She thought, too, about Elyse having her dead husband’s child. What motivated her to do such a thing? Was it because she loved him that strongly? Why would she opt to be a single mother? Was she trying to prove something . . . to herself, or to whom?
Thinking about the approaching dilemma she might possibly find herself in, Holly emitted a soft, long sigh that alerted Branch.
He turned his head quickly.
“You okay?”
“Yep, just thinking about something.”
“Your dad?”
“Uh huh.”
“Care to share?”
“Not right now, Branch. Perhaps . . . maybe later.”
“Anytime.” He patted her hand. “You know that.”
“I do, Branch, I do. Thanks.”
Chapter 26
When Holly returned to her part-time job at Prime Care, one of the first patients she wanted to see was Mr. Harkins. She went to his unit, anxious to see her old friend, only to be told by a staff member, “Mr. Harkins? Oh, no, he’s been transferred to the unit for independent living. He’s too ‘with it’ for this unit,” she was informed.
When she found him in the lounge area, clean shaven, wearing a shirt and tie, brown slacks and shoes, with a navy cardigan, she could hardly believe her eyes.
“Well, look at you,” she said to him, and was rewarded with a big smile. “I just turn my back for awhile, next thing I know you’ll be steppin’ out of here.”
He looked up at her. “Didn’t think you were the only somebody who could make changes, did you? Bringing me those books made me start to sit up and take notice. Knew I had to make a change. Besides, couldn’t take much more of old man Grabel snoring like a freight train every night! Had to make some moves! Know what I mean?”
He smiled at her, the wrinkles in his worn brown skin smoothing out his pleasure at seeing his young friend.
“Well,” he demanded, “don’t just stand there! Tell me what you’ve been up to. No good, I ’spect, knowing you as I do.”
So she told him about her course of studies, a little of her medical experience at Suffolk General, and how pleased she was to be able to do her co-op work at Prime Care, even though now she was assigned to the rehabilitation department.
His eyes open wide, he listened intently, nodded in agreement when she brought him up to date about her exciting new life.
“Sounds good to me. You just stop by an’ see how I’m doin’. Might be surprised.”
“Oh, Mr. Harkins, I’ll be back every chance I get. You can count on that. Is there anything I can do for you? Any new books you want?”
He thought for a moment.
“Yes, there is. You know that young African fella, the one who spoke at the convention? What’s his name?”
“Yes, I know who you mean. He’s a senator from Illinois.”
“Tha’s the one! What is his name?”
“Barack Obama.”
“Right! I’d like to read his book.”
“Okay, first chance I get I’ll go by The Kwanzaa Book Shop. I’m sure they’ll have it, or can order it from the publisher.”
“Good. Now,” he said firmly, “you let me know how much it costs and I’ll give you . . .”
“You don’t need to give me any money.”
There was no mistaking the surge of independence Holly saw in his eyes when he insisted, “I know I don’t need to pay you, but I have to pay you or I can’t take the book. That’s all there is to it, young lady! You hear me?”
His bony forefinger was pointed directly at her and she knew he meant what he had said. A retiree of the Transit Authority of Boston, she understood that he had a pension, but Prime Care was not inexpensive. The cost could be as much as several hundred dollars a day, and she knew costs might have risen even more during the few years she had been employed there.
* * *
Ace was pleased with the mobile he’d made for Elyse’s baby. It was to be hung over the baby’s crib.
Made of clay, the individual pieces had been shaped, fired and painted with appropriate colors. He used nursery figures like Little Miss Muffett, Cinderella, Humpty-Dumpty and Jack and Jill, to hang from the flat, dinner-plate-sized header. Each figure was secured with varying lengths of strong plastic coated fiber. The small figures danced and swayed as air currents swirled around them.
He used a flexible strip of balsa wood to anchor the mobile and metal clamp to attach it to the baby’s crib. The tinkling sound of the mobile was pleasant to the ear and Ace smiled with satisfaction when he heard the cheerful sounds it made as it swayed in delicate circles.
He had talked to Elyse on the phone but had not visited her, believing that she was busy setting up a new schedule for her life. From their conversations, he knew that things were going well. Margaret Joyce, “Emjay,” as Elyse called her, was a serene, relaxed infant.
“She’s a real good baby, Ace. I’m so lucky to have such a treasure. Can’t imagine my life without her. Sometimes I can’t believe that I did this, that I’m somebody’s mother!”
