by Lynn Ames
Nora
“Oh, my God. That’s horrible. Poor Nora. No wonder she was still haunted by that at the end.” Brooke wiped away a tear.
“Do you really think they never saw each other again? Never reconciled?”
“I don’t know. I guess we could keep reading.”
“Are there more entries after the war ends?”
Brooke turned the page. It looks like there’s a two-year gap. The next entry is from 1947.
March 27, 1947
It seems only fitting that I should board a plane with my few possessions today, on what would be Mary’s twenty-second birthday.
Everything I do now, and most especially the scientific studies I am about to undertake on behalf of the Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission, I do in order to set things right. I cannot undo my role in the historic genocide of thousands of Japanese citizens, but I will dedicate the rest of my life to ameliorating their outcomes.
My job in Hiroshima will be to study and document the effects of the radiation exposure from the bomb blast on residents, their children, and eventually, their children’s children. For now, my specific focus is on instances of leukemia, although I am told there are plans underway to institute a life span study of some sort soon and that I might play a larger role once that is established.
Hiroshima seems a world away, and the assignment is daunting. I will have to come face-to-face every day with the destruction I wrought. I will have to live with the reality of that horror and interact with the very individuals whose lives I helped ruin. It seems a just punishment.
Besides, there is nothing for me here in the states. Mother and Dad continue to watch over me like a hawk, concerned for my well-being as I have lost so much weight. I cannot explain to them that my affliction is a hole in my heart that will never heal.
Mary has returned every letter I’ve sent, unopened. Most recently came the dagger to the heart, a letter from her imploring me never to contact her again. I must honor her wishes, even as doing so irreparably shatters my heart.
So, dearest diary, off to my exile I go. I wonder what Mary would think of my new endeavor and commitment to use my knowledge and education for good. And I weep with the knowledge that she’ll never know.
Ever faithfully yours, dearest diary.
Nora
“That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever read,” Brooke said.
“No kidding.” Diana scrolled through the photos on her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I forgot all about the second document Dean Montrose showed me in the archives.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Here it is.” She handed the phone to Brooke.
“Dr. Nora Lindstrom will oversee the team conducting the Life Span Study, and will have secondary responsibility for the F1 (Children of the A-Bomb Survivors) Study. She will report directly to the Advisory Committee of the Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission, or ABCC, in Washington, D.C.”
“Huh. So, she was right about the longevity study.”
“Yep. And she wasn’t just part of the team, she ran the team.”
“Good for you, Nora.” Brooke frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m trying to remember what it was Nora told me about why she came to work for Dana-Farber. I think somehow it’s connected to all of this.”
“While you puzzle through that, I’ll dig out the stack of personal correspondence.”
Brooke drummed her fingers on her thigh. Abruptly, she stopped. “I’ve got it.”
“Do tell.” Diana moved back to the couch with the stack of correspondence, tied neatly with faded yellow ribbon.
“Nora told me she came back because she lost a patient for whom she cared a great deal. She’d turned down Sid Farber’s offers of employment many times, but losing that patient was the last straw, so she returned to the states and came to Boston to work with Sid. That was in 1972, just before you were born.”
Diana nodded. “That makes sense. Do you suppose the patient she referred to was one of the bomb survivors?”
“Could be. Or one of their children or grandchildren.”
“It would explain why she was so driven to work on a cure for childhood leukemia.”
“Should we have a look at that?” Brooke pointed to the letters in Diana’s hand.
Carefully, Diana untied the ribbon. The letters cascaded onto the couch, and she picked up the one on top. “Oh.” She put a hand to her heart.
“What is it?”
“It’s addressed to Miss Mary Trask and marked ‘Return to Sender.’” She turned the envelope over. It was sealed shut.
“Oh, Nora.” Brooke put her arm around Diana. “That’s heartbreaking.”
When Diana looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “I can’t bring myself to open this.”
“I’m with you. That’s too private.” Brooke pointed to the rest of the letters. “Are they all like that?”
Diana sorted through the envelopes. “Every one of them except for this.” She held up an envelope that appeared as though at one time it might’ve been red. Now it was a pale pink.
Brooke slid the envelope out of Diana’s hands. “It’s addressed to Nora, but there’s no return address. It’s already open.”
Diana nodded and bit her lip. “Do you think we should read it?”
Brooke furrowed her brow. “Didn’t she reference a letter from Mary she received telling her to leave her alone?”
“She did. You think this is it?”
She shrugged. “That would make sense.”
“I’d feel like a heel reading it. Like it was a betrayal of her privacy.”
“I agree.” Brooke picked up one of the unopened letters and examined it more closely.
“What are you looking for?”
“I’m making note of the address.” She pursed her lips in thought. “These letters clearly reached Mary since she sent them back.”
“How do we know she was the one who sent them back?”
“Hmm. Good question. Let’s assume for argument’s sake that she did.”
“Okay.” Diana drew out the word. “Where are you going with this?”
Brooke took Diana’s hand and intertwined their fingers. “I want to do something for Nora—something she couldn’t do for herself.”
