejeweled hand for them to take a seat.

  “We’re so pleased to be able to meet you. We were hoping you could tell us a little about my Great Uncle Walter,” Rich said, cautioning himself to tread lightly, not knowing what type of impression his uncle might have made. For all he knew, his great uncle could have been a sly scoundrel or the world’s most renowned womanizer.

  “Are you researching your family’s history?”

  “Yes, you could say that,” he admitted.

  “Well, Walter Redman was a charming man.” She had a clear, genteel voice that spoke of wealth and privilege. “He loved to laugh and tell jokes. He was a voracious reader, and he enjoyed following politics, never missing the nightly news and Sunday review of the Washington D.C. scene. And my, oh my, he could dance.” She looked around the room and motioned to a tiny woman with a sharp little nose sitting a few feet away, reading the Elmira Star Gazette. A rosewood cane was propped beside her chair. “Couldn’t he, Ethel?”

  “Who?” Ethel lowered the newspaper and stretched out her thin birdlike face, squinting over the reading glasses perched on her nose.

  “Walter. Walter Redman.” Winifred thumped her hand on the arm rest, disgruntled to have to repeat the question. “Couldn’t Walter dance? Why, he had every lady in here wanting to be his partner.”

  Ethel nodded in agreement, then tilted her paper to cover her face and resume her reading, but not before Rich caught her rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.

  “Well, it seems I learned something new about my great uncle. Does the king and queen of hearts mean anything to you?” Rich offered her a tentative smile.

  “Yes. Yes, it does.” Winifred’s face lit up like a Happy Lamp. “Walter and I were selected King and Queen of our facility’s Valentine’s Day celebration two years in a row. We were like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Everybody said so. Didn’t they, Ethel?”

  Ethel lowered her paper. “What did you say, Winny?”

  “I said, everyone thought Walter and I danced like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Didn’t they?”

  “If you say so.” Ethel raised her paper to continue reading.

  “Why, you old fool, of course they did!” Winifred grew agitated.

  “I’m sure they did.” Rich tried to soothe her.

  “We could fox trot better than any couple in the entire Willow Tree community.”

  “I have no doubt,” Torrie interjected lightly. “You have the lovely, lithe figure of a dancer.”

  “I’ll have you know I took ballet when I was a young girl.”

  “And I bet you were one spectacular ballerina.” Rich waited a moment, hoping for her anger to diminish and serenity to prevail. He slumped back in his seat in a relaxed positon so as not to seem impatient.

  Finally, he asked, “Did my father, Richard Redman, ever visit Walter?”

  Winifred looked at him, her face changing from irritation to suspicious caution. “Yes, why do you ask?”

  ‘I was wondering if he was ever accompanied by a lady friend.”

  “If you mean my niece. Why, yes. They visited us together on many occasions. I can’t say I held your father in high esteem.” She stiffened. “It’s not like he didn’t treat Walter with total respect. There were just other factors involved. Why, the Redman fellow was fifteen years older than Anne and was not divorced when they first came to visit, mind you. How tasteless, don’t you agree?”

  Rich glanced at Torrie. She flinched and gave him a cautious look. If there was more information to garner, he had the feeling it would not be forthcoming from Winifred Fox. Together, they watched Ethel rise, tuck her folded newspaper under her arm, and shuffle from the room. Her rubber-bottomed cane squeaked as she made her way across the tiled floor.

  Torrie spoke up in a soothing tone. “What was your niece’s last name, Mrs. Fox?”

  “Why do you want to know?” She stared at them with a grim look. Her voice grew distant, cold, and sharp. “I think it’s best if you leave. I see no reason to start digging through dirty laundry.”

  “No, no, please.” Torrie said. “We’re just trying to locate a family relation.”

  “Well, if it involves Anne, I’ve nothing more to say.” She opened her book and bent her head, dismissing them.

  ****

  Rich rose and took Torrie by the arm and escorted her to the door of the salon. “Well, that certainly went well,” he whispered, leaning close.

  “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed her for a name.” Torrie frowned. “I guess I stirred the pot a little too quickly.”

  “Nah, getting information from the old gal was as much fun as hugging a rabid porcupine. She was a real pain in the—”

  “Rich!”

  He scrubbed his face with his hands and cranked his head to look back at Winifred. “Well, the old gal wasn’t about to give up anything worthwhile we could use.”

  “True, but now we know where your dance genes came from. Great Uncle Walter.” Torrie giggled.

  He looked at her, eyebrow raised. “That’s all you gleaned from the entire conversation?” He shook his head. “I’m heading back to locate the manager and see if he can supply us with any more information or leads.”

