“Yep.”
“Relax, Grace. This is going to go fine.”
He wasn’t the one who would be affected by the judge’s decision.
A clerk let us into the courtroom, where we waited for the hearing to start.
I wondered if judges realized the significance of their decisions. And how did I know if this judge was going to be fair and impartial? The nameplate on the judicial bench read LESLIE KRAMER. What if he was some old codger who didn’t want his children to inherit a dime of his, and he put me in the same light? And who judged the judges? What made them qualified to make life-changing decisions?
I sat there desperately clinging to what little was left of my optimism.
Judge Kramer walked into the courtroom, and I was instantly heartened—she was tall, young, and smiling.
She asked Raymond a bunch of questions to which I assumed she already had the answers. Formalities, I supposed. Her last words were, “Possession granted for both boxes.”
Both boxes?
As soon as she uttered those words, I felt liberated—relieved of the angst that had weighed me down for so long, an angst that was soon replaced with one of a different nature. But two boxes?
Raymond and I left the courtroom and waited for someone to bring the boxes to us.
“Did you know there were two boxes?” I asked him.
“Yes, I knew. But I didn’t want to tell you beforehand. You’ve been fretting enough about just one box.”
I smiled. “You do understand why, don’t you?”
He returned the smile. “Yes, Grace, I do.”
The clerk arrived and handed me two metal boxes. I thanked him. Raymond escorted me out to my car. He had other business at City Hall, so we parted ways. He went to the Clerk of the Circuit Court to file a routine claim. I went to my car to discover who I was.
I had parked in a garage two blocks away, on the top floor, facing a wall. I cracked both windows to ensure ample airflow—if I discovered something life-changing, I didn’t want anything hampering my ability to breathe.
One box was decidedly lighter than the other one. I opened that one first. In it was a lone envelope, unsealed. I breathed deeply and read the letter.
January 5, 1942
Dear Baby Girl,
I address this letter to you, but if I’m going to be completely honest, I am writing it for my benefit as well. I did not give you a name. I did not want that attachment, that additional guilt. I am unable to care for you. I am barely able to care for myself these days.
I know you are going to a good home, a loving home with two people who will take very good care of you. I know that for a fact. I checked them out myself.
Your real father is Adam Lindroth. He left me in July of last year. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was three months pregnant with you. I don’t know where he is, and I do not believe he is ever coming back.
When I saw your face for those few brief moments after you were born, I thought my heart was going to break. When the nurse came in and asked me if I was ready to “give you up,” I cringed. I wasn’t giving you up. I was giving you the life I wanted you to have, the one you deserved. I did this out of love for you and nothing else. I hope you understand this in time.
All the love I have left to give I will to you.
Your mother,
Rosa
The letter had been written the same year I was born. My mother—the person I called my mother—had given birth to a daughter almost six months before I was born. But why would she have given up a baby for adoption and then adopted me soon afterward? It didn’t make sense.
I reread the letter. It wasn’t clear if she had written it one day, one month, or one year after she had given birth.
Then it occurred to me that maybe the baby was me. That maybe my birthday wasn’t really June 28. Maybe it was January 5. She could have written the letter right after I was born and then changed her mind when my father came back. But why would she have kept the letter? It was hard to imagine my mother having had to deal with something like this—she wasn’t that strong of a person.
Rosa’s emotions seemed raw in the letter, which made me think she had written it shortly after she had given birth. January 5. Wait...Fern’s birthday was January 4. January 4, 1942.
Rosa could have been Fern’s real mother. That had been Fern’s first inclination, after all. Everything seemed to fit—the birth date, the loving adoptive family.
I secretly wanted Rosa to be Fern’s real mother, not mine. I felt a strong kindred bond to Anna that would be difficult to abandon.
The baby she was referring to had to be one of us.
The thoughts in my head were scrambled and indiscernible. I needed to be home when I opened the second box.
* * *
When I got home, there was a note on the counter from Tymon saying he was there if I needed him. At that moment, I realized I felt closer to that man than I had to my own father. My plan was to call him after going through the second safe deposit box...as soon as my emotions allowed it.
I nestled into the large upholstered chair in my bedroom—Minnie’s favorite chair—my feet up on the matching ottoman, the second safe deposit box on my lap, and a cup of chamomile tea next to me for additional support.
As soon as I realized that the document on top was Anna’s will, I looked away from it. What were my parents doing with Anna’s will?
I took a sip of tea and tried to relax while the hot liquid glided down my throat. I hadn’t expected this to be so hard.
After taking a deep breath, I began reading.
WILL of Anna Thalia Vargas
I, Anna Thalia Vargas, a resident of Chicago, Illinois, hereby make this WILL and revoke all prior Wills and Codicils.
PERSONAL INFORMATION I was born on August 1, 1904, in San Diego, California.
I am not married, and I have never been married.
I have one living child, Celina Thalia Vargas, born June 28, 1942.