“Oh, you certainly are, my dear. I can attest to that! An experience I’ll never forget.”
Chapter 27
Ace made it a habit to call Elyse several times a week. “Do you need anything from the store? I’d be happy to pick up anything for you or the baby.”
“Ace, no, we’re doing fine, thanks.”
“In any case, may I come by to see you girls?”
She laughed over the phone. “At any time. You are welcome.”
Whenever he did visit, he was surprised by the changes the baby made week to week.
“She’s growing nicely, Elyse, isn’t she?”
“Doing great. So well I plan to get back to the store. I have a playpen so she’ll be safe.”
Later, when he went by the store, he was delighted to see the baby was comfortable. Elyse was content to be back at work.
He went over to the playpen. The baby gave him a crooked smile.
Stirred by a sudden feeling of wanting to hold her, he asked Elyse, “Can I pick her up, hold her for a minute?”
“Of course you may. I’ve just changed her. She’s nice and dry. I was about to get her bottle.”
He bent over, scooping the infant into his arms. The baby never took her eyes from his face.
“My goodness, how much does she weigh?”
“Almost fifteen pounds. Not bad for three months old. She’s almost tripled her birth weight.”
Ace talked to the baby, telling her how beautiful she was and how proud he was of her. He was rewarded with smiles and cooing sounds as if she was talking back to him. Elyse was amazed at the instant bonding between Ace and her daughter.
“She likes you, Ace. I believe she’s flirting with you.”
“Well, my dear, we do have a history, you know. We go way, way back.”
At that moment Emerald came into the back room and noticed the domestic scene that Ace, the baby and Elyse made. She thought how natural they looked together, but kept it to herself and instead announced her reason for entering.
“Elyse, remember Holly, the young student that offered to babysit for you? She’s here with a friend of hers. I told her you were here with the baby and she’d like to see her. Can they come in?”
“Of course, by all means.”
What an attractive couple, Ace thought when he saw Holly and Branch.
The girl was wearing a navy wool, military-looking jacket with a white turtleneck blouse and red plaid pleated skirt. The young man looked as if he could be a linebacker for the New England Patriots. They both looked like college students.
Emerald made introductions and Ace was impressed by the firm, manly handshake he shared with Branch as he held the baby protectively close to his chest.
He handed the baby to Elyse, who showed her to Holly.
“Mrs. Marshall, she’s just beautiful! May I hold her?” She sat down on the sofa and reached for the child.
Emerald returned to the ro
om with a tray of cold lemonade and potato chips and placed the tray on the coffee table. When she raised her eyes, she stared at the pair. My God, she thought, those two look just alike! They could be sisters! Then it struck her. Holly resembled Barry Marshall, Elyse’s dead husband. But how could that be?
Holly’s hair, soft brown, framed her smooth brown sugar face with soft tendrils. Margaret Joyce shared the same silken curly hair. But it was the broad forehead and dark brown eyes that she remembered as part of Barry’s handsome face. These two had the same eyes, the same broad forehead. Then Emerald noted something else.
The baby was responding to Holly, had clamped her tiny hand around Holly’s fingers. Emerald noticed they both had distinctive wide, stubby fingernails—just like Barry.
* * *
No one in the room seemed to take notice, but Elyse had been staring at the pair sitting on the couch in her office, the young girl and the baby . . . her baby. The truth had hit her like a paramedic’s fist pounding on her chest to resuscitate her.
She looked around the room to see if others were watching her. Both Ace and Branch were conversing with each other; Emerald was busy playing hostess. No one seemed to know that she was being assailed by a shocking, life-altering moment. What earthshaking truth had thrust itself into her life?
The girl Holly looked very much like Barry. Why hadn’t she seen this before? And then, when she had handed his baby to Holly, she’d noticed the oddly-shaped fingernails that she and her husband had laughed at so many times. His fingers were well defined, but his nails were short and stubby.
“Guess they are a throwback to some Cro-Magnon ancestor,” he’d said when she teased him about his unusually shaped nails.
She remembered another time when she asked him a more serious question. The memory hit her tonight like a thunderbolt, unexpected and frightening.
“Have you ever had a really serious relationship before, Barry?” she’d asked him.
He admitted, “Once, when I was eighteen.” His voice was quiet and she thought at the time that he was reluctant to give her an answer, but he did try to explain.
