by Aitana Moore
April's ignorance and endless greed on one side and the Bergerons' puritan self-righteousness on the other: how much suffering had that meant for Lee?
"As soon as April saw that Mark had begun to love his daughter, she decided to hold out for as much as she could get,” Mrs. Bergeron said. “For three years, every time he went to get Lynette, April was waiting for money. He was already paying for her house, for her food, her clothes — but it wasn’t enough.
“Well, I'm glad she never got to ask for a paternity test. Mark died in a silly boat accident; it was really very silly, it should never have happened.” She took a moment to stare at the photo of a dark-haired man in his twenties that sat on a side table to her left. “April no longer had any claims on anyone, and I told her so. 'Come at me, and I'll go at you. I'll get child services to look at the way Lynette lives, and you'll probably be put in prison.' Which, let's face it, was the place for her. She had found another man, and she was happy to get rid of her child. I had to give her some money, of course — but I told her it was all she would get. And my granddaughter came here, to me and to my husband. Here!"
She twirled a finger in the air, commanding his admiration, but that wasn't enough. "Come with me," she said as she stood up with no effort, despite her age.
Neither did she display any difficulty as she climbed the staircase to the second floor, followed by James. She led him to a room halfway across the corridor. It was a girl's room, full of light, with a large four-poster bed and pale silk curtains. Mrs. Bergeron straightened a set of silver brushes on a vanity table near the window as she talked.
"This was Lynette's room. She couldn't even understand that it was all hers when she first arrived. And she wasn't slow, oh no, she was a very clever six-year-old. My husband passed away a year after that, and it was only Lynette and me. But I guarantee you, Mr. St. Bryce, that she had the best of the best of everything. Ask anyone in this house how she was treated."
James inspected a shelf that held toys and books. He asked, "Did you like her?"
Once again, his direct question startled Mrs. Bergeron, but she wasn't a liar. No, she wasn’t the sort to live the delusion that she had been a loving grandmother. She frowned as she thought about it and finally answered, "Sometimes. When she was more like Mark. I could see him in her, beyond her mother's looks."
"How was she like him?"
"She amused herself, like him. She wasn't a messy child, or at least I taught her not to be messy, and she learned. I let her go into his room, she liked to do that. There were his books there, his notebooks, his music." The old woman let out a short laugh. "Do you know, I once asked her why she liked to be in there, and she said: ‘I’m studying my own archeology.’ I thought that was quite brilliant for a girl her age."
A girl so clever she could discover things by herself, spending the day alone with her imagination and away from the care or affection of any adults, just as James had done at Deerholt.
"I remember there was a game I played with her," Mrs. Bergeron said as they descended toward the living room. "I had noticed that she would go through the house, and that she would stop the longest at the finest things. I would show her two similar objects and tell her to pick which one was the best. She would almost always get it right. I'd like to think that was Mark in her.” Her voice hardened as she added, “The only cheap thing he ever picked up was April Miller."
A crystal bottle with water and ice had appeared on the coffee table in their absence, but James shook his head when he was offered a glass. "Did you show her your jewels as well, by any chance?"
"Ah. Of course, you know she stole from me. Yes, Mr. Bryce, I showed her my jewels. I taught her to understand why a gem was good. I don't know if I encouraged her criminality — I think it was there already. And it was unnecessary of her to steal, because she would have inherited my things one day. But, you see, she was greedy. Furtive. Maybe it was in her genes."
"Is that why you let her go?"
"What do you mean?"
"When she was eleven her mother asked for her, and you let her go."
"I had no legal claim over Lynette, and I wasn't going to give the mother money, as she was asking. I wasn't going to play that game."
"Had Lee done something to make you angry?"
"No, I just—"
"You didn't love her," he insisted.
"I was not going to get in a custody battle with that woman."
"But surely you would have won. You must have access to excellent lawyers, unlike April."
