Jericho

by Ann McMan

  Then she heard it—like an echo from another time. The voice. Singing in German. German—the language Oma and Opa spoke at home. It was low voice—doleful with a trace of immaturity—but tuneful and full of promise. It was an untrained voice, but it blended beautifully with the simple sentiments of a love lost, and rediscovered. It was her voice—her voice at age nineteen.

  They had gone to New York for the Christmas holiday. Opa’s seventy-fifth birthday was on the last night of Hanukkah that year, and Oma and Celine planned the family recital as a special gift for him. Maddie had been rehearsing the Schubert song for weeks. The choir director at Stanford had worked privately with her on phrasing and diction.

  She remembered that her grandparents’ Upper East Side apartment had been full of formally dressed friends and luminaries from the New York music world. Their living room was illuminated by hundreds of candles—the large sterling silver menorah placed prominently on the mantelpiece behind the gleaming Steinway.

  She recalled Opa introducing her to the legendary soprano Anna Moffo—elegant in a dark red gown and diamond earrings. The great singer kissed her warmly on both cheeks and praised her for her moving performance. Maddie could still recall the scent of her perfume. For the rest of the evening, a trace of orange blossom and jasmine stayed with her as she moved through the candlelit rooms trying to avoid notice.

  Even her father came to New York for that special night. She remembered how he stood at the back of the room during her performance—tall and handsome in his black tuxedo and gazing at her with a mixture of pride and sadness. It was one of the last times she ever saw her parents together. She recalled seeing tears in Celine’s eyes when her father awkwardly embraced her, before leaving to return to his hotel.

  Less than a year later, Josef Heller was dead from a brain aneurysm. Six months after that, on the eve of Shabbat, his widow, Madeleine, slipped on a patch of ice and struck her head on the concrete balustrade that surrounded her terrace. She never regained consciousness.

  As far as Maddie knew, Celine had not returned to New York since she settled her parent’s affairs and sold their Manhattan apartment. The only reminders of those years were a few paintings, the ornate menorah that now adorned a shelf in Celine’s study, and the piano that once had belonged to Oma, then to Celine, and now was a permanent fixture in her own life. And, of course, there was the music. Somehow, Celine had reconnected with the music—the silver thread that once had bound them all together in ways the blood they shared never could.

  The Schubert lied ended, and there was a prolonged hiss of dead air before the next selection began. Maddie remembered that colleagues of Opa’s from Juilliard had been on hand to record the recital, and guests at the gathering politely withheld their applause so the large reel-to-reel recorder could be stopped several seconds after the last note sounded. In her mind’s eye, Maddie could see herself, as she stood there, stone-faced in the bend of the big piano. Celine sat behind her at the keyboard, and Oma was seated with her violin on a low chair to her left. After the room had erupted in dignified but enthusiastic applause, Maddie shyly bowed, and then quickly left the front of the room to take her place at an innocuous location in the audience. Celine and her mother continued to play for the better part of an hour, finding in this performance a perfect harmony and balance they had never managed to achieve in the rest of their relationship.

  Maddie never sang again after that night. When she returned to Stanford, she withdrew from the concert choir, citing the rigor of her premed curriculum as her excuse.

  And Celine stopped playing the piano. Until two years ago, when everything changed for her. Two years ago. Maddie thought about that. Dad died two years ago. Was there any connection? It was too coincidental. There had to be. She resolved to ask her mother about it tomorrow when they were back at home together.

  Home? That was new. She’d never called Celine’s house “home” before. She shook her head to clear it. So many things were changing. She couldn’t keep up with it all. It was too confusing. On the table next to her wine glass, her cell phone vibrated. She picked it up and opened it.

  “This is Stevenson.”

  “So what was the penalty for contributing to the obesity of a canine? I forget.”

  She smiled into the phone. “Hey, sweetheart. I take it this means you’ve picked up the package and are safely back at the clubhouse?”

  “Well, you might say that. David and Michael were kind enough to bring Pete back out here to save me the extra trip to the Inn.”

