The Liberation of Ravenna Morton

by Suzanne Jenkins

  Ravenna had called a family meeting for the next evening. She made the calls on Wally’s phone. At first, her voice echoing through the message on the cell confused April; she didn’t know who it was. Her mother’s nasal voice and thick accent brought a smile to her face. She didn’t notice it when she was face to face with her, but over the phone, well, it was unmistakably Ojibwe.

  “Ape-reel, this is your moa’ther,” she said. She drew the vowels out and elongated the syllables. “Peleeeese come oooover to’morrow niiiight.” Then she hung up without saying good-bye.

  April started laughing. Managing to stay optimistic in spite of her depressing job, seeing people being mistreated and disrespected, and trying to protect them, but often unable to depressed April. Her mother’s unorthodox life was an enigma. She told people it was due to Ravenna’s free-spirit nature, but she secretly knew it was more than that, and was afraid of finding out what it really was.

  ***

  Walter Morton was in heaven; Stephanie, his gorgeous wife, surprised him by coming home early, already at the house when he got in from an appointment in Lansing that afternoon. Rarely together during the week; Stephanie worked long hours as a model, flying all over the world for her agency. When they’d decided early in their marriage that she’d be available to work at a moment’s notice, the great jobs started coming to her. She had a bag packed, and from week to week could be found in Milan or Athens or Moscow, wearing the most beautiful clothes on earth. She saved every dime she made, and when she turned twenty-five, she was quitting.

  She wanted to be there on the river with her husband, learning to bake from her mother-in-law, weaving baskets and quilting. Wanting to raise sheep and shear them herself; she had read all the books on spinning yarn. Her father bought her a spinning wheel for Christmas the year before, and it was an icon next to their fireplace: to be used for real and not simply a dust collector.

  During the week, she didn’t stay with other models in an expensive apartment, but with her parents in her old girlhood bedroom. Instead of a car, she took the bus into work if she was in town, just like all the other workers in the city did. Between her and Wally, they had almost a million dollars saved. Next year became their battle cry. “I can’t wait to have a baby!” she shouted.

  “Next year!” he’d reply.

  As soon as she got home, she put on her old sweat pants and Michigan State sweatshirt. She’d already walked down to Ravenna’s and returned with a pot of homemade vegetable soup. Rolling out dough, they were having hand-cut biscuits with the soup. A chocolate layer cake waited to be frosted. It was Wally’s favorite cake. He walked in to his house with the smells of baking and his mother’s soup, and he knew right away his wife was there.

  “Wally!” she yelled, running down the open staircase to the garage door.

  He put his briefcase down, picked her up and swung her around as they kissed. “What a great surprise,” he said, putting her back down. “Boy, I had no idea.”

  “I got in early this morning, and they didn’t have anything else for me until Monday. So here I am.” She was so cute, bouncing up and down in her sneakers with her little apron on over her sweats.

  “What do I smell?” he asked, sniffing the air.

  “Your mother’s soup,” she said, moving back into his embrace. “I’m to tell you family meeting tomorrow. Oh, God I missed you. I’m not sure I can do this much longer.”

  “You can quit whenever you want to and never work again, as far as I’m concerned,” he said softly. Holding her close, he whispered, “When’s dinner?”

  She smiled up at him and led him up the stairs by taking his hand. They had important business to attend to before they ate.

  Chapter 13

  The next morning, Esme heard her breakfast tray being placed by the door. She waited until the soft footsteps descended the stairs before she opened up; it was too early to philosophize with Rhonda. She brought the tray in and, placing it on her desk, looked out the window. It was going to be a perfect fall day, chilly but cloudless, with the yellow, gold and orange leaves falling off the trees. The sun was shining, the wind blowing the tree limbs, casting beautiful shadows over the town. She looked up at the sky, and the clouds were moving fast across the blue expanse. She’d bundle up for the boat ride today.