BENEFICIARIES To Esmeralda Noe, I bequeath my Rolex rose gold watch and the sum of $250 to care for my cat, Tobias, in the event he survives me.
To Tymon Kossak, I bequeath my 1938 Buick.
To my precious daughter, Celina, I bequeath all my remaining real property, bank accounts, and stocks.
PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVE I appoint Martin Torres of Higgins, Fletcher & McKenzie as Executor of my WILL, and if he is unable to serve, then I name Walter Higgins of Higgins, Fletcher & McKenzie as alternate Executor.
I, Anna Thalia Vargas, hereby sign this WILL at Chicago, Illinois, on this August 1, 1942.
Anna Thalia Vargas
Anna Thalia Vargas
WITNESS: I hereby state, under penalties of perjury, that on this first day of August, 1942, at Chicago, Illinois, I observed Anna Thalia Vargas who proved her identity to me, declare the above document to be her WILL. She signed the document in my presence. She appeared to be an adult, of sound mind and memory, acting of her own free will, and not under any force or duress. I am now signing my name on the WILL in her presence.
Margaret Everest
Margaret Everest
1405 West Plymouth Avenue
Chicago, Illinois
I leaned all the way back in the chair. Seeing in writing my birth date linked to a child with my unusual middle name convinced me I was Celina Thalia Vargas. And if that was true, then Anna Thalia Vargas was my mother. I let that sink in for a moment and savored the joy that welled up from deep within. But the feeling was short-lived as I was reminded that this further implicated my parents in having had something to do with Anna’s death. I leaned all the way up against the back of the chair and closed my eyes for a long moment. Running through my head were the same horrible thoughts about my parents that I had tried to suppress for the last five years.
The will was dated August 1, 1942, a month after I was born, six months before Anna had died. She had left her watch to Essie and money to care for her cat. And she had wanted
Tymon to have her car. That was so sweet.
Two people had left me the same house some twenty years apart. No wonder it felt like home.
I stared out the window—at nothing really—trying to absorb the simple reality of it all.
When the room came back into focus, I picked up the next item, which was an outdoor photo of my parents and me when I was a baby. I stared at my mother, whose hair appeared quite dark. As far back as I could remember, my mother, Rosa, had had light brownish-red hair. I turned it over. Nothing had been written on the back.
The telltale white letters on a black background told me the next item was a birth certificate. I carefully unfolded it.
Celina Thalia Vargas. Born June 28, 1942
8 lbs, 12 oz
Chicago, Illinois
Cook County
Nine-month term
I basked in the glory of this defining moment, trying to hold on to the feeling of sweet certainty that rolled over me, because I knew the sensation would soon evaporate, never to be recaptured.
I continued reading. There was a check mark beside the box labeled “Illegitimate.” I stared at it blindly, unaware I was crying until a tear made a direct hit on the word.
The box for the father’s name had been left blank. Anna’s address was listed as the boardinghouse address, now my address.
I slowly let go of that place I hadn’t understood for so long, and I mentally prepared myself for going down a path that Anna had started to pave for me. I fantasized about developing new hopes and dreams and becoming my new self. Emerging into the person that I was destined to be felt...I couldn’t explain the feeling really. New…different…exhilarating.
Eventually, I was calm enough to proceed, but instead of reaching for the next piece of paper, I fished out a piece of silver jewelry from the bottom of the box. The necklace was unmistakably the same one that was in the photo of the woman sitting in the rocking chair holding me, the woman I then knew for sure was Anna. I put it on, closed my eyes, and held the pendant in my hand for several seconds.
The next item was Rosa’s birth certificate. The only information on it that I didn’t already know was her birthplace—Kansas City, Missouri.
The last two documents were death certificates for Anna’s parents. Arsenio Vargas had been born in Monterrey, Mexico, in 1876. Maryanne Thalia Palmer Vargas had been born in San Diego, California, in 1880. On both certificates, the place of death was listed as San Diego, and the date April 13, 1910. Their cause of death was listed as accidental, which could have meant just about anything. They died when Anna was just six years old. So my grandmother had had the middle name Thalia too. And it appeared my grandfather had been Mexican. Interesting.
At the bottom of the box was the most beautiful christening dress I had ever seen. It was obviously handmade, crocheted I believed, at least thirty inches long, way longer than an infant, ivory in color. The stitches reminded me of hundreds of seashells all sewn together with pale pink satin ribbon running through them. Tiny pink-and-white flowers randomly speckled the gown.
I folded the dress the same way I had found it and put everything back in the box.
I was disappointed Anna’s death certificate wasn’t in there, as I’d hoped it would shed more light on things. City Hall didn’t have it on file either, but given City Hall’s recordkeeping and Chicago politics, this wasn’t too surprising.
I kept staring at the photograph of my parents and me and wondered why it had been put in there and not with our other family photos. My father was so handsome in it, with a head of wavy hair most women would envy. I didn’t remember him being that handsome, but then I supposed kids didn’t ever think of their parents in that way when they were growing up with them.
