The Glass Forest

by Cynthia Swanson

  I put my hand to my mouth. The horror of what he was saying sunk in. It was true—based on the photographs—that Silja likely would’ve been happy to see Henry disappear.

  But to actually have killed him? Was that even possible? How would Silja have done that? And if she had, would she have taken her young daughter into her confidence?

  “Why would the police think that?” I asked Paul. “I thought the coroner ruled it a suicide. What’s changed to make them suspect Silja?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know for sure,” he told me. “But someone must have planted that idea in their heads.”

  What did he mean? Was he referring to Jean Kellerman? I frowned and took a bite of cheese pizza. “What about the note?” I asked. “The note Silja wrote, saying she was abandoning her family. What about that?”

  Paul shrugged. “The lawyer thinks the cops probably suspect it’s a red herring. Silja planted it so she could get away.”

  “But what about Ruby? Silja wouldn’t just leave Ruby on her own after doing a thing like that, would she?”

  Paul shrugged again. “I don’t have any answers, Angel.”

  “What does Ruby say?” I pressed. “What did she tell the cops?”

  “She didn’t tell them anything. The lawyer—name is Mr. Kurtz—advised her not to speak. Kurtz tried to get her to go to his office. Get all her cards on the table and figure out what to do. But she was having none of it. She wanted to come home.”

  I sat quietly, thinking about everything he’d said.

  Then I asked, “What do you think happened, Paul? Do you think Silja . . . could do a thing like that?”

  He looked at me slowly, evenly, with a look of bewilderment.

  And I finally saw it—what I hadn’t been willing to see in all the time I’d known him.

  He was arranging his features for me. Putting on an expression for me.

  In this moment, his look made him appear puzzled. And yet, I was sure he wasn’t puzzled at all. He had a strong opinion about what had happened, and perhaps even facts to support it. But he wasn’t going to share that with me.

  How often had he done that in the past? How often had he painted love, gentleness—even lust—on his face?

  How often had he donned a mask, and I hadn’t been willing to see it?

  “I don’t know, Angel,” he said. “I really don’t know what to think.”

  I pressed my lips together and didn’t respond. He wasn’t going to be honest with me—that was clear. Of course he wasn’t—why should he be? For heaven’s sake, the man was in love with his own niece!

  She could be in danger from this man. So could I. So could PJ.

  I needed time; I needed to figure out what to do. And the only way to buy that time was to do to him what he’d been doing to me.

  I’d have to stop being myself.

  • • •

  Ruby hadn’t come out by the time we went to bed, and although I wanted to check on her, Paul said it was best to leave her alone. As we settled in for the night, I moved as far away from Paul as possible, to the edge of Silja’s king-size bed. When he reached for me, I told him I was tired. “It’s all just too much,” I said. “It’s overwhelming.”

  In the darkness, he squeezed my shoulder. “It will be over soon,” he said. “We’ll get back to Wisconsin as soon as this is all cleared up.”

  And then what? Even if the lawyer could somehow get the police to let the girl go—then what would happen? We’d all go back to Wisconsin, and Paul would continue to live with me—with Ruby there too, and PJ, and possibly a new baby—in a loveless marriage?

  Or would he abandon me? Would he leave, taking Ruby along?

  Would she go with him?

  I closed my eyes. My mind raced around, trying to hatch a plan. But fatigue overtook me and eventually I fell into a deep sleep.

  55

  * * *

  Ruby

  She watches from the doorway to her mother’s room, and when she hears Aunt Angie snoring softly, she steps in, quietly like a cat, and comes up to the bed on Uncle Paul’s side. He’s sleeping on her mother’s side of the bed, and this feels like a violation, but Ruby tries to ignore that.

  It hardly matters now.

  She touches his shoulder and as soon as he opens his eyes she puts her finger to her lips and then slips from the room, knowing he’ll follow her.

  In her bedroom she closes the door behind them and she tells him what was hidden in her closet and now is missing.

  “It was here,” she says, and she points at the pile of clothes on her closet floor.

