Regarding Anna

by Florence Osmund

  “She was driving without a license, on the wrong side of the road, and she was speeding.”

  “Gross negligence. So what happened to him...my father?”

  “The uncle raised him and his sister, until his sister disappeared, that is.”

  “In the same house I grew up in? On Ferdinand Street?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what about her, Adam’s mother?”

  “She died in prison, but I don’t know when or how.”

  “I’m in shock. I never heard any of this!”

  “Probably not something your father was too proud of.”

  “Did Adam visit his mother in jail?”

  “Every Sunday. There was a fair amount of guilt there—if Adam hadn’t been playing on that woodpile, she wouldn’t have been in prison.”

  “Then at some point, Adam married Rosa. How long were they married?”

  “I want to say eight or nine years. I’m not sure.”

  “And then Adam leaves Rosa, takes a room in Anna’s boardinghouse, and has an affair with Anna.”

  “Yes.”

  I was finally getting it, but it was all so wrong. Rosa had deserved better. So had Anna. And even Essie. Adam was another story.

  “You know where Rosa is buried, right?” I asked.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “So Adam and Anna just let the city handle things...like she was just some poor indigent soul?”

  “I know. That was horrible, but if they wanted to avoid the consequences for Anna, they had no other choice.”

  “That’s appalling.”

  “There’s something I want you to know, Grace. I wanted to get to know you as you were growing up, but it was impossible with your father in the picture. I worked, sometimes seven days a week, but being in real estate I did occasionally manage to visit you and Anna during the day when your father was working. But that stopped as soon as you were old enough to talk.”

  “You thought I would say something to him?”

  “Yes. I tried other ways though. I would actually go to your school whenever I could when I thought you might be outside for recess, and I’d watch for you. I wanted to come over to you, hug you, tell you I was your godmother and would always be there for you, but I couldn’t. Anna made me promise I wouldn’t. She didn’t want to create problems between them.”

  “You’re my godmother?”

  “Adam never even knew about the christening.”

  “I have the christening dress.”

  Essie closed her eyes, squeezing out a lone tear. “I made that dress for you.”

  “You did?”

  “I patterned it after the wallpaper in your bedroom.”

  “The pink-and-white flowers?”

  Essie laughed. “Took forever to sew on those darn flowers.”

  “It’s a gorgeous dress.”

  “Thank you. Anyway, as the years went by, Anna and I stayed friends, but like I said, unbeknownst to Adam.”

  “Tell me about Anna before she met Adam.”

  “When I met her, she was fun to be with and a real looker. Took pride in the way she dressed, did her hair. She had this one outfit that I swear turned every man’s head she passed. The blouse had short butterfly sleeves and a crossover neckline that showed just a tease of cleavage. The skirt flared out at the bottom and swished around her perfect legs when she walked. Both were made of this robin’s egg blue silky fabric that seemed to flow behind her like water. And the most amazing thing about it was that she had no idea how attractive she was, how many heads she turned. She was that unpretentious.

  “She loved her independence, reveled in it. And she had a great sense of humor—I didn’t know half the time whether she was being serious or pulling my leg. Always upbeat, even when things didn’t go as well as planned.

  “Then he came into her life, and she eventually became… I don’t know…tired and, well, each year she put on a little more weight, didn’t dress like she did before. But she said she was happy, so...”

  “That first part didn’t seem at all like my mother, that’s for sure. Just the opposite. I’m curious about her hair color. What was her natural color?”

  “Dark brown, almost black. Looked beautiful with those green eyes of hers. But she changed it right after...the incident.”

  “To brown with some red in it.”

  “Like Rosa’s.”

  “That explains some of the photos I found. This whole thing is so sad. Whoever said ‘Love is blind’ knew what they were talking about.”

  “I think Shakespeare gets credit for that.” She paused. “Anna told me he was a good father to you.”

  “He was. I mean, I have no complaints as far as that goes. I never wanted for anything. He treated me okay.”

  “I snuck into your eighth-grade graduation, by the way.”

  “No kidding.”

  “And I was going to contact you after your parents died, but I just couldn’t do it.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I’m so sorry I didn’t. I should have.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I managed.”

  “That was the worst time of my life, so I think I know how hard it was for you,” she said through a swallowed sob. “I should have been there for you. And all because of that damn room.”

  “What room?”

  “The one in the basement.”

  “What about it?”

  “Do you know about it?”

  “I know about it now. Not back then.”

  “Both rooms?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “She had the one built in this house to hide things her uncle sent her. There was a time that room was packed with stuff. She knew it wasn’t right, but he was her uncle, her only father figure, and he was good to her, so she went along with it.”

  “The room was empty when I found it.”

  “She would hold things for him until he sent her instructions as to what to do with them. What you found in the attic was the last shipment he had sent to her. He wanted her to have it.”

  “And the room in the basement of our house?”