Her eyes didn't waver, but they became frostier. "I wasn't going to do it. I wasn't going to have our name dragged in court, all the horror paraded, that creature talking of my son. But no one can say I didn't look out for Lynette. When she was sixteen and had meningitis, she would have died if it hadn't been for me. I stepped in once more to save her. I brought her here and gave her the best care — the top doctors, at the top hospital."
"And later she stole a ring from you."
"That was her thanks." Mrs. Bergeron nodded several times. "She invaded my home when I wasn't here, opened my safe and took my diamond ring."
"Nothing else?"
"No."
"Were the other jewels elsewhere?"
"What difference does it make? She stole, after all I did for her. I let a small amount of time pass for her to learn a lesson and withdrew the charges. She needed to see where a life of crime would lead." For a moment, she considered James, and then said what she had probably been waiting to say all along, "Mr. St. Bryce, the world has changed, but you know deep down that people shouldn't mix. It's always a bad idea. We have a different understanding of life, of everything than they do. We’re like oil and water. I'm sorry to be blunt, but it's the way it is. Listen to what I'm telling you — don't make decisions you'll regret forever."
Instead of acknowledging what she had said, James asked, "Have you ever heard of Rathlin Island, Mrs. Bergeron?"
"I don't think so."
"It's off the coast of Ireland. Queen Elizabeth sent one of my ancestors there with Sir Francis Drake to storm the stronghold of a Scottish rebel. After a fight, the castle surrendered. The St. Bryce who was there had to block the Scots from landing while the English forces murdered every person on the island."
Mrs. Bergeron lifted an eyebrow. "You're talking of a war that took place five hundred years ago."
"No, I'm talking of a massacre. They didn't just kill the soldiers, or the civilians in the castle. They went to the caves on the beach to find women and children who had hidden there and murder them. Six hundred Scots and Irish killed.”
"Your point being?"
"That in your family, in mine, or anyone's, you'll find people much worse than April Keane. We just cleaned up nicely."
"Thank you for the history lesson,” she said with a lofty stare. “But civility, manners, education impose themselves through time, and then they are carried mother to daughter, father to son. Sometimes, in their absence, grandmother to granddaughter. And this is what I tried to do for Lynette. One can reflect on one's mistakes; in her case, I didn't make any."
It was James' turn to nod. "Well, thank you again for receiving me."
He stood, and so did Mrs. Bergeron. As they moved to the front door, Lee's grandmother added, "You have the eyes of an intelligent man, but like my son you've fallen for looks over substance."
"I've met a lot of beautiful women in my life. It's not Lee’s looks I've fallen for."
With an impatient sigh, Mrs. Bergeron said, "I wish my advice could keep you from the fate my son suffered. Would you want to look at a daughter of yours and see her turning into Lynette?"
The notion surprised James for a second, then he said softly, “Olapa oibor inkera.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s a Maasai saying. Means that children are like the bright moon.”
Her lips twitched. “Meaning wonderful?”
“Meaning they bring joy. I didn’t use to think so, necessarily —
I used to think the world was no place for them. But now that you mention a little girl just like Lee, I’m looking forward to ensuring that she is happy from the day she is born.”
"Then you're besotted by a criminal," the old woman said curtly.
James stepped out and turned toward the old woman long enough to say, “She was worth more than the ring, you know. Much more.”
“Goodbye, Mr. St. Bryce.”
Mrs. Bergeron closed the door, and James got into his car. Still afraid of losing his temper, he drove slightly fast, but when he made a turn on the gravel path, Celia was standing under a tree. James stopped and rolled down the window. "Would you like a ride somewhere?"
"I want to talk to you real quick."
She glanced up to make sure they couldn't be seen, but she had chosen a good spot. They weren't visible to anyone in house. She climbed in and pulled the car door closed.
"It's about Miss Lynn—Miss Lynette. I heard Mrs. Bergeron talking to you. The worst of it, you know, is that she really believes all that horse manure. She believes she did the best by that child. Well, if giving a little girl everything that's material and no understanding or love, I guess she did."