  “When?” he asks. “When did you last see it?”

  She shakes her head. “I think a week or so ago.” She lowers her voice and whispers—though they are the only ones there, “Before my father died. He may have . . . it’s possible he took it.”

  Uncle Paul pauses, then says, “If he did, it would be in his room. Or in the bomb shelter.”

  “Maybe,” Ruby says. “One of us has to check, I guess.” She gives him an imploring look. “I don’t want to. Will you do it?”

  He reaches to hug her and she lets him. “Of course, sweetheart,” he says softly into her hair. “You climb back into bed. I’ll go check his room, and if I don’t find it, I’ll . . . I can go out to the bomb shelter.”

  “There’s something else,” Ruby says, and she tells him about the Shelter drawings. “They were here, too.” She shrugs. “I don’t know why I took them, but I did. And now they’re gone.”

  Uncle Paul nods. “I’ll find them,” he says. “Don’t worry, Ruby.”

  He slips from her room. She knows she won’t sleep, so she waits in the dark, eyes open. He’s so stealthy, Uncle Paul. She can hear him slipping almost soundlessly into the room where the baby sleeps, then coming out a few moments later. His footsteps are a bit more urgent now; she can tell his strides are longer as he crosses the hallway. She hopes Aunt Angie doesn’t wake and hear him stepping outside.

  He’s gone a long time. When he comes back, she’s still awake and she stares at him, wide-eyed. He shakes his head.

  “Thank you for looking, though.” She smiles tentatively at him. “That was brave of you.”

  He brushes off this comment. “Did your father have hiding places in the house? Anywhere you can think of?”

  She stares at him helplessly. “Probably, but I can’t guess where they would be. He was secretive . . . you know that.”

  Uncle Paul nods. His forehead breaks out in a sweat and for the first time in her memory, his shoulders shake. “This is bad, Ruby,” he says. “This is really, really bad.” He balls his hands into fists. “Jesus, this is bad.”

  She calms him down by laying a hand on his arm and making him sit on the bed.

  She stands in front of him. No way will she sit next to him, though she knows he wants her to.

  “Let me think this through,” he says. “I’m going to the living room to have a drink. You stay here. Close your door and don’t open it unless you hear two knocks. If you do, that’s me and it means I have a plan.”

  56

  * * *

  Silja

  1960

  On a warm springtime Sunday, Silja had plans to spend the afternoon with David at Croton Point Park. It was a parcel of land jutting out into the river from the town of Croton. David and Silja were fond of meeting there; it was too far from Stonekill for anyone to recognize Silja and too far from White Plains for anyone to recognize David.

  As she paid her fee at the park entrance, Silja glanced in her rearview mirror, looking for David’s Mercury. She smiled when she saw it in the line behind her, a few cars back.

  And then she froze.

  Several vehicles behind David’s, she made out an ancient, battered Ford truck.

  No, she thought, shaking her head—it couldn’t be. Henry wouldn’t have followed her. When she left the house, he was vehemently turning over garden beds in preparation for planting. Or had that been a ruse? Was he
just waiting for her to leave, and then jumping in the truck and tailing her, staying just far enough out of sight that she wouldn’t notice?

  Her hands trembling, Silja turned her head side to side, trying to figure out what to do. There was no way to signal David. They should have had a plan in place for this type of thing long ago. What was she thinking, not expecting it to ever happen?

  Well, she’d park her car, rendezvous with David, and hope for the best. Maybe it was time, after all. It was hardly the place she would have chosen—but perhaps it was time for it all to come to a head.

  • • •

  David pulled in next to her and came toward her with opened arms. Silja put her hand out as if to hold him at bay. With her other hand, she put her finger to her lips and nodded toward the parking lot entrance. The truck pulled in and Silja could finally make out the driver.

  It was Ruby.

  “Good heavens,” she said to David, her voice awash with relief. “It’s my daughter.” She waved Ruby over.

