by Susan Wiggs
Just the mention of him set Isabel’s teeth on edge. Her grandfather claimed he didn’t want to leave this world with regrets still on the table. Well, neither did she. And she didn’t want to wait until she was eighty to unburden herself.
She refused to let herself be dragged down by her own painful history and her failure to speak out against Calvin Sharpe. Everyone had a past, she reminded herself. Everyone had pain. But not everyone had to stay hidden behind it.
She joined Tess’s friends on the patio. They were getting together to head over to Dominic’s vineyards and estate winery. His sister, Gina, would be hosting the bridal shower at the winery, and the women were armed with gift bags and boxes festooned with brightly colored tissue paper and ribbon.
The girlfriends from Tess’s former life in the art world of San Francisco embraced the charms of Bella Vista. The women were chatting and fawning over Charlie, who shamelessly basked in the attention. The cats were more tentative, but Suzanne and Kelly had a way with them, even with Lilac, the shy one. Lilac, as usual, stayed busy keeping Chips away from the fountain.
“Okay, I take back everything I said about Tess moving away from the city,” said Lydia. “It’s so beautiful here, it makes my eyes hurt.”
“In a good way, I hope,” said Neelie.
“Tess was telling us about the cooking school,” Lydia said. “And I have just one question— Where do I sign up?”
Isabel grinned. “A week after the wedding, our website is going live.”
“Where is the bride-of-the-moment, anyway?” asked Lydia.
“Finishing up her dance lesson. We weren’t allowed to watch,” said Oksana.
“I’ll go get her,” said Isabel.
Tess and Dominic were learning a special wedding tango to perform as their first dance at the reception. Isabel headed out to the timber-and-stone building that had been converted into the ballroom and banquet hall for events. It looked beautiful even before the florist did her magic. Tess’s former job with an international auction house had come into play as they styled the space. She had managed to hunt down unique treasures to make the place special. Vintage chandeliers and coaching lanterns with crystal chimneys, Irish lace and antique furniture added a touch of elegance, juxtaposed against the old stone floor and exposed beams.
Look what we created, thought Isabel, feeling a wave of pride and happiness. The light, airy space would soon be filled with friends and family on a joyous occasion, and that was only the beginning.
For the dancing practice, the tables and chairs had been moved to the periphery of the room. The final strains of “Por Una Cabeza” drifted from the stereo as they executed their final move, a glide, followed by a breathless pause and then a classic pose, with Tess draped over her bridegroom’s strong arm. The tall, dark bridegroom towered protectively over his bride, willowy and pale in his embrace. It made a beautiful picture even before the two of them were dressed in their wedding finery.
Standing unseen in the doorway, Isabel felt the burn of an unexpected lump in her throat. She was truly happy for her sister. In Dominic’s arms, Tess had been transformed from a tense, even angry woman into a lovely bride whose heart was blossoming like a summer rose. Yet for Isabel it was bittersweet, because Tess’s newfound happiness held up a mirror, forcing Isabel to take a good, hard look at her own loneliness.
The strains of the tango music faded, and a soft, dry clapping of hands ensued. “Bravo, you two,” said the dance teacher in her lilting accent. “Good job. You are going to be spectacular.”
Isabel joined in the clapping as she walked into the room. “I didn’t peek,” she said, “but I trust your teacher.” She looked at the instructor. “When Tess told me you had a career as a teacher, I didn’t realize it was ballroom dancing.”
As the next track started to play on the stereo, Annelise Winther turned down the volume. “And I never dreamed I would have the pleasure of teaching the tango to my granddaughter and her bridegroom,” she said. “The ballroom dancing was a sideline for me,” she added. “During the day, I taught art to children in San Francisco.”
Isabel went over and gave her a hug. Annelise was still sturdy despite her years. “I’m glad you’re back for a visit,” Isabel said, though she still felt a hint of awkwardness around Annelise. Both women were still adjusting to the idea of their family connection. “Did you sleep all right?”
“Indeed I did,” Annelise said, beaming. “You’ve transformed Bella Vista into a place of dreams, Isabel. The refurbished rooms are absolutely beautiful.”
“Thank you. It’s a labor of love.”
“Yes, I can tell. I’m excited for you. It’s wonderful to picture all the events you’ll host here, all the memories that will be made.”
Dominic leaned down and kissed Annelise’s cheek. “Thanks for sorting out my two left feet. I’d better go. I heard a rumor that a half dozen gorgeous ladies are coming to the winery for lunch.”
“And bringing presents,” Tess said. “Do you know how much I love presents? I made a rule that I didn’t want anything practical.”
“I’ll brace myself,” he said.
After Dominic had left, Annelise looked pensive, then went and got something out of her tapestry bag. “I wanted to give this to you without a crowd around, because it’s very personal,” she said, holding out a simple, long white case. “It will be the ‘something old’ you wear on your wedding day.”
Tess’s face turned pale as she took the box from her. “You tried to give this to me once before, and I couldn’t take it.”
“I’m trying again.” Annelise gave her a soft smile. “Now you have a good reason to accept it.”
“For heaven’s sake, Tess, what is it?” Isabel crowded in close to see.