“Such as?”
“What if we could find Mary and get Nora closure?”
Diana’s eyes opened wide. “Track her down and go see her?”
Brooke sat up straighter. “If possible, yes. What if we could deliver those letters in person?”
“She was twenty-two in 1947, she’d be ninety-three years old now. And that’s assuming she’s still alive.”
“If she’s not, no harm, no foul. If she is, and there’s any chance she still has feelings for Nora as Nora clearly did for her…”
“It would give us a chance to give them both closure. We could tell her Aunt Nora loved her to the end. We could tell her how Aunt Nora’s life turned out—at least the parts of it that we know.” Diana sat back. Would Aunt Nora want this?
“These letters were sent to an address in Pennsylvania. That’s a start. We could use Google and Ancestry to try to find a Mary Trask in Pennsylvania. If she remained a lesbian, she might not have changed her last name.”
“You know this is like looking for a needle in a haystack, right?”
Brooke nodded. “What do you say?”
“What the heck. We’ve got nothing to lose but time.”
“Speaking of time, you do realize it’s 3:12 a.m., right? How about if we get some sleep?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Diana rose and took Brooke’s hand. “Your bedroom?” She led them down the hall.
“Yes. You know, as much as I hate to change anything so soon, I’m going to have to order a new bed for Nora’s room. Sleeping in her bed feels wrong, and my lease on the P-town house runs out at the end of the month.”
“We can go bed sh
opping tomorrow on the way to Cambridge after we pick up Aunt Nora’s ashes. I made an appointment to get them at one o’clock. They have the memorial cards and the funeral program ready too.”
“It’s hard to believe her funeral is the day after tomorrow.”
“I know.”
They arrived at the bedroom door, and Diana faced Brooke. “You’ll come with me to Oak Ridge to bury her ashes, won’t you?”
“Of course I will. Did you want to do that right away?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t figured all that out yet.”
“That’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”
“I like the sound of that.” Diana leaned forward and kissed Brooke. “I’m going to love the sound of my head hitting that pillow even more.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Diana stood in the foyer outside the Dana-Farber Chapel, shaking hands with people who knew Aunt Nora far better than she did. It was a surreal experience. If she said, “thank you for coming,” one more time, she thought she might shatter into a million pieces.
Most of the service was a blur, except for Brooke’s steady, loving presence by her side throughout. Daniel sat with them too, along with Charles and Emily Fitzgerald. Diana appreciated the company, as she’d uncharacteristically found herself missing her parents.
She wondered if word would filter to them of Aunt Nora’s death. Then she remembered that it was her grandfather and her parents’ lies that had led her to believe that Aunt Nora already was dead, and anger boiled up from within all over again.
“You look like you’re about to explode,” Brooke whispered in her ear.
“Sorry. I’m going to have to work on my poker face.”
“Want to get out of here?”
“Boy, do I. But do you think I should stay until everyone’s gone?” She nodded in the direction of the half-dozen or so people congregated several feet away.
“Nah. They’re busy talking to each other. I think you’ve done your duty. Daniel, Charles, and Emily would like to take us out to get something to eat. Are you up for that?”
“Sure.” She hadn’t been able to eat breakfast or lunch, but a meal sounded good now.
“We can walk to the restaurant from here.” Brooke looped her arm through Diana’s and they joined the group outside on the sidewalk.
“That was a really nice service, Diana. Nora would’ve been proud,” Charles said.
“Although she would’ve eschewed the platitudes,” Daniel countered.
“True. Nora never was one to stand on ceremony. I don’t think I ever met a humbler person.”
“Or a kinder one,” Emily added.
They arrived at the restaurant and settled around a table toward the back.
“I’m so glad you all could make it today. I know Aunt Nora thought the world of you.”
“We thought the world of her,” Daniel said. “Brooke tells me you’re transferring your grant to Harvard. I know Nora would be exceedingly pleased by that. Congratulations and welcome to Beantown.”
She felt her blush and nudged Brooke with an elbow. “You didn’t waste any time sharing the news, did you?”
“Daniel’s my best friend. I have no secrets from him.”
“Yes, congratulations, Diana, that’s fabulous news. You’ll be keeping the Cambridge house, then? Nora would be thrilled.” Charles unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap.
Diana glanced at Brooke. “Yes, we’ll be keeping both the Cambridge house and the cottage in Truro.”
Charles nodded. “Nora’s stroke of genius. When she instructed me to update her bequests and relayed her wishes, I asked if she was sure. She smiled that beatific smile of hers and said, ‘Mark my word, those girls’—her term, not mine—‘are going to have the happily ever after I never had.’ From the looks of it, I’d say she was right.”
She felt her blush deepen to the roots of her hair. “Aunt Nora told you that?”
“She did.”
“Did you know about…her?”
“You mean did I know she was a lesbian?” Charles asked. “I was her attorney for nearly forty years. I wrote more than one of her wills and created contracts and agreements of all sorts for her. Beyond that, she was my friend. Yes, I knew.”