  With her tea came a basket of rolls and muffins, enough for four people, but she was hungry after missing dinner last night, and ate two with the pot of tea. She glanced at her watch; it was five after eight. She needed to be across the street at Wiley’s bait shop by nine. She put on layers; a long-sleeved T-shirt with a sweatshirt over it, tights under her blue jeans, and two pair of socks under the inappropriate but now ruined boots. The water had dried in lighter stains up to the ankle. She laughed. She was wearing those boots until they fell apart. They’d cost a fortune, and she’d get her money’s worth.

  When she got to Wiley’s, he was waiting for her on the dock. He looked at her warmer attire with approval. “You learn fast,” he said. He helped her get into the boat again, holding on to her hand tightly, but this time he had her sit facing him. “It’ll keep the spray from hitting you in the face.”

  She sat angled so she could see where they were going. In one day, more boats had come out of the water, up on dry land and covered for the winter. “It’s sad seeing more boats out.”

  “Some of the bigger boats will stay in all year. The water level is so low right now they can’t get them over to the dry dock.”

  “It’s really a sign the season is over,” she said.

  “Watch it; you’re starting to sound like a local.”

  She smiled at him. She’d only been there three days. Shouldn’t she be getting homesick? The spray came up over the sides of the boat as Wiley increased the speed. They zoomed through the harbor like yesterday, the place looking more desolate for the absence of the boats. They went under the bridge again, and as the area became more remote, she found she was looking forward to getting to Ravenna’s cabin.

  “Are you staying again today?” she asked.

  “Just for coffee, and then I have to get back,” he replied. “We have a party this afternoon.”

  She shivered, thinking about what it would be like out on the big lake, fishing.

  “Would you like to go out to the lake with me this weekend?” He was asking her out, and she could feel his intentions, but she decided to play it like it was a friendly gesture only.

  “Okay, that sounds great,” she answered.

  He slowed the boat down and started to weave through the little canal that ran alongside the river, through marshland and around islands. Esme saw giant swans, and the herons she’d seen yesterday were sitting among the tall grasses. A muskrat swam alongside the shore. When he steered the boat to the right, Ravenna’s cabin came into view. They’d reached Mac’s Landing.

  Ravenna was waiting for them again. “Boozooh” she called out.

  Part II

  Chapter 14

  The following night, the first meeting with the aunts and uncles was overwhelming. Personalities ran the gauntlet of humanity from nervous, seemingly indifferent Ozzy, who was impossible to get a read on, to Wally’s seething hatred of her that was hard to miss.

  Whoa, she thought, picking up his message loud and clear. Get a grip, big boy. She quickly made the decision to avoid looking at him, his intense stares that obvious.

  When the night began to wind down and April said she was ready to go, Wally came up to Esme as she was pulling on her coat and whispered, “What do you hope to accomplish by being here?”

  Caught off guard, Esme hadn’t expected him to have the nerve to approach her. “I was invited, remember? There’s nothing to accomplish, as far as I can tell. The damage was already done long before I was born.”

  He looked at her, shocked, but she was certain he wasn’t going to repeat her answer to the rest of the family. “Gotcha,” he said, looking away.

  Esme started to tremble, sorry she replied to him a
t all.

  “Let’s go,” April said. “Say good-bye, Mama. I’m taking Esme back to town.”

  The good-byes were brief, and Esme thought Ravenna looked worn out. Walking through the woods to April’s car in silence, Esme wondered if it was as exhausting for April as it was for her. When they got into the car and April leaned forward to put the key in the ignition, she looked at Esme.

  “That was intense,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  Esme looked out of the window. “I’m okay,” she said, her mind whirling. She wasn’t ready to share her impressions with anyone yet. “Disappointed, I guess. I thought everyone would be happy to meet me. Ha! I must be naïve.”

  “I’m sorry,” April replied sincerely. “My family can be socially awkward. What was your take on everything?”