  Torrie nodded. “Why don’t I just poke around here and see if I can shake down some of these old folks in the sitting room?”

  They parted, Rich heading for
the manager’s office.

  For a minute, Torrie lingered at the doorway and scanned the main gathering room. She turned back to see Winifred pretending to read, but surreptitiously glance up at the salon door where she stood. Every fiber in her body told her the wily old woman had played them for fools. Irritated, she stomped back to where Winifred sat, head still bent over her book. She would have made a pitiful actress and Torrie had doubts about her dancing skills as well.

  “You know,” Torrie said in a low voice, “kind acts put off until tomorrow may become only bitter regrets.” When Winifred refused to look at her, she persisted, “The man you just refused to help is an only child looking for his half-sister. He’s one of the kindest and most honest and giving persons I’ve ever come to know. There’s a trust set up for her, and he could easily have disregarded the request of his dead grandmother, let time play itself out, and take her share, which will be due him in a year. But he chose to honor his grandmother’s wishes.”

  She turned to go, then whirled back, her voice rising in volume. She didn’t care if the whole reading salon heard. “And my mother always used to say the best sleeping pill in the world is to lay down each night with a clear conscience. So sweet dreams, Winifred Fox!”

  Back stiff, she walked into the main gathering area where people were watching large flat screen televisions in three corners of the huge room. On one screen, a game show host interviewed a contestant, and from another corner, a station blared out the weather report. Near a glass exit door, Ethel frantically flapped her hand to motion her over.

  “You’ll never squeeze an ounce of information from sour-faced Winny,” Ethel declared in a low chiding tone. “I never knew what Walt saw in her. What a shrew.”

  “Maybe her ability to dance?” Torrie leaned down closer to the little woman. “Is there anything you might be able to tell me?”

  “No, no, no,” Ethel crowed. “It’s not that easy, my dear. Information will cost you.”

  Torrie straightened. Were all these old women at Willow Tree as crazy as bats? Her arms flew up, palms smacking the air in front of her. “I’m not a rich woman, Ethel. I’ve come here because I’m helping Richard Redman while he’s in Hickory Valley. He desperately wants to find his half-sister.”

  “No, my dear, not money. You misunderstand me. I want to go to the ice cream shop down the road.”

  “What?” Torrie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Ice cream shop? Why?”

  “For some soft ice cream. Why else?”

  “Are you allowed?” Torrie could envision the headline now: rich Dallas attorney and poor landscape owner arrested for kidnapping elderly woman from an Elmira eldercare facility. “Aren’t there some rules for residents leaving the property with strangers? You don’t even know me.”

  Ethel patted her on her upper arm. “No, no, my dear, there are only restrictions for those with directives issued by a doctor or their family. I assure you, I don’t have mental incapacities or any health restrictions. My mind is sound. And you, my dear, look pretty harmless. All you have to do is cosign with me at the desk. You state the location where we’re going, time, and sign your name. Then I sign beside your signature to indicate I’m in agreement.” She looked at Torrie like she was missing half a brain. “This isn’t a maximum security prison, my dear. It’s a respectable retirement community.”

  Rich approached them, frowning. “Any progress?”

  Torrie blew out a breath of air and tugged him off to the side. This was truly going to sound like she had half a brain. She pulled him farther into a corner until she was certain they were out of earshot of the other residents. “Yes, we’re taking Ethel for ice cream at the local ice cream shop.”

  “We’re what?” He stared at her, speechless. “Why?”

  “Come on, Rich. It’s just down the road a bit.” Torrie shot him a hopeless look.

  “Why don’t you just shoot me? We’re going for ice cream? I can’t believe you’re letting these little old ladies bamboozle you!”

  “Shhhh. Let’s not announce it to the world,” Ethel scolded, startling him as she hobbled over to stand beside them. She squinted at him with shriveled little blue eyes. “You want half this room to pile into your car? What’s the problem? Don’t you like ice cream, Dreamboat?”

  “Yes, of course. And my name is Rich.” He shot Torrie an agonizing look which translated to: Tell me what I did to deserve this?

  Ethel poked him on his chest with a scrawny finger. “Well, since Torrie and I need to talk, I suggested we go out for ice cream, and she agreed.” She turned to Torrie. “Didn’t you, my dear?”

  Torrie sighed, but some sixth sense nagged at her, telling her this would not be as hopeless as she earlier thought. “Yes, I did.” She glanced at Rich who now looked somewhat dazed; but like the gentleman he was, he propelled the little woman with her cane toward the front desk.