"She does seem to like things more than people," James remarked dryly.
"Look, I've worked here a long time. Mrs. Bergeron taught me how every little detail should be; I learned, and she respects me. She pays me better than many other people would. But I just wanted you to know that Mrs. Bergeron gave Miss Lee that ring." Celia held up a finger. "She gave it to her. She showed that child the ring a million times, and when Miss Lee came back sick, she asked Mrs. Bergeron if she could wear it because it was pretty. And in front of my face Mrs. Bergeron told that girl, 'You can have it, because I don't want people to say I wouldn't give you a ring when you're about to die.' "
"She said die?”
"That was exactly what she said, to a girl who was afraid. She looks real strong-willed, Mrs. Bergeron, and she is — but she minds and minds what people say about her. In my book, though, you don't tell a child that she's about to die. You don't act like you're more worried about a ring!” Celia crossed her arms and shook her head. “If you ask me, Miss Lynn went from a bad mother to a worse grandmother. And when she came back to get the ring from the safe, it was because her grandmother had given it to her. She didn't die, so the ring was hers.”
James nodded quietly. “I’d agree.”
“Don’t mistake me, Miss Lynn had that wild streak — but I say good for her! If it wasn't for that streak, she might not have made it. And I don't know if Miss Lynn killed a man or not. What I know is that she didn't steal a ring. That's all."
Celia opened the door and got out, adding, “One of the first days I came to work here, I was out in the sun airing Mrs. Bergeron’s rugs, and Miss Lynn, little as she was, walked out of the house with this tall, cold glass of water on a china saucer. She walked over the whole lawn to me balancing that glass so she wouldn’t spill it. She told me, ‘You must be so thirsty!’ ” A tear shone in Celia’s eyes, and she wiped it away angrily. “And she was going to get told off by her grandmother for offering that glass, and even worse that saucer, to a servant — but I saw the heart in that little girl, and I never saw anything different. So, now, you tell Miss Lynn that I send her my big love, and that I know she’ll be all right. There has to be some justice in this world.”
She stepped back and slammed the door with passion.
Putting the car in drive, James saw the house appear in his rearview mirror and repressed the desire to set a big fire so he could watch an old witch burn.
TWENTY-FOUR
It was March, it was snowing — and Billy was dying.
He would be gone in a matter of days, the doctor said. If they took him to hospital he could last longer, and they would make him comfortable, but Billy had begged them to wait. No one wanted to go to the hospital, not even to die, and Maddy agreed that it was a cold, clinical end.
"They'll just be sticking tubes in him like he was a thing," she sobbed in the kitchen.
They had protected Billy for so long, and neither she nor Lee could believe he was about to leave them; but he had no more good days. His decline was gentle, and Lee was thankful for that. They gave him the morphine the doctor prescribed, and he lay watching the sky through the window.
"We've had the snowy owl here," he said. "Isn't that crazy?"
"The weather's gone mad."
"Yeah, it will probably be all sunny again next week, and then spring will really start."
Lee's vision became blurry at the thought that he wouldn't see it.
"Do you remember Corolla?" he suddenly asked.
How could she forget? It was where they had gotten married, after taking several buses from Greensboro to the coast. They had spent their honeymoon at the seaside because Billy wanted to see the wild Spanish mustangs that ran free there. Once they reached the beach, they had chosen a spot and sat eating sandwiches, which was all they could afford. Billy had begun to think the horses wouldn't appear — but a group of them had run down the dunes and past them on the shore.
"They were the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Lee, I know you don't believe in another life, but I do. I kind of have to. Do you think you can you leave my ashes there, on that beach?"
Lee tried hard not to cry. Billy wouldn’t like it. "Of course."
"Even if there isn't another life, I'll be recycled, right?"
He laughed, and she laughed with him, but hid her face on his shoulder.