The server took their orders and retreated to the kitchen.
“Since you three knew Nora so well,” Brooke started, “is there any chance she shared information with any of you about her time in Oak Ridge during World War II and anyone she might have been connected to back then?”
Daniel shook his head. “She didn’t like to talk about it.”
Charles chimed in, “She asked me once what would happen if she left a bequest to someone whose whereabouts she didn’t know. When I asked her when the last time was she might’ve had an address for said individual, she said 1947. That’s after the war, but I assume she knew the person during that timeframe.”
“Do you remember how long ago she asked you that?”
Charles drummed his fingers on the table. “Hmm. I remember that it was around the time I met Emily, so it must’ve been around 1982 or ’83.”
Diana gasped and all eyes turned to her. “I’m sorry. That was around the last time I saw Aunt Nora before my grandfather blackmailed her out of my life.” She glanced around the table. Apart from Brooke, Charles was the only person who didn’t seem shocked by that revelation. So, he had known.
“What did you tell Nora in answer to her question?” Brooke asked. “That would’ve been long before the internet and Google.”
“I told her that an executor would do his or her best to locate anyone named in a will, but that sometimes it simply wasn’t possible. It was a hypothetical question, though. She never asked or requested anything more explicit than that.”
“Why do you ask, Brooke? That’s a pretty specific question.” Emily passed Diana the basket of hot rolls and the butter.
“Diana and I have been following Nora’s wishes, reading through her papers. There’s a…person…who was of special importance to her. We’re thinking we’d like to locate her if we can.”
Emily leaned forward. “Can you tell us anything about this person? Maybe I can help. I dabble a lot in genealogy. Ancestry is my friend.”
“We have her name and a birthdate. We know she would be ninety-three if she’s still alive, and we think she lived in Pennsylvania around 1946-47.”
“That’s a really good start.” Emily rubbed her hands together. “Want some help?”
“Seriously?” Diana asked. She glanced to Brooke for confirmation before replying, “We’d love some.”
“Did you see that e-mail from Emily?” Brooke asked. She ran her fingers along the new sheets as she waited for Diana to finish getting ready for bed.
“No, what did it say?” Diana came in from the bathroom wearing nothing but a smile, and Brooke’s heart fluttered happily.
“What were we talking about?”
“Very funny.” Diana climbed under the sheets.
“You know, it’s our first night in the new bed. I think we ought to test it out, make sure it’s comfortable from all angles.”
“Is that right?” Diana rolled on top of Brooke.
“Mm-hmm.”
“What about Emily?”
“What about her?”
“You are so easily distracted.”
“That’s your fault.” Brooke trailed her fingers down Diana’s back. “Please tell me this isn’t a dream, and that I get to sleep with you like this for the rest of my life.”
“This isn’t a dream, and I promise I’ll always be with you.”
Diana claimed her mouth and then her body. Emily could wait.
“What was it you were trying to tell me about Emily last night?” Diana snagged the English muffin out of the toaster.
“You mean before you got me off track?”
“That was just as much your fault. You can’t look at me like that and expect me to do nothing.”
“Noted.�
� Brooke wrapped her arms around Diana from behind and nuzzled her neck. “I was going to tell you what Emily found out about Mary Trask.”
“She’s got something already? That was quick.”
“I e-mailed her Mary’s birthdate and a picture of the outside of the envelope from Nora’s last letter to her. She said she was able to do a search in Ancestry and found Mary in the 1930 and 1940 censuses. She also came across her senior-year high school yearbook picture from 1943.”
“Holy cow! That’s amazing. Did she send the picture?”
“She did.” Brooke leaned over and took a bite of Diana’s English muffin. “I might even share it with you if you’re nice to me.”
“I can be very nice.” Diana held the rest of the muffin out of Brooke’s reach. “You said the picture was from her high school yearbook in 1943?”
“I did.”
“That means Mary came to Oak Ridge directly after graduating high school. Boy, she was young!”
“Eighteen.”
“Let’s see it.”
Brooke ran to the bedroom and returned with her iPad. “I saved it to my photos.” She held it out for Diana to see.
“Gosh, she was pretty.”
“She sure was. I think Nora’s description of her as an angel was apt.”
“She had such delicate features.” Diana ran her fingertips along the contours of Mary’s face. “I can see why Aunt Nora fell for you, Mary Trask.”
Brooke took back the iPad and toggled to Emily’s e-mail. “According to Emily, in 1930 Mary was five and living with her mom and dad in Philadelphia. She sent a screen grab of the census report. It has an address for her family.”
“Wow. It’s amazing what you can find out there. You said the last census information was from 1940, ten years later?”
“Apparently, that’s the last one that’s available. She still was living with her parents in the same house on Larchwood Avenue.”
“Sounds like that was the family home.” Diana peered over Brooke’s shoulder. “Can you read the house number? That census taker had really crappy handwriting.”
“They should test their penmanship before they give them the job. The good news is the 1930 census taker had better penmanship.” Brooke scrolled back to the screen grab of the earlier census and held it where Diana could see it.