It was an interesting photo—snow on the ground, us standing in front of a light-colored house. Ours had been a light color—yellow—but there wasn’t enough of the house showing in the photo to tell for sure if it was ours. After studying it further, I decided I didn’t think it was our house because there was a winterberry bush peeking out above the snow, and my mother had never been able to get a winterberry bush to grow in the summer, let alone make it through a winter.
And then an alarm went off in my brain.
I ran outside to the front corner of the house where there was a large winterberry bush, the one that I had used to coerce Minnie into giving me the time of day nine months earlier.
I held out the photo in front of me at arm’s length and compared a cracked board midway up the first floor of the house to the same cracked board in the photo.
This photo of my parents and me had been taken in front of Anna’s house.
“Looks like you’ve got things figured out.”
Her voice startled me. I turned around to face Essie.
“Not really, but I think I’m about to. Let’s go inside, my friend.”
FORTY
A Rhetorical Question
My heart was thumping up against my rib cage as I led Essie into my house. This could be it. I felt like running around to every window and door to make sure they were locked and she had no escape route, but I didn’t. Instead, I poured each of us a glass of lemonade as we settled in the living room to talk.
Essie’s eyes explored the room, but the expression on her face told me there was some exploration going on in her heart as well.
“Good memories?” I asked her.
“Wonderful memories.” She teared up and then laughed. “I told myself I wasn’t going to do this. So much for that.” She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “Anna and I had many a talk in this room. And laughs. And tears. It’s funny—she used to sit right where you’re sitting, and I would sit right here. Every time, like they were assigned seats. And sometimes we would pick up where we had left off the time before, as if only minutes had elapsed instead of days.”
“Sounds like an enviable friendship the two of you had.”
“It was.”
I gave her a moment to surrender her memories to the present.
“So, where do I start?”
It was a rhetorical question, so I didn’t respond.
“I met Anna shortly after she bought this place. I used to live a block from here, over on Warner. I was out walking my dog one day when he suddenly became excited and broke away from me. He bolted across the street to this house and disappeared into the backyard.
“I called him several times from the front walk, and when he didn’t come, I walked down the driveway to the backyard. Well, Junior had chased a cat up a tree and was guarding what he now considered to be his territory. Anna came out the back door to see what all the commotion was about. I fetched my dog. We talked, and the next thing I know, we’re friends.”
“For how long?”
“Until she died. But let’s not jump ahead, if that’s okay.”
I nodded in agreement.
“We had been friends for less than a year when—”
I waited several seconds for her to continue. She seemed to be staring at my neck, perhaps lost in a thought. If she was now having a change of heart about telling me everything, I’d scream.
“You have her necklace on,” she said.
“You recognize it after all this time?”
“I gave it to her.”
Now it was my turn to well up. “Well, that makes it even more special.” I was suddenly reminded of Anna’s will. “Wait here a minute,” I told her. “If you move, I’ll—”
She laughed. “I won’t move. I promise.”
I retrieved the Rolex watch and handed it to her.
“This was her good watch,” she said.
“She wanted you to have it.”
“How do you know that?”
“It was in her will.”
“She had a will?”
“I found it in my parents’ safe deposit box, which the court awarded to me just yesterday.”
She smiled. “Looks like my timing was finally right.”
“Do yo
u know what happened to her cat?” I wasn’t sure why that was of interest to me after all these years, but I asked it anyway.
“Tobias? The black cat?”
“According to her will, she had set aside $250 for you to take care of her cat in the event it outlived her.”
“Tobias died before Anna.” She paused. “I used to call him Toby, and she would always correct me. Toby apparently is a dog name, not a cat name, at least according to her.” She handed the watch back to me. “I can’t accept this. You keep it.”
“She wanted you to have it. I want you to have it.”
She caressed it for a few seconds. “I always admired this watch. I used to tell her that when she wasn’t looking I was going to steal it from her.”
“Well, now you don’t have to. And I’m sorry I interrupted what you were saying about when you first became friends. Please continue.”
“I started to say that it was less than a year after we met, I think, when she met Al... Obviously you know about the boarders who used to live here.”
“Yes, I do.”
“So Al moves into one of the rooms. It was January 1…I don’t know why I remember that date, but I do. Anyway, at first Anna wasn’t going to take in another boarder. In fact, after she had lived here a short while, she didn’t like the idea of having boarders at all. But there were three of them here when she bought the place, and she didn’t have the heart to kick them out. Anyway, Al must have been pretty convincing back then because she let him have the only vacant room, which was the one above her bedroom.”
“The one with the internal staircase.”
“Yes, and that made Anna nervous, even though there was a door at the top of the stairs that locked from her side.”
“But she let him move in anyway.”
“Anna had a hard time saying ‘no’ to people in need. So he moves in, and it wasn’t long before they became friends. And shortly after that… more than just friends.”
“A romantic relationship?”
“Yes. And it was only after she fell in love with him that...well, he told her he was married.”
Regarding Anna Page 28