Heartwood

by Belva Plain

  Instead she felt lighter. Because she realized that nothing important had changed. Joseph Friedman had been her father and she still loved him with all her heart. She still had the same history, the same family, the same heartaches and joys. None of it had been taken away from her. All that had happened was, the doubts and suspicions that had haunted her since she was a child had been validated. She had been validated. And she finally understood her mother.

  She thought of the girl Leah had described, the beautiful, smart maid who was so curious and eager for life. That girl had been so young—little more than a child—when she’d fallen in love with a rich boy she couldn’t have. But the child had made a life for herself anyway. She’d made her choices, and she’d lived the consequences of those choices without complaint. Brave child. Brave woman. My mother.

  I’m so glad I found out now and not earlier. Everyone was right, there was a time when this would have devastated me. But now, I’m just grateful to know. Now, at last I can empathize. Empathy is the secret of survival. Because life is not fair and love is almost impossible unless you can put yourself in another’s shoes.

  As she thought these things, suddenly Iris knew her time of waiting was over. She knew now who the new Iris Stern was and how she would live. The portrait was where she’d left it, leaning against the couch. She rewrapped it and took it back to the cellar, down to the filing cabinets full of Theo’s old medical records. She placed it there, sandwiched between two of the cabinets so it wouldn’t get warped. She couldn’t hang it anywhere in the house, but she didn’t want to destroy it either. This seemed to be a safe place for it.

  Having disposed of the portrait she went up to her bedroom. She walked to the closet, and looked at the clothes hanging on Theo’s side. She opened his bureau drawers and looked in them too. Then she began emptying them. She pulled the shirts out gently, marveling at the silky cotton her husband had so loved, running her fingers over the monograms, which had always seemed a little vain to her but they had pleased him so. Oh he had been a peacock in his way, her Theo.

  She took blazers and suits and ties and sweaters and pants off racks and shelves and hangers. She breathed in the scent of their owner, and then she packed the clothes in boxes—some for her sons, some for dear friends, the rest for a homeless shelter Theo had supported. She had thought once that she would need help in making these decisions, and perhaps the old Iris would have. The new Iris did not hesitate as she put a cashmere vest in a box for Phil and a blazer in another box for Jimmy.

  She opened a drawer and found cuff links and tie clips and wristwatches—Theo hadn’t been a man to wear jewelry, so there were only a few pieces, but they were all made of eighteen karat gold. These treasures she would not give out right away. She would wrap them as gifts and over the years she would hand them out on special occasions, thereby keeping Theo’s memory alive, and giving herself pleasure.

  The bed was covered with the boxes she had filled. She would have to move them to the floor so she could sleep tonight. In the morning she would tell the recipients the boxes were coming and send them on their way. But now as she looked at the bed, she said out loud what she had been thinking for the past hours.

  “I forgive you, Theo. I thought I had before this, my darling, but I hadn’t. Not truly. People love, and they betray love, and then they love again. No one understands love and only a fool would claim to. All we can do is accept each other as we are. And forgive each other.”

  –—

  It was lunchtime, and she was very hungry. She made herself a sandwich with some cheese she found in the refrigerator and ate it quickly, because her day’s work wasn’t done yet. There was a wrong she needed to make right. She had to do it for her mother’s memory. She had to do it because she was a mother herself.

  Anna had loved a man for almost sixty years and had never known the simple happiness of going to sleep in his arms at night and waking up next to him in the morning. She’d had a few desperate moments of joy, and many more of guilt and regret. Perhaps that had been the only way for her, coming from the time and place she did. But the world had grown gentler since then. For the second time in as many weeks, Iris called Manhattan information, and then drove into the city.

  –—

  The photographer’s studio—Nicolas Sargent was his name—was in a trendy part of town, on the West Side. Iris took her chances that he might be there and he was. He recognized her as soon as he opened the door. And he was shocked.

  “Mrs. Stern! What …” Then shock gave way to fear. “Laura! My God, is she all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Iris said. “Physically, she is. But she’s miserable.”

  The fear vanished. She watched his eyes—they were greenish-blue and quite expressive—go blank. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can.”

  “She told me she didn’t want to see me again. We’re finished.”

  “She didn’t know what she wanted. She’d just lost her father and then her husband died. On top of all that she felt guilty because she’d wanted a divorce. There was no way she could think clearly.”

  Hope sprang in his eyes and the life came back into them. They really were very expressive. “Are you saying she’s changed her mind?”

  “I’m saying that next Friday morning she’ll be appearing on that show, Good Day USA. When she’s going to do one of her segments, she hires a sitter for Katie and comes into the city the night before. The show puts her up in the Hotel Mayfair. It’s next door to the studio, on 66th Street. She usually checks in at about five in the afternoon, so you can probably find her in her room by five-thirty.”

  “Mrs. Stern, Laura told me she didn’t want to see me again.”

  “So? Are you going to let her get away with that? Your generation is so strange. I can’t imagine my husband allowing me to push him aside like that.”

  “Excuse me, I’m not allowing her to do anything. I am simply respecting her wishes.”