  “That was Adam’s doing. He wanted a secure room available in case Anna’s uncle sent more things. Anna hated that room, and they frequently argued about it.”

  “So her uncle knew she had moved?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Did he ever send more things to her?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “So that room was always empty?”

  “Not entirely. Anna kept a journal. She said she started keeping one as a teenager in Mexico. At one time, she had hundreds of them, but after she moved in with Adam, she destroyed all of them except the current one—that one she kept in the rafters inside that secret room. I’d completely forgotten about that until just now.”

  That explained how Berghorn knew all that personal stuff about Anna and me. He had probably torn that room apart looking for the money and had found the journal. It made me sick to think he’d read her personal thoughts.

  “Essie, when my father lived here as a boarder, you said Anna called him Al.”

  “She found out his real name after they moved in together.”

  “What about his last name? What did he use?”

  “I’m a little confused about that myself. I’m almost positive Anna told me his name was Al Lindstrom or something close to that. Then, when she found out his real name was Adam, she told me he had told her Al was a childhood nickname—his initials being AL. But she later denied telling me his last name was Lindstrom. She said she knew all along it was Lindroth. I think he lied to her about both his first and last name, and she was trying to cover up for him.”

  “I would have been out of there.”

  “Frankly, I’m not surprised she covered for him.”

  “Why?”

  “First of all, she loved him. At least, that’s what she told me. And he protected her.”

  “And if she crossed him, he had one heck of a secret to hold over her head, di
dn’t he?”

  “Of course he did, but don’t forget he was an accessory to her crime.”

  “Right. I remember my father saying more than once that he wished he could retire early and move far away.”

  “That was his plan.”

  “Really.”

  “In some ways, I felt sorry for him.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “I think what happened to him as a child determined the man he became.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I also think what happened to his mother influenced him in the way he handled the situation with Rosa. Even though his mother had killed someone by accident, she still had to go to jail. Knowing what it was like for her there, he didn’t want Anna, the woman he loved, to have to go through that.”

  “This is all so complicated.”

  “I know. Grace, are you aware of the floor safe in this house?”

  “Yes. It’s empty. Did she have that installed as well?”

  “Oddly, that was here when she bought the house. She replaced it because the previous owners didn’t leave behind a key. She used to keep money in it. Dirty money from her uncle that she would send on to someone else after a period of time.”

  “Essie, tell me how Fern fits into all of this.”

  “Fern?”

  “Fern Herschberger.”

  “You tell me. I didn’t know she did.”

  “I only met her six months ago.” I told her about Fern walking into my office that day and the items she had found among her parents’ things after their deaths that led her to believe either Rosa or Anna had been her real mother.

  “Did she know who you were when she came to your office?”

  “She said she didn’t.”

  “Did she know who I was?”

  “Yes.”

  “So her friendship with me wasn’t coincidental—it was just a sham.”

  “Please don’t be mad at her. She was desperate to find out about herself...just like I was. It’s probably hard to understand unless you’ve been there.”

  “I can assure you Anna was not her mother.”

  “I’m sorry I upset you.”

  “That’s okay.” Her voice was so soft I barely heard her. “I shouldn’t be casting any aspersions on her. I was the one who did wrong.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “We should have been having this discussion long ago.”

  “You were just being loyal to your best friend.”

  “I guess.”

  “Do you know Elmer Berghorn?”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “He caused my parents’ deaths.”

  “What?”

  “He’s in prison now, but not for that.” I filled Essie in on my ordeal with Berghorn and the story about O’Gowan’s sweepstakes winnings.

  “That’s unbelievable. How long is Berghorn in for?”

  “Seventeen years.”

  “I hope he rots in there. So that recluse boarder was wealthy?” she asked. I gathered she was referring to O’Gowan.

  “Quite.”

  “Well, I don’t think Anna knew anything about that. At least, she never said anything to me, and we pretty much told each other everything.”

  “Minnie didn’t either.”

  “Minnie?”

  I told Essie about Minnie—how we had met and our subsequent relationship.

  Essie laughed. “They could make a movie out of all this.”

  “I know. Want to hear something funny? That day you came here and were surprised to see Tymon, do you know where I was?”

  She shook her head.

  “Following the 54 bus. Fern saw you get on it that day, and I thought knowing its route might lead me to where you were staying.”

  “I took that bus to get here.”

  “I know that now. Why did you leave your house in Cicero, by the way?”

  “Because you were getting close and making me nervous, and back then I was still in the mindset that I wasn’t going to talk to you.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “I finally confessed everything to my pastor, Reverend Orman, and he advised me to talk to you.”

  “Then I say, ‘Thank you, Reverend Orman.’”

  “I don’t know about you, Grace, but I’m exhausted.”

  “Me too.”

  “Maybe we should call it a day.”

  “Can we stay in touch?” I asked.