  Esme thought that was a kind word for what they were to her—rude and inhospitable. “My take is that you and Regina might be my mother’s only siblings who care to know me, that’s what my take is.”

  April grabbed her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “Are you ready to go back to the inn, or do you want to stop somewhere and talk about it?”

  Esme looked at April apologetically. “Do you mind if I go back to the inn? I think I need to be alone and process all of this.”

  “Of course, that’s fine. I should probably get home myself,” she said. “I just hope you’re all right. My family can be overwhelming.”

  Esme gave a cackle. “Yes, overwhelming they are.”

  She’d had a fantasy that Ravenna’s children would embrace her as a suitable substitute for her mother. From the moment they began to arrive, even their greetings were rude, ignoring her outstretched hand, not answering her hello. Esme didn’t want to know how much resentment they had for Maria, but it was clear Wally had the most. Later she’d learn it was Ravenna’s confession about Maria to her young children the day she had April that would propel Wally in the coming years; his sibling rivalry for April transferred to the unseen Maria.

  She thought about her own family, who had successfully kept all skeletons locked away from view. Even her Aunt Elaine, who later turned out to have lived a very colorful life before she finally married Uncle Nick at the age of fifty; Maria confessed Aunt Elaine could have a book written about her escapades. But it was never discussed. All the older people in the family knew that Penny didn’t give birth to Maria and the Chicago Patoses knew the truth, yet Maria never received even a hint of the gossip. They’d hid it well.

  Meeting with George Patos in secret was a cause of some unease for Esme, but she decided until there was time to process what she learned from him that it was the best course to follow. Wiley helped her find his phone number in Chicago.

  “He’s in his nineties, but a very lucid ninety,” Wiley said. Esme wondered how he knew this and if Rhonda kept him informed.

  The next morning, unable to wait any longer, she punched in the number, aware she was holding her breath as the phone rang. A robust-sounding voice said, “Hello, George Patos speaking.”

  Hearing his youthful greeting, Esme didn’t know where to begin, so she just came out and said the truth. “Mr. Patos, I’m Ravenna Morton’s granddaughter. I apologize for calling so early. My mother was the baby you gave to Gus and Penny Patos. I was hoping I could come to see you.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

  She heard him clear his throat. There was no declaration of surprise or even acknowledgment. It threw Esme for a loop. Either he was hiding what he was feeling, or maybe he wasn’t as lucid as Wiley said and didn’t remember the adoption.

  “What do you want to know?”

  She didn’t know how to elaborate. The big gray area surrounding Peggy came to mind. Surely he’d know about her life. “Can you tell me anything about Peggy? It seems like she is the key to a lot of the mystery.” In the stilted conversation, she didn’t mention why Peggy insisted Maria be given up for adoption. Was it coercion somehow? Were they victims of the Indian Adoption Project? Or were there unseen forces at work?

  “Where are you now?” George asked.

  “In Saugatuck. I got here earlier in the week.”

  “Can you come to Chicago? I’m not traveling much these days.”

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

  “Come now,” he said. “My grandson will pick you up at the train in four hours.”

  She looked at her watch. It was just eight. She could get ready and into Holland in an hour. For a New Yorker used to the train, it was an easy trip. She gave her phone number to George and asked him to have his grandson text her so she’d be able to find him.

  “Okay, I’ll see you after noon, then.”

  She called the desk; thankfully, Rhonda wasn’t working yet. Magnus would bring the car around in fifteen minutes. Esme threw together a few extra things, just in case she decided to spend the night. She then texted Wiley to let him know she was going to Chicago, thanking him for his help. Ravenna wasn’t expecting her. She felt like the Morton/Hetris family could use a break from the drama she’d brought to their lives.

  Too nervous to read her book, she ignored the farmland and small farming towns the train passed through, thinking about what she would discover from George Patos. As Chicago got closer, the familiar urban sprawl reminded her of New York.