As the week passed, he became sicker. Again he spoke of Scott, although he hadn't done so in a while. "Will you go see the Hoffmans, Lee? Will you tell them I'm sorry?"
"But what are you sorry for, Billy? You didn't do anything to Scott."
He swallowed with great difficulty. "I kept quiet. I think I should have said something, but Caleb told me it would make everything worse." Closing his eyes, he was quiet as he fought for breath. "They don't know about the money."
"What money, Billy?"
"Scott's money."
She was confused. "You want the Hoffmans to know that Scott had money?"
He squeezed her hand with surprising strength. "No, it's bad money. Caleb shouldn't keep it, he should burn it."
"Caleb?"
"Tell Caleb to burn it."
She never found out what he meant. That night, Lee was jolted awake by the branch of a tree tapping the window. The moon was too bright, almost like a spotlight, and created sharp shadows in the room. She got up to close the curtains and turn on the small lamp. When she crawled into bed again, she took Billy's hand; it was stiff and cold, and she knew that he was gone.
Lee didn't call Maddy or Ross, because there was nothing they could do. She lay with her head on Billy's shoulder and waited for dawn. Her friend was gone: the little boy who had loved her after her father and before Cora. The little boy she had loved.
Her friend was gone.
At six o'clock she knocked on the door of the master bedroom, and as soon as she opened it, Maddy began to wail. Ross put his arms around his wife and rocked her for a moment, but Maddy wanted to see Billy. She went to him in her pajamas, her hair disheveled.
"I talked like he was trouble to me," Maddy said. "I didn't mean it."
Ross stood at the door, wiping red eyes, and couldn't speak.
There had been a day and then another — and in between them, death had come. A death always demanded action, and they moved a little aimlessly at first: Lee made coffee, Maddy stayed by Billy, Ross made calls. They wondered what to wear before people got there to take the body.
The funeral home came, because Ross had arranged everything a while ago. They only had to be warned.
Lee didn't cry until Billy was on the gurney and they covered him. “No, no, no, don't cover his face!”
Ross patted her shoulder, but a pain both hollow and keen filled her stomach.
They had to go to the funeral home to decide things. They could only cre
mate him two days later. In the meantime, Lee felt cold in her bed and thought of Billy, cold in a fridge.
Caleb went by to say he was sorry, and he was sad. Lee remembered what Billy had said about him and money, but her mind was bruised; she didn't want to think of it. There was something soothing about Caleb sitting with her, Maddy and Ross. They had all known each other for so long.
A few days later, when they got the urn with the ashes, they talked about holding a service. People would want to say their goodbyes.
Maddy said that she was putting Billy's urn in a niche at the local cemetery. They would close it up in the wall with a plaque that bore his name. Lee had to tell her about Billy's request.
"That's totally out of the question!" Maddy said fiercely.
"He asked me, Maddy. He said it was the happiest moment of his life."
"You're inventing stuff, Lee!"
"Why would I invent that?"
"You just want something crazy, like you always do. You always have ideas, always something else. We're not driving to Corolla, that's just the fancy stuff you come up with!"
"Maddy, I wouldn't invent anything, he asked me. He said he was happy there."
"Why, because he was marrying you? Marrying the woman who abandoned him? You think you're so special. This isn't about you, Lee!"
Ross shook his head at Lee, asking her to leave it alone, and held Maddy.
"And you can go now and be free," Maddy said. "You can go to the English guy now."
"Maddy, sweetheart, that's not fair," Ross said.
"I don't want to be fair," Maddy screamed as she stood up, pushing her chair aside to run out.
"I'm sorry, Lee.” Ross sighed. “She cares for you, she really does. She doesn't mean it."
He went after his wife, and Lee stayed alone at the table. It was a hard thing for a sister to lose her little brother, and Maddy was suffering — but Lee had made a promise. It wasn't about what Maddy wanted either, it was about Billy.