  “How is he?”

  “He’s fine—happy and huge. You weren’t kidding. I think he’s put on a good five pounds.”

  “Told ya. Michael doesn’t understand that whole concept of moderation.”

  “I believe you now. I can see that my blond shadow and I are in for a few robust walks around the property—starting tomorrow.” She sighed into the phone.

  “What is it?”

  “Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll go to work, then come back here, and you still won’t be at home.”

  “I know, baby. But it won’t be long.” She paused. “Are you okay there by yourself? I know it’s selfish of me to ask you to stay there.”

  “Selfish? Are you kidding? I love being here. I just miss you.”

  “I know. I miss you, too.”

  “Are you okay? How was Celine today?”

  “She was fine. Better than fine, really. I think I may be able to come home on Monday.”

  “Monday?” She could hear the excitement in Syd’s voice, and it warmed her heart. “Really? That’s wonderful.”

  “Ummm hmmm. Know anybody who might be willing to pick me up at the airport?”

  “Oh, I think so.” They were quiet for a moment. “Everything okay, Stretch? You seem subdued.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been sitting here listening to some music I didn’t know Celine had—an old recording of her playing with my grandmother in New York.” She omitted disclosing her role in the performance, thinking she would save that revelation for later.

  “My god. How did you find that?”

  “I didn’t have to look. She obviously had been listening to it. It was in her CD player.”

  “Wow.” Syd sounded surprised. “She wasn’t kidding about reconnecting with her past, was she?”

  Maddie shook her head. “Apparently not.” She sighed. “Anyway, listening to it brought back lots of memories.”

  “Maybe you should talk about those with her.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Do you think you should tell her the truth about us?”

  Maddie thought about that. “You mean our little song-and-dance in Richmond?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t see any reason to correct the record, now, do you? I mean, the end result is the same.”

  “I agree.” Syd was quiet for a moment. “It might make for an amusing anecdote one day.”

  Maddie smiled. “That’s certainly true. Talk about putting feet to your prayers.”

  “Why, Doctor. Who knew you had such a spiritual side?”

  “Oh,” Maddie said in a teasing tone. “You’d be amazed. I’ve been praising god a whole lot lately.”

  “I know,” Syd quipped. “I’ve heard you.”

  “That you have.”

  They were quiet again.

  “As much as I don’t want to,” Syd said, “I need to go so I can try and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be tough enough without being bleary-eyed.”

  “I know. Good luck with that. And prepare to be besieged by people wanting details about Celine.”

  “No worries, I can handle it. I hope it goes well tomorrow. Call me when you can?”

  “Of course. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. G’night.”

  “Night, baby. Sleep well.”

  “In your bed? How could I do otherwise?” She laughed merrily and hung up before Maddie could answer.

  THE MEMORIAL MASS for Diego Vaz Pe�
�a took place on Thursday morning at the imposing St. Anne Catholic Church on Colorado Avenue in Santa Monica. Diego had been buried on the previous Monday, but his family opted to hold a later, more public service at the home of their largely Spanish-speaking congregation. Maddie sat with other friends and neighbors of the Peña family near the back of the church, which was filled to near capacity with mourners. At the end of the service, she stood, dutifully, in a long line and waited to pay her respects to Diego’s family. His mother, Mariel, seemed to recognize her instantly because of her likeness to Celine, and she clamored forward from the receiving line to take Maddie’s hands and thank her for being present.

  “Gracias por venir. ¿Cómo esta su mama?”

  Maddie squeezed her hands warmly. “Esta bien, gracias. We are so sorry for your loss.”

  “Gracias. Rezare para que La Virgen Maria velé por su mama.” She hesitated, her eyes wet with tears. “She was kind to my son.”

  Maddie felt tears welling in her own eyes and nodded politely before moving on, allowing the innumerable others behind her access to the Peña family. It was remarkable to her that Celine even knew Diego’s family. Clearly, there were whole sides to her mother’s character and life in Los Angeles that Maddie knew nothing about. She felt awkward about that—awkward and embarrassed. It was time for her to step up and try to move beyond the pain of their shared past. On the drive back to UCLA, she resolved to do just that.