  The girl was graceless behind the wheel. She’d only had her license for a few months and rarely drove; Henry was the one who’d insisted she learn. She parked the truck crookedly next to Silja’s MGA. Silja and David watched silently as Ruby emerged from the driver’s side.

  “You followed me,” Silja said simply.

  “You’re gone every Sunday,” Ruby replied. “You used to ask me to go to the movies with you. But you never ask anymore.” She shrugged. “I started to wonder.”

  Silja looked from her daughter to David, and then back again. “Perhaps you remember Dr. Shepherd,” she said. “You were very small. It was a long time ago.”

  Ruby nodded. “I remember,” she replied softly.

  Silja watched as his eyes met her daughter’s. “Ruby,” he said. “It’s my pleasure to see you again, after all these years.”

  To Silja’s surprise, Ruby—her girl of few words—responded to David. “It’s nice to see you again, too.” Then she looked at Silja. “Would you walk with me, Mom?”

  “I—of course,” Silja said. “Dr. Shepherd and I were going to have a picnic.” Her voice was wobbly. “Maybe we still can—and maybe you can join us, Ruby.”

  “Maybe.” Ruby took off across the parking lot toward the riverbank, and Silja sprinted after her.

  The girl halted at the edge of the parking lot; Silja stopped next to her, chest heaving, catching her breath. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way,” she said between breaths.

  In front of them was a grassy area, with a gravel path leading to the river. Standing on the retaining wall that separated the land from the water, fathers and their kids fished, more likely to reel in a squirming eel than the catfish they probably hoped for. A group of down-on-their-luck old-timers—no doubt they’d walked into the park; it was improbable that they had a car—hovered nearby. Perhaps they were hoping the fishers would share their catch, whatever it turned out to be.

  Ruby shielded her eyes from the sun and looked back across the parking lot toward David, who was still rooted in place, near the three vehicles. “Is he your lover?”

  Silja hesitated, and then nodded.

  Ruby didn’t say anything. She seemed to be digesting the information. Then she said, “Well, I guess I’d find a lover, too, if I were married to Dad.” The girl tilted her head at David. “Have you been seeing him ever since that night when I was a little kid? That’s a long time to have a lover.”

  Silja explained how she and David had become reacquainted by chance a few years ago.

  Ruby picked up a flat stone and skimmed it across the water. “He’s a nice man,” she observed. “I remember his kindness.”

  “He is kind,” Silja agreed. “I’ve never known anyone kinder.”

  Her breathing had returned to normal, but she felt compelled to take a deep swallow of air before asking Ruby, “Will you give him a chance? Will you keep this from your father—will you keep my secret—and take some time to get to know him? I think if you do . . . you’ll see why this means so much to me.”

  Ruby shrugged. “Well, let’s have that picnic and see how it goes.”

  David had taken picnic fixings from his own car and Silja’s, spreading them on a table under a just-budding elm tree. “Plenty for everyone,” he said as they approached.

  Ruby met his eye. “What should I call you?”

  He tilted his head. “Hmm. Dr. Shepherd seems too formal, doesn’t it?”

  “And David too informal,” Silja interjected—hearing her mother’s voice in her head, admonishing her to treat elders with respect. Immediately, she chided herself; she should let Ruby call David by his first name. It would ease the awkwardness.

  But before Silja could say anything else, Ruby suggested, “What about just Shepherd? Would that be all right?” Her look was almost shy. “You look a bit like a German shepherd,” she added.

  David laughed. “Shepherd it is, then.”

  They ate their picnic. Two of the old men who had been near the water stepped closer, eyeing the feast. When Silja, Ruby, and David had finished eating, David gave the men the leftovers, then reached in his pocket and handed them his loose change.

  Silja, with determination, foraged in her pocketbook, brought out her wallet, and gave each man a five-dollar bill. “For dinner,” she said. “Or tomorrow’s meals if you’re not hungry the rest of today.”

  Ruby watched the interaction with a bemused smile. “I like this version of you, Mom.”