  Humming a soft polka tune, Ethel scribbled her name beside Torrie’s, then turned and spun her cane like it was a baton. “I used to be a dancer, too, when I was younger, you know. What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream, Dreamboat?”

  “I guess vanilla,” he admitted. “The name’s Rich.”

  “Then let’s get a move on. At my age, even minutes are precious.” Taking his arm as if he was her knight in shining armor, she limped gleefully toward the exit.

  Minutes later, flying down the road to the local ice cream shop with an old romantic tune from the fifties blaring from the car’s speakers, Rich shot Torrie a withered glance. “Tell me again, why are we going to the ice cream shop and, more specifically, why are we listening to this crap on the radio?”

  Torrie sat up straighter. “Shhh. Ethel likes the oldies and wanted Tom Jones but this is all I could find when I searched the stations.” Torrie patted him reassuringly on his upper arm. “Be nice, Rich. Let’s make this a fun time for her. Maybe she’ll tell us something we didn’t know about Walt.”

  Rich stole a peek in his rear view mirror and watched Ethel, in the backseat, humming and swaying along to a song with a male singer begging someone—perhaps a former lover—to release him and let him go. Boy, was he saying a mouthful, he thought. He turned to Torrie. “You know,” he said, “one of us in this car is close to going off the deep end.”

  Torrie snickered. “For heaven’s sake, you’re just sore because you didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

  “Which brings me to another point,” he grumbled. “When explaining the finer details of a sleepover, you neglected to tell me the participants don’t sleep.”

  Torrie couldn’t help but smile. “If I had told you all the particulars, you might had chickened out, Dreamboat.”

  Minutes later, with a huge banana split with extra whipped cream sitting in front of Ethel, Torrie leaned forward and addressed the little woman like they were co-conspirators. “Okay, girlfriend, we made a deal. Spill the beans. Tell me what you know about Richard Redman and Winifred Fox’s niece, Anne.”

  “Her name was Anne Alexander.” Ethel dove into the ice cream with gusto. “She often came with Richard when he visited Walter Redman. She was a beautiful, sweet girl, at least fifteen years younger than him. Now all this happened a good seventeen years ago or more, so my memory is not as good as it used to be.”

  “I understand. Tell us what you know,” Rich coaxed.

  “Well, rumor has it Anne got pregnant, and Richard, your father, was responsible. Ten months later, she shows up alone to see Winifred. Again, rumor has it, she gave the child up for adoption.” Ethel stopped eating, wiped a ring of whipped cream from her upper lip, and looked at them with a serious expression on her face. “It was a good thing, too, because a few years later, Anne was involved in a winter automobile accident up by the Finger Lakes and died.”

  Rich remembered that just before his first year of college, the fighting between his parents escalated. He would bet money his mother suspected his father was seeing Anne when he came to Hickory Valley.

  “Do you have any id
ea what happened to the child?” Torrie shoved the dish of chocolate ice cream she was eating aside.

  “A local doctor by the name of Winters in Hickory Valley supposedly handled the adoption, which I understand was kept private. The child was placed out of state, much to the disappointment of Winifred.”

  “Do you recall what the child was named?” Torrie asked.

  Ethel shook her head. “No, I don’t. But I knew as soon as I heard the name Redman, you were probably looking for your half-sister.” She reached out and touched his hand. “Don’t be disappointed in Winifred. She may have hated your father, but Anne never revealed any details about the adoption, and Winifred would have liked to have known her grandniece since she never had any children. She lost her only sister, Anne’s mother, to cancer before all this happened, so she’s quite alone.”

  “Could you give us an approximate date when Anne returned without the child,” Torrie asked. “It might give us an idea about the time of the child’s birth.”

  “She had the child on May 12th.”

  “How can you be so certain?” Rich asked.

  Ethel looked at him with a grim look. “When Anne waltzed in to visit Winifred later in the summer, I overheard her tell Winifred the child was born on Mother’s Day. Her exact words were, ‘Don’t you think it’s some kind of strange karma, Aunt Winny?’”

  Rich rose. “You have been very helpful, Ethel.” He handed her his card. “If you ever need anything, anything at all, feel free to give me a call.”

  “I wish you luck.” Ethel reached for her cane propped against the table. “It’s difficult to be alone. It’s tough to know you have family out there you can’t locate.”

  He nodded and gave the old woman a warm hug before depositing her back at Willow Tree Assisted Living with two quarts of soft ice cream to share with her friends.

  ****

  “So what do you think?” Rich turned his coffee cup around and around in his hands. They were sitting in a nearby diner having coffee.