  “Oh right. Because you are both equals and sweeping her off her feet would not be politically correct. Forgive me for saying so, but that sounds as romantic as a tub of wet laundry. I know it’s not fashionable today but there was something to be said for the man who took charge. And for the man who did what he felt and not what he thought.”

  The green-blue eyes were sparkling with laughter now. He had a sense of humor. Good, he was going to need one.

  “You think I’m being too cerebral, do you? I should try the caveman approach?”

  “I would have said Prince Charming, but that’s my generation’s fantasy. However, you seem like a resourceful young man, so I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Remember, Laura comes into town next Thursday night.”

  –—

  Next, she drove out of the city, past her own exit on the highway. She kept going until she had reached the old Victorian house that had become so well known to the readers of Laura McAllister’s book on the do-it-yourself wedding.

  “Mom!” Laura said. It was the second time that day that someone had been shocked to see her. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I know. But I have something to say to you.”

  So they sat in Laura’s kitchen and wrapped their hands around thick mugs of the excellent coffee her daughter had made. Her perfect daughter who always did everything so well. Laura had a look Iris remembered. It was the one she’d seen in the mirror when she and Theo were estranged. Of course, there was a difference—Iris had let herself go during those times, neglecting her clothes and sometimes even basic grooming. Laura was far more disciplined. Her shiny hair was brushed and tied off her face with a ribbon, her makeup was in place and she was wearing one of her signature brightly colored coveralls. But her eyes were the giveaway. The light that had always glowed in them had been extinguished. She looked weary and pale beneath the carefully applied cosmetics. Iris remembered what Leah Sherman had said about the beautiful young girl who had fallen in love with Paul Wern
er.

  “There’s something I want you to see,” Iris said. And from the side pocket of her purse she drew out a letter. The envelope was worn, and it had never been sealed. There was a name on the front. Iris had been written in old-fashioned spidery script.

  “Your grandmother left this for me to find after she died,” Iris said, and she handed the letter to Laura, who opened it silently and started to read. As Iris knew, the first page of the letter was tender but it was not that important, Anna had simply written it to express her care and devotion for her daughter and grandchildren. It was the last paragraph of the second page that Iris had read so many times she’d memorized it.

  Loving is all there is, her mother had written, when you look back and count up. Treasure it, for God’s sake, because it’s all there is. Everyone isn’t lucky enough to take it when it’s offered or to hold on to it when one has it. Things get in the way, circumstances that can’t be helped, or sometimes our pride and resentments, our absorption in self or a mistaken sense of duty. Dear Iris, don’t let that happen.

  Laura finished reading and looked up at Iris. “Why did you give me this?”

  “Because it could have been written to you. But I’d add one thing. Guilt can get in the way too if you let it. If you wallow in it.”

  “I have reason to feel guilty. I’ve made some big mistakes.”

  “As long as we’re alive we’re all going to make them. It’s about the only guarantee we get. I know I’ve made some that were terrible. I wanted things from you that weren’t fair to ask. I forgot what’s important. You’re a beautiful woman, Laura, you’re strong and honorable. You have a right to be loved. That’s what your grandmother was saying to me, and that’s what I’m saying to you.”

  That was when her daughter started to cry. “Sometimes it’s too late, Mom,” she said.

  “And sometimes it’s not. Now, I want you to do two things: keep that letter and never forget what it says … and next Thursday night when you hear a knock on your door at the hotel … open it.”

  –—

  After her mother was gone, Laura looked down at her grandmother’s handwriting on the well-worn pages she was still holding. For so much of her life she’d thought Nana was the perfect wife, and the pleasant, tranquil relationship she’d seen in her grandparents’ home was the only kind of marriage worth having. Nana was so content, she never seemed to be depressed or angry. I thought she had all the answers, I wanted to be just like her. But this letter … Laura looked down again at the last paragraph. Every sentence is full of regret. The paper almost aches with it. Cheerful, cool Nana regretted … what? A passion she never had … or did she have it and lose it? Or am I reading all of that into her words because now I know I don’t want to be like her anymore.

  I want passion. I want a love that touches my mind and body and soul. My parents had it at their best, but they could be destructive too. Now I know it doesn’t have to be like that. I can have my own way of loving and it will grow and change as I do. I can find a man I can laugh with, my lover can be my best friend. I don’t have to be my mother. And I don’t have to be Nana. Not anymore. It’s my turn now.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  The rich buttery smell of roasting chicken was in the air. The cup for Elijah was in the center of the table, the matzo was under the embroidered cover that had been newly purchased for this day. The china on the table was new too, as was the Seder plate. Janet had offered to lend Iris one, but Iris had wanted her own. What was the point of having your very first Seder in your own home if you weren’t going to use your own Seder plate?

  “Grandma, isn’t the gefilte fish supposed to hold together?” Katie called from the kitchen. Katie had been staying with Iris for two days to assist with the cooking of tonight’s feast. She’d volunteered for the job, saying, “You’ve never done this before, Grandma, and neither have I, so we won’t feel bad when we mess up something. If we had Mom around, she’s so good at all of that cooking stuff, we’d be scared to try things.” Besides, Laura hadn’t volunteered to help.