  Silja sighed with relief. She’d hadn’t given the men money in order to impress Ruby. She’d given it because it was a generous thing to do. Still, she was pleased with the turn of events.

  • • •

  After that, she began inviting Ruby on their Sunday outings. She missed being alone with David, but she saw him often enough during the week to make up for it.

  She felt guilty about the situation. What kind of mother shares the secret of her affair with her teenage daughter? What mother would condone a child lying to her father about her whereabouts? Nonetheless, Silja loved the charade she shared with Ruby. She relished giving the girl meaningful looks over the dinner table on Saturday night, slipping into Ruby’s room after the meal to let her know what was planned for the following day. Silja and Ruby waved good-bye to Henry—off to the movies, they assured him—climbing into the MGA to head out for their latest adventure with David.

  Perhaps it was her imagination, but Silja noticed Ruby begin to blossom in more ways than one. Her carriage was more graceful, her laugh more genuine. That was David’s influence, Silja told herself; it had to be.

  She knew it would be better if Ruby had friends. Real friends, girls her own age. It was unnatural for a seventeen-year-old girl to spend weekends with her mother and her mother’s lover. But Silja was willing to look past it, to embrace the rekindled closeness between herself and her daughter. To cherish the time she spent with David and Ruby.

  He shared his work with Ruby, who took an interest in all he knew. She’d never realized there were so many varieties of plants, Ruby told Silja and David one day as the trio hiked at a small Putnam County forest preserve, one of David’s favorite, remote areas to explore. “So many growing things, so many green things,” Ruby said. “I’ve always just walked past and on top of them and didn’t even look. Never thought about their details, their purpose. There are plants that do everything. Food for us, food for animals. Shelter. Protection.”

  David chuckled. “You’d be amazed to learn all that plants can do. They’re amazingly versatile, and endlessly educational.” He stepped into a boggy area. “Look here, Ruby—see this one? It’s Cicuta maculata. Common name, spotted water hemlock. Poisonous in the root, and to a lesser degree throughout the plant. Steer clear.”

  “Wow.” Ruby regarded the plant with admiration.

  • • •

  On a hot, humid Sunday in early July, David borrowed a motorboat from a fellow professor at NYU. Silja and Ruby met him at the Tarrytown Yacht Club, wh
ere its owner docked his boat. Once aboard the sturdy little craft, they made their way north through the choppy waters of the Hudson.

  Ruby leaned over the windscreen, the breeze blowing her long hair back from her face. “This is incredible,” she said. “This must be what it feels like to fly.”

  David gunned the motor and the boat sped up.

  Silja felt liberated. Is this what being on the water is always like? she wondered. If so, I should do this more often.

  It was freedom. It was pretending she didn’t have a care in the world.

  They approached the Mothball Fleet, the ships anchored on the west side of the river by Jones Point. “Ooh, I’ve always wondered what it would look like in there, among those ships,” Ruby said.

  “Let’s find out.” David slowed down and steered between two tall freighters.

  With almost no breeze to whip it up, the water between the ships was smooth as glass. Silja was amazed; it was as if the fleet had somehow tamed the unruly river. David guided the boat effortlessly among the ships, weaving from one lane to the next. Other powerboats whizzed by, some of them towing water skiers. Ruby and Silja waved at the skiers, who took one hand off their crossbars to wave back.

  “I’ve always heard the wind didn’t get in here,” Silja said. “I never quite believed it, but it’s true.”

  They pulled north of the fleet, into a small bay. They were almost directly across the river from Stonekill, and Silja thought about Henry, back at home deep in the forest. Doing whatever it was he did all day long when she and Ruby weren’t there.

  David cut the engine and lowered the anchor. “Let’s stop and enjoy the view.” They drifted gently, the waves languid in the bay.

  Silja had brought her Brownie camera, loaded with a fresh twelve-shot roll of film. “Take some photos of Ruby and me,” she suggested to David, handing the camera to him.

  After he’d taken a few shots, he gave the camera back to Silja. She hesitated, and then asked Ruby, “Can I take some of the two of you?”