  CELINE WAS DRESSED and ready when Maddie arrived at her room shortly after one. Her discharge papers had all been signed, and her few personal belongings had been collected and boxed-up. Laszlow Kramer was there, graciously waiting with Celine until Maddie returned from Santa Monica. A nurse arrived with a wheelchair, and the three of them made their way downstairs to the spacious discharge lobby, where Celine waited with Laszlow while Maddie retrieved her car from the parking lot. Laszlow kissed Celine on the cheek and departed to resume his afternoon office hours, saying he would call her at home that evening.

  Celine was mostly quiet during the drive, but she did ask Maddie for details about the memorial service for her lab assistant. She was very gratified that Maddie had opted to attend the service and extend her condolences to Diego’s family in such a personal way.

  “His mother seems very fond of you,” Maddie commented, glancing at Celine.

  Celine was looking out her window at the passing scenery. “That’s more a testament to her character than mine, I’m afraid. I only met her on a couple of occasions when they visited the lab.”

  “Well, you obviously made a strong impression on her. She said you were always very kind to her son.”

  Celine shrugged. She seemed uncomfortable with the conversation. “He was an exceptional student. I did what I could to assist him in the program.”

  “I know. I read the letters you wrote on his behalf to the scholarship committee.” Celine looked at her in surprise. “Copies were in the folder your assistant gave me when I asked her for his personal contact information.”

  Celine nodded, but didn’t respond, plainly wanting to drop the conversation. Maddie decided to respect her mother’s self-effacing posture—at least where her kindness to Diego was concerned.

  In twenty minutes, they were turning into her driveway. Maddie unclipped her seatbelt. “Home again.”

  Celine looked at her with a small smile on her mostly unlined face. “I can’t wait to sit down with a cup of hot tea in my garden.”

  “I think that can be arranged.” Maddie got out and helped her mother into the house. “But let’s make it a short one. I don’t want you to get overtired.”

  Celine raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Doctor. I promise to follow orders.”

  Maddie laughed. “Sorry. Occupational hazard, you know?”

  “Oh, I know.” Celine walked slowly across her living room and ran a hand along the edge of the piano. “It’s going to be a while before I can give this a workout,” she said sadly, looking at the cast on her left arm. She sighed and shook her head. Her blue eyes met Maddie’s. “So tell me. Is Syd as good a musician as Phoebe says she is?”

  Maddie smiled. “Oh, yeah. She’s a lot like you.”

  “What do you mean?” Celine sounded intrigued.

  “She got her artist’s certificate at Eastman, but switched her major to Music Ed.”

  Celine seemed surprised. “What instrument?”

  “Violin.”

  “Ah. No wonder you gave her Oma’s necklace.”

  Maddie nodded. “I had other inducements, too.”

  “I’m sure you did.” Celine walked to the large doors that led to her patio. “How about that tea?”

  “I’m all over it,” Maddie said, walking to the kitchen. “Darjeeling or Earl Grey?”

  “Surprise me,” Celine said, opening the large door and stepping outside into the sun.

  THE AFTERNOON LIGHT was wonderful. Celine seemed more relaxed than Maddie had seen her in years. She was reclining on an upholstered chaise with her long legs crossed at the ankles. Maddie thought she looked remarkable. If it weren’t for the cast on her left arm and the small bandage at her neck, it would be impossible to imagine the ordeal she had just survived.

  Maddie sipped from her mug of hot, fragrant tea. This was one of the few rituals she shared with her mother. They often had tea together in the garden, during school breaks or holidays when Maddie was with her in Brentwood. She found the pastime to be quaintly European—a holdover from Celine’s childhood in Manhattan and growing up with immigrant parents.

  She looked at her mother who was basking in the late afternoon heat. The sun was at treetop level, and the plants along the back wall of the yard were alive with light and color. It’s now or never, Maddie thought. She set her mug down on the glass top of the table and tried to make her voice sound calmer than she felt.