“Like I said, I was eighteen, barely knew up from down, and she was sixteen. We thought we were in love, but soon reality set in and we realized we were too young. She was still in high school and I was just a college freshman. But don’t worry, Leese, you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, or ever will.”
Tonight Elyse wondered, who is Holly Francis? Could she be the result of that relationship?
* * *
The two men talked about their careers. Branch was deeply impressed when he learned of Ace’s Peace Corps experience.
“You spent two years in Africa? Man, that’s awesome. I’d like to hear more about that.”
“Sure. Sometime we’ll get together. Think Holly would be interested?” Ace asked. “Maybe Elyse could come along, too. I do have many slides of my time in Cameroon, and she’s often said she wanted to see them.”
“Sounds very good to me,” Branch said. “Why don’t I give you my cell phone number and we can set something up. I’ll have to check with Holly. Work it around her school hours.”
“She’s in school?”
“Yes. We both are. I’m trying to become a physician’s assistant and Holly is working towards a B.S. degree in nursing with a specialty in geriatrics.”
Elyse had walked over to where the two men were standing and she heard the last part of their conversation.
“I just heard about your schooling, Branch. I think that is so commendable. It’s great to meet ambitious young people. Getting an education means an opportunity to move into a better lifestyle. I hope and pray that my little daughter will be able to have a good education.”
Ace nodded in agreement. “I don’t see why not. I know you’ll give her every advantage.”
“I aim to do my best,” Elyse said.
* * *
Holly looked over towards Elyse and the men. She noticed the firm slant to Elyse’s mouth as she spoke with them. That made her think that Mrs. Marshall was a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. Holly filed that notion in the back of her mind, realizing that it was perhaps the woman’s unique focus on her goals that had aided her in deciding to take on single motherhood. It was not an action she’d had to take. She had wanted to do so.
Then Holly’s thoughts turned elsewhere. What kind of man had Barry Marshall been? It seemed that even from his grave he had been able to persuade his wife to have their child. Evidently she loved him enough to honor his wish. Holly was not sure she understood that kind of love. She looked down at the baby in her arms . . . her sister. She thought, In a way he, their father, abandoned both of us. Neither of us will ever know him.
She felt a jolt of sympathy strike her for the infant. She recalled feeling so valueless as a young child growing up without a father. Would Margaret Joyce feel the same way? Have the same feelings she had endured?
Ace asked Branch, “How long have you known Holly?”
“A few years now. We met at MT, Medical Technical School . . . it prepares people for entry-level jobs in the medical field.”
“Well, it sounds to me as if you two are moving up the ladder. And,” he grinned at Branch, “I take it she is very important to you. Am I right?”
“You bet you are!” They both looked over at Holly interacting with the baby, who was responding with coos, smiles and gurgling babbles.
Ace noticed the loving exchange between the pair, then was taken aback when, with his artist’s eyes, he saw a resemblance between them. How could such a thing be possible? He watched as Elyse took her daughter from Holly. It was then that he saw that Margaret Joyce looked more like Holly than she did her mother.
“She looks just like her father,” Elyse had told him one time. Looking at the pair now, he wondered. Naw, he said to himself, it couldn’t be! But he wondered all the same.
After Elyse settled the baby on the soft blankets in the playpen, Ace brought out the large Christmas gift bag. He announced, “I made this for Missy.”
“Missy?” Elyse asked.
Ace opened the bag, removed the tissue-wrapped bundle.
“That’s the way I think of her. A beautiful, precious little Miss. Missy.”
There was total silence in the room as Elyse, Emerald, Holly and Branch watched him carefully peel the paper back, trying not to tangle the figures hanging from the thin cords.
There was complete silence in the room as Ace slowly revealed his work.
“Ace! How beautiful!” Elyse said as she realized what she was looking at.
“A mobile for the baby!”
“You made this?” Branch asked.
“Yep. Wanted Missy to have something to look at.”
He straightened the strings and everyone admired the delicate colorful figures that hung suspended from the plate with the painted blue moon and gold stars.
Emerald said, “Look, there’s Humpty Dumpty and Little Miss Muffet!”
Elyse chimed in, “I like Sleeping Beauty. She’s so delicate.” She touched the small figurine and laughed when she heard the tinkling sounds as the figures swayed and touched each other.
Ace and Branch clamped the mobile to the head of the playpen and Missy looked up intently at the slowly revolving figures.
“Ace, I can’t thank you enough