  The train pulled into Union Station. Esme tried to quiet her mind of its whirling questions; why was she there? What exactly was it about the situation regarding her mother’s adoption that was bothering her so much? She tried not to have any expectations, but there seemed to be an underlying disappointment in her that she sensed in Ravenna. Maybe the question really was what had Ravenna expected?

  At twelve-fifteen, Albert Patos texted her. I’m outside of the main entrance. Follow the signs to Adams. She did as he suggested, and in the line of cars, a tall man, very easily a relative of Mike Hetris and of hers, stepped forward.

  “Esme?” He extended his hand. “I’m Albert, George’s grandson.”

  Esme hid her chuckle; when George had said his grandson would meet her, she fully expected a teenager. But this man was closer to her father’s age. He was driving a very large pickup truck that seemed out of place in the city.

  “This is quite a truck,” she said admiringly.

  “I have a dairy farm south of here. Today’s my day to see my papou, so picking you up was right on the way.”

  Hearing him use the Greek word for grandfather warmed her heart and made her sad at the same time. She needed to fight homesickness today and was reminded that these people were relatives, too. She didn’t have to be frightened.

  He glanced over at her. “So you’re my cousin Maria’s daughter,” he stated.

  Esme wondered if George recently revealed the story of Maria or was it dinner table conversation. “Did you always know about her?” she asked, shocked.

  He shook his head. “Mike is my cousin. Once he started to look for her, the whole family found out that he’d had a child out of wedlock.”

  Esme felt a wave of nausea. Of course, her mother’s birth father was related to the Patoses. Why was it taking so long for these facts to sink in? And why didn’t that news filter down to White Plains? Her grandparents must have been on tenterhooks.

  George’s relationship with Peggy might be public knowledge in Saugatuck, but she doubted it was in Chicago, so she didn’t mention it. “Yes, I better take notes. I guess I’m surprised you know the story. I thought it was such a big secret.”

  “It was, but only from the mother and her family. Gus and Penny were petrified they would find out and try to get her back.”

  Esme thought how ridiculous that sounded. Ravenna was thirteen years old when she gave birth, daughter of a poor widow. She didn’t have the resources to find her daughter, let alone try to get her back. She’d been feeling like Gus and Penny were the bad guys, when probably no one in the White Plains family knew the history of the birth mother, how innocent she was, victimized. B
ut George Patos knew the truth and allowed the myth to perpetuate. She’d try to find out. In minutes, they pulled up under a portico of a high-rise apartment building.

  “I’ll drop you off and park the truck. He’s on the 18th floor, 1802. Go on up, and I’ll see you in a bit. Give you a chance to chat alone.”

  “Thank you, Albert. See you,” she said as she hopped down from the high running board, dragging her overnight bag along with her. She went through the tall glass doors held open by a uniformed doorman. Her boots didn’t make much noise on the marble floors. Looking down, she saw the water stains of her visit to Ravenna’s cabin and grinned. Once ruined, she would have never worn the boots in public back East.

  She got on the elevator and pushed the button for the 18th floor. The elevator doors opened onto plush carpet and soft lighting. There were only four doors from which to choose. It was luxurious in the extreme. It appeared the small town sawmill had provided a lavish lifestyle in retirement for its owner. She thought of that modest cabin, what it must have been like in the wintertime with all those children. Leave it be.

  The doorbell was labeled G. Patos. She pushed the button and could hear the buzz. Within seconds, she felt his presence on the other side of the door, him looking at her through the peephole. She later thought she wasn’t sure what she expected of a man in his nineties. Old, for certain, wizened possibly, stooped over and walking with a cane. But George Patos was still formidable, straight as a younger man and lean but not skeletal. His hair was not pure white like her papou’s had been, but gunmetal. She wondered if he dyed it. He was expensively dressed, too, in corduroy pants with the designer’s popular insignia embroidered on the back pocket and a cashmere sweater.