  “I played the CD last night—the recording from Opa’s birthday celebration.”

  Celine looked at her with a startled expression. “You did?”

  Maddie nodded.

  Celine looked down at her hands, which were folded across her abdomen. Then she looked back up at Maddie. Her expression was undecipherable. “And?”

  “And I was surprised. Surprised that you had it, and even more surprised that you were listening to it.” She shook her head. “I felt so many things, remembered so many things. Things that I hadn’t thought about in years.” She met her mother’s eyes. “You told us the other day that you bought the piano about two years ago.” Celine nodded slowly. “Did that have anything to do with Dad’s death?”

  Celine closed her eyes and turned her head so Maddie couldn’t see her face. “Why would you think that?” she asked, her voice quiet.

  “To tell the truth, I don’t know what to think. I only know that something seems different. You seem different. I feel different.” She leaned forward. Her heart was pounding. “Celine?” She hesitated. “Mom.” Her mother looked at her with surprise. “Talk to me. For once—please. Talk to me.” She could feel her eyes welling with tears, but she didn’t try to staunch them.

  “All right.” Her voice was softer than Maddie had ever heard it before. “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me what happened with you and Dad. I need to know.”

  Celine sighed and leaned her head back against the chaise, never breaking eye contact with her. “Why? It won’t change anything.”

  Maddie wasn’t going to let this moment pass. “You’re wrong. It might change everything.”

  Silence stretched out between them. Somewhere down the street, a lawnmower roared to life. “I never talked about it—not to anyone,” Celine said after what felt like an eternity. She met Maddie’s eyes. “Especially not to you. I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he begged me not to tell you. He made me promise.” She gave Maddie a smile tinged with sadness. “And I could never refuse him anything.”

  Maddie looked at her through a haze of confusion. “I don’t unde
rstand. Why would he make you promise that? What didn’t he want me to know?”

  Celine sighed. “He loved you so much. We both did. We didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Hurt me? How could anything hurt me more than losing you? Than losing my home?”

  “He made me promise, Maddie.” She hesitated. “And I did. I kept my promise, and I lost you. I lost you both.”

  Maddie was confused. She had to keep Celine talking. “Dad’s gone, but I’m not lost. Not anymore. Please, Mom. Please. Just tell me what happened.”

  Celine took a deep breath. “I never loved anyone like I loved your father. He was the entire world to me. When I met him, I felt that finally, finally I had found someone who loved all of me. Every part. He was so lively, so strong and so sure of himself. I had never known happiness like that. Not ever. Then you came along.” She met Maddie’s eyes and smiled at her.

  Maddie had the sense that she was looking at her mother through a portal to the past.

  “I realized then what true happiness was. You were perfect. We were so happy together, living our fairy tale life in the country.” She smiled. “Even Oma began to soften. She actually visited us there, just after you were born. We played Brahms duets while you napped upstairs in your crib.”

  She sighed and rubbed her eyes.

  “Davis was busy getting his practice off the ground. As the years went by, he worked longer and longer hours. He was out of town more and more frequently, attending conferences and serving on state boards. He became a trustee at Penn. Then I got the job with Lilly in Roanoke, and soon we were passing each other in the hallways at home—practically like strangers.” She looked at Maddie with sadness. “We kept all of this from you as much as we could. We tried to protect you from how much we had grown apart.”

  She fell silent again, lost in her memories. “Then one day, I got sick at work. It had been happening a lot, but I hadn’t told your father yet. I was pregnant again.”

  Maddie was stunned, and stared at her mother, unable to say anything.

  “I drove home from Roanoke early. You were still at school. When I got to the farm, I was surprised to see that your father was at home, and not at the clinic.” She hesitated. “He wasn’t alone.” She raised her hand to her forehead. “We didn’t even make a scene. When I saw who was there, I had some kind of eerie epiphany, and I knew immediately what was happening. And he knew that I knew.”