Tess opened the box and reverently took out a lovely antique necklace with a pink stone pendant. “It’s a lavaliere that belonged to Annelise’s mother in Denmark,” she said. “Our great grandmother.”
“It’s beautiful.” Isabel turned to Annelise. “What a lovely gesture.”
“Tess recovered it only last year, and she brought it to me. In fact, this necklace is the reason we’ve all been reunited. It’s funny, isn’t it, how one small turn of events can set us on a new path,” Annelise said. “If I hadn’t seen Tess on that History Channel episode about stolen Nazi treasures, we would not be together now. This was my mother’s favorite, a gift my father brought from his travels in Russia during Romanov times. I tried to give her the lavaliere once, but she wouldn’t take it.”
“She will now,” Isabel stated. She turned to Tess. “You will, and no arguing. It looks so bride-ish. Or bridelike. Whatever.”
“We won’t take no for an answer,” said Annelise.
Tess nodded. She seemed to be having trouble speaking. “I will, and I can’t thank you enough. But on one condition.”
“What is that?” asked Annelise.
“Isabel has to wear it on her wedding day, too.”
Isabel flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Swear,” said Tess. “For god’s sake, it’s a genuine Fabergé. I authenticated it myself.”
“Fine, I swear, but it’s premature to talk about my wedding day when I’m not even dating anyone.”
“That’s very silly,” said Annelise. “A pretty girl like you should be enjoying the company of suitors.”
“We could say the same of you,” Tess pointed out. “Why didn’t you ever get married?”
Annelise pursed her lips, and a darkness shifted into her eyes as though she’d just stepped under a cloud. “That is a story for another time.”
As if sensing she’d trod on delicate ground, Tess said, “The lavaliere is precious to us all, and I’d be honored to wear it on my wedding day. Could I try it on?”
“Of course.”
Isabel
helped her fasten it. The gorgeous, ornate pendant lay upon her throat, a perfect match for her Irish redhead coloring. “It’s wonderful,” she told Tess.
“My mother always loved the color pink,” said Annelise. “She wore this often, and I used to love the way the stone seemed to absorb the warmth of her skin.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Tess gently touched the cabochon stone.
“Say you’ll wear pale pink nail polish to match.”
Tess laughed. “Done. Let’s go show the girls.”
Her sister’s joy swept Isabel’s melancholy away. In this moment, there was no room for anything in her heart but hope and happiness. Weddings had a way of doing that to a person.
* * *
The weekend was filled with silly games, gossip, copious amounts of food and drink, and plenty of laughter. Annelise and Jamie Westfall had taken a liking to each other, and even the two of them joined in the fun. The single bridesmaids fawned over Mac, no surprise given his looks and affable personality. Yes, despite his gruffness with Isabel, he did know how to turn on the charm.
“You look like something that should be jumping out of the cake, not serving it,” said Neelie, accepting a thick slice of Italian cream cake from him after dinner.
“Tempting,” he said with a grin. “I’ve been thinking about a career change.”
“I work in HR at Sheffield Auction House,” said Oksana. “You should send me your resume.”
Isabel tried to seem amused by the flirting. Instead, she found it irritating.
“The invitations came today,” Tess said. “Wait until you see.”
The women gathered around a fancy box filled with paper goods. At the top of each invitation was a stylized logo of a traditional bee skep.
“‘The Beekeeper’s Ball,’” said Jamie, studying one of the letter pressed cards.
“I didn’t want the traditional wording, you know?” Tess explained. “Mr. And Mrs. So-and-So request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter, blah, blah, blah... It doesn’t apply in our case. Dominic and I came up with the Beekeeper’s Ball because everything we’re serving has honey in it.”
Jamie offered a tentative smile. “That’s really cool.”
“You’re invited, you know,” Tess added, handing her a card. “Everyone at Bella Vista is, of course.”
“Oh.” The girl looked a bit flustered. “I’m not...I don’t—”
“Just say yes,” Lydia advised her. “Tess is super bossy. She won’t take no for an answer.”
“True,” said Tess. “And I’d love it if you brought your guitar.”
The night ended with Jamie performing a few songs. She really had a lovely voice, soulful and sincere, and she played guitar with simple clarity. The next day the bridesmaids headed back to the city, and Tess was the proud owner of quirky gifts—an absinthe spoon, an aebleskiver pan, silk and lace underthings, a pizza stone, asparagus tongs and several honey wands.
Annelise stayed on at Bella Vista. She and Magnus spent quiet hours together, taking slow walks in the gardens, browsing through the farmer’s market in the town square of Archangel, sipping coffee or playing bocce ball in the small city park. She had agreed to contribute to the book Mac was working on, and both Isabel and Tess were eager to hear her input. She was part of Grandfather’s story, but more importantly, she was family.
Isabel was not about to judge either her or Grandfather for what had happened. Still, she did want to understand.