  And as it turned out, Katie had been right, she was the perfect assistant for Iris, because she had as little natural aptitude for “that cooking stuff” as Iris did. So they’d giggled at themselves for two days as they baked and boiled and fried and sautéed.

  “I think maybe doing domestic things well skips a generation, Grandma,” Katie had sighed after they’d both forgotten to take the hard-boiled eggs off the burner, and the water had cooked down to nothing in the pot. “You and I are kind of alike.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Iris said with a grin. “I wish you’d inherited one of my other traits.”

  “I’m just going to have to be very good at something else, because I don’t think I’m going to get much better at cooking.”

  She is like me, Iris thought. And that made her smile. She has an unusual mind, and so did I. But she’s not afraid like I was. She has a remarkable mother.

  Iris hurried into the kitchen to check on the gefilte fish, which indeed had disintegrated into a disgusting-looking mass. “All right, one less course to serve,” she said as she threw it into the garbage. “Thank God for the chicken. I think we did well with that, at least.”

  “And the potatoes,” Katie added. “We are excellent at roasting potatoes.”

  And if the rest of the dishes turned out to be a disaster when the family sat down at the table, Iris had the name of a deli on hand and she was ready to order in. She was making her own traditions today.

  She pulled the chicken out of the oven, and found a place for it on the countertop laden with food. She looked around the kitchen happily. This was what she’d been wanting for years. She’d cleaned the house until it sparkled, she’d run around the grocery store picking up all the special holiday foods and she’d been cooking steadily for the last two days. Now, at last, everything was ready.

  I’m going to have the Seder in our house, Theo. I’m very happy about it.

  “We should go upstairs and change our clothes, Katie. Do you want to run over the questions first?” As the youngest child present, Katie would be asking the four questions that night.

  “No, thanks. I know them by heart.”

  –—

  Katie was using Laura’s old room, but after a few seconds she knocked on Iris’s door.

  “Could you help me with my buttons, Grandma?” she asked. She was wearing a rose-colored dress with a lacy jacket that buttoned at the neck. It was a little old-fashioned—not enough to be dowdy, but it was unique. Like the small person wearing it. It had been chosen by a mother with an unerring eye.

  Iris tended to the buttons. “There you go,” she said. But Katie didn’t move. There was a troubled look on her face. Clearly, she hadn’t come in just because she wanted help fastening her jacket.

  “Is something wrong, sweetheart?” Iris asked. “You can tell me anything.”

  “Yes, I know. But this is a little hard.” The troubled look intensified.

  Dear God, what can it be?

  “Don’t be afraid, Katie. It’s always better to say it.”

  Katie nodded, then she blurted out what was bothering her. “When I heard that Daddy had died, I felt bad, Grandma. And I still miss him every day.”

  “Of course you do, sweetheart.”

  “But at the same time, I was so glad we weren’t going to have to move to Ohio! That was one of the first things I thought about.”

  “That’s natural. You didn’t want to leave your home and your friends. Just because you thought of it at that moment, that doesn’t mean you didn’t love your father. Or that you wouldn’t have brought him back if you could.”

  Katie thought about that for a moment. “Yes, I would have moved to Ohio if it would have brought him back. But I like it here. I like being a part of days like today.”

  Iris leaned down to hug her. In a few years Katie would have her own life and she might not want to be a part of a day like today. But now … now her grandmother
could still hug her. “I’ll tell you a secret,” Iris whispered into Katie’s ear. “I was glad for a second when I heard that you weren’t going to Ohio too.”

  “I’ll be spending a lot of my vacations with Grandmother Mac in Blair’s Falls, though. I already went there for half of last summer. Mom says she doesn’t ever want me to lose touch with my father’s family.”

  “Your mother is a good person.”

  “Yes, I think I’m very lucky.”

  –—

  When they had finished changing into their party clothes, they went back downstairs.

  “This feels funny,” Katie said. “There’s nothing left to do until everyone gets here.”

  “Everyone” meant the family, of course. Jimmy and Janet would be coming with Rebecca Ruth. Jimmy would sit at the head of the table and act as leader. Iris could have done it herself, but she felt shy about it. Phil would be bringing his client Mai Ling, who was as lovely as she was talented. Iris had hoped that something more than friendship might start blooming there but so far her son hadn’t lost his heart. However, he was a happy man these days because he loved his work. Being a business manager to several of the more exciting young classical musicians on the scene suited him perfectly. Steve and Christina would be coming up from Washington, and they had told her they had an announcement to make. Iris was almost positive she was going to be a grandmother again.

  “I’m getting a little nervous,” Katie whispered.

  “Me too,” said Iris.

  “Maybe we should check the soup again.”

  But the doorbell rang. “This is it!” Iris said to Katie, and she moved quickly to open the door.

  “Zissen Pesach, Mom,” Laura said. “Happy Passover.”

  “Zissen Pesach, darling.”

  Laura stepped inside and looked around. Iris followed her gaze from the vases of fresh flowers to the sofa, which had been reupholstered in honor of the day. The air was as fragrant with cooking smells as Iris’s mother’s kitchen had been. Laura’s eyes sparkled—it could have been tears or happiness or both. “Dad would be proud of you, Mom.”