  “I would like that.” She glanced around the room. “You know, I walked by here a year or two ago just for old time’s sake. Stopped for a minute out front to take a long look at it. The day lilies were in full bloom...so pretty. And then this irate lady comes rushing out the door asking me what the hell I was looking at. I tried to tell her I was just passing by, but she wasn’t having it. I never did that again.”

  I laughed. “I’m sure that was Minnie. A raging bull on the outside, but a real sweetheart on the inside. Remind me sometime to tell you about our first meeting.”

  Essie stared at me for several seconds before tearing up.

  “You remind me so much of her,” she said.

  Epilogue

  Under different circumstances I wouldn’t be sitting in this lovely screened-in gazebo enjoying the seventy-degree weather with just enough of a breeze to usher the sweet scent of the neighbor’s lilac bushes over this way. Tymon designed the gazebo after a barn he saw in Wisconsin. Octagonal in shape, it can easily hold eight people, but more times than not, there are just the five of us in here.

  I can see my rock garden from here as well as from my kitchen window. I used Minnie’s rock collection to create it. As I was digging into one of the boxes of rocks, I came across the metal lock box containing 372 hundred-pound Irish notes—the first money Minnie and I discovered in this house. She had hidden it well.

  The winterberry bush I bought Minnie as a peace offering didn’t make it, but I took a picture of it when it was still partially alive. The framed photograph sits on the nightstand next to my bed beside a long, smooth rock that has the words “Best Friends” scrawled on it in black marker.

  Regarding Anna, now that I know her whole story, I have a hard time accepting her as my real mother. The Anna who gave birth to me was my real mother. The Anna who raised me was a superficial rendition of the real Anna disguised as someone else, and to be honest, I don’t know how I feel about that person now.

  As for my name, I’ve gone back and forth on which one I should use. The woman who gave me life named me Celina, but I’ve been known my whole life as Grace. For now, I go by Grace. But who knows—someday, I may change my mind about that. And someday I may change my mind about how I feel about the woman who raised me.

  If it wasn’t for Anna, the five of us wouldn’t be together, not like this anyway. The money I received for the Mexican artwork and gold coins she left behind will fund NSU Immigration Services for a very long time. I think she’d be proud of me. I hope she would anyway.

  I glance around the open-air room at my cohorts who helped me form this organization and now play an important role in keeping it functioning.

  Naomi makes sure we all have what we need to do our jobs and serves as interpreter for my Spanish-speaking clients. She dresses much more conservatively these days, realizing that her former “too hot to handle” persona was her peculiar way of making sure she didn’t attract a man she could potentially like, realizing now that not all men are like her abusive father. She recently became an active member of the PTA at her daughter’s school and has been talking regularly with one of the single fathers she met there. I hope that works out for her. She’s a wonderful person and a good mother.

  Tymon, my only permanent boarder, does here what he’s done his whole life—he fixes things. And I’m not just talking about physical things. He’s also good at fixing misguided souls and broken spirits. I don’t know for sure that he’s not my real father—he and Anna could have had an affair that she never disclosed to Essie—but that’s not import
ant to me. The gifts I have received from him on my journey to find the truth far outweigh the need to know whether he or Adam was my biological father. If he had relations with Anna and someday wants me to know that, he’ll tell me.

  Fern continues to teach second grade—even won the regional Teacher of the Year award this year—but on weekends, she’s in my dining room teaching English to our non-English-speaking clients. When Fern realized she was the baby in the letter Rosa wrote, she cried. And when she told me that she and her boyfriend were going to get married next month and asked me to be her maid of honor, I cried. Then when she thanked me for helping her get on with her life, we both cried. We’re best friends now, which is pretty amazing given my mother was responsible for her mother’s death.

  My dear friend Essie still sells real estate for Baird & Warner and, in her off hours, helps to transition immigrant families who are living in my boardinghouse to permanent homes. I liked Essie from the beginning, but I like her even more now that she’s discovered a new person inside herself after being relieved of the burden of keeping Anna’s secret for all these years.

  I wish I could say Minnie was here, helping out in her own unique way. I wish she had lived long enough for me to understand her. She was gruff and sometimes difficult, yet my guess is what she wanted most in life was to be accepted by others, be part of a family again if she could, and take care of people. I don’t understand why she got in the way of herself like she did. I think about her often, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing her.

  I realize now that Minnie and I were a lot alike in that we were not living full lives. And even though, in the end, we each changed that for ourselves, there may have been easier ways for us to go about it. But then we wouldn’t have met, so I have no regrets.

  What do I do for this organization? I make sure that indigent immigrants who desire American citizenship and need legal advice are aware of the services available to them so they do not get taken by the likes of Elmer Berghorn.

  And speaking of Elmer, he has agreed to work with prison officials in setting up a free legal counseling service for his fellow inmates who are not U.S. citizens in exchange for my creating a trust fund for his son—from proceeds I earned selling off the Mexican coins and artwork—to make sure the young man gets the medical care he needs. He eventually told me his whole story, and it was touching.