They all got together one evening as Tess was closing up Things Remembered, the antiques shop she had founded after moving to Archangel. The shop was situated in a vintage building at the junction where Bella Vista Drive joined the main road leading to town. Years ago, Eva Johansen had run a farm stand on the shady corner. Now refurbished and painted bright white, it had the feel of an old-time general store, but it had an exquisitely modern flair, thanks to Tess. Tourists and locals could stop and browse through the treasures, or pick up fresh produce from Bella Vista and the surrounding farms.
In one corner of the shop, there was a seating area by an old iron stove. Nearby was a special collection housed in vintage glass cases marked Not for sale. For display only. The exhibit featured a collection of old papers and artifacts Tess had found over the past year while sorting through Magnus’s affairs. Most of the objects were related to farming and country life in the past century, old photos and mementos of Bella Vista, and some even went back to Magnus’s war years and his Danish boyhood.
“Wow, looks like a gold mine,” said Mac, checking out the lighted display.
“I’d forgotten about most of these old things, but we now have a wonderful curator.” Magnus beamed at Tess.
“Thanks,” said Tess, finishing up the day’s till at her desk. “It’s still a work in progress. The local historical society is helping. Eventually it will become a community project. I’m hoping one day to give the exhibit its own space next to the shop.”
“Magnus told me about this,” said Annelise. “I’ve brought you a number of items to donate to the collection.”
Isabel set down a tray with a Belleek china teapot and a batch of buttery madeleines she’d baked that afternoon. She had a cut crystal decanter of vintage sherry as well, and tiny colored glass goblets.
“There’s something I want to tell you,” Magnus said. “When I told Annelise that Mr. O’Neill is writing my story, I gave her the option to kill the project.”
The two of them shared a long look. Isabel could only imagine the memories that passed between them in those drawn-out seconds. Magnus held his goblet up to the light, then took a sip. Annelise folded her hands in her lap. “I will tell you what I told Magnus. I would never stand in the way of someone telling the truth about his life.”
He patted her hand. “You are part of the story. I shouldn’t like to force this on you.”
A succession of emotions shone in her face. Isabel could practically feel the old woman hovering on the edge of a decision. Mac waited, unmoving.
Annelise reached forward and took a glass of sherry. She drank it all in one gulp. Finally, she said, “Of course you must pursue this.” Turning to Mac, she added, “You understand, I assume, that my own contribution will not be easy for any of you to hear, nor will the telling be easy for me. But the past matters greatly, and I want to help if I can.”
“Ma’am, if you prefer, I won’t include any references to you in the book.”
“I appreciate that.” She said something to Grandfather in Danish in a rapid murmur.
Isabel caught his reply: “Jeg har ingen anelse.” I have no idea.
The old lady set her glass back on the tray. She held herself stiff and straight with the posture of a much younger woman. “My story and the story of Magnus are intertwined. If you tell one without the other, it would not be complete.”
“I understand,” said Mac. “But your participation is entirely optional. If you’d like to take some time to think about it—”
“I have already done so,” she said quickly. “The things that happened...they are important. I’m glad you’re doing this.” Her gaze softened as she looked around at her listeners.
“He will write the story with honesty and respect,” Magnus said, his voice sharp and clear, somewhat commanding. “Won’t you, Cormac?”
“You have my word,” said Mac. He was being very low key, yet Isabel got the sense that he was not missing a single nuance of the oddly tense conversation.
“Mac’s a wonderful writer,” Tess said. She closed the old brass register and helped herself to a madeleine. Then she touched Annelise’s shoulder. “You’re very important to our family.”
Annelise nodded and patted Tess’s hand.
“More than you know,” Magnus murmured.
The silence was weighted by unanswe
red questions. The deep connection between Grandfather and Annelise was almost palpable. How had their lives become so entwined? How had a secret passion turned into infidelity, and then back to love again? How did they live with the past they carried in their hearts?
Magnus stood and used a tarnished key to open the display cases. He took something out and turned it over in his hands. “The handle of this pocketknife is made of ivory. The illustration was done by my grandfather. Etching was a hobby of his.” He held it out for everyone to see. The yellowed ivory had a delicate folk art design of bears on both sides. “I carried it with me all the way from Denmark, and it was lost for a number of years. The girls found it in Erik’s room.”
“I remember that knife,” Annelise said. “You carved puzzle boxes with it when we were at sea, on our way to America.”
“You came to America together?” Tess’s eyebrows shot up.
“We came with a number of people,” said Annelise. “We sailed aboard a Norwegian ship called the SS Stavangerfjord, packed full of people needing to make a new start. It had been taken over by the German authorities as a troopship during the war, but returned to the Norwegian America Line soon afterward.”
“I had no idea you came together,” said Isabel, watching her grandfather’s face. He smiled briefly, then took a seat next to Annelise.
“I shared a bunk with your grandmother Eva,” she said. “And Magnus shared one with Ramon Maldonado, as I recall.”
Magnus nodded, turning to Mac. “You’ve not met Ramon. He isn’t well, but perhaps we can visit him on a good day.” He stacked his hands atop the head of his cane. “The two of us have been friends since we were boys in the underground.”
“Friends?” Annelise shook her head. “I have a different recollection.”
“I’m sure Mr. O’Neill would like to hear it,” Magnus said, a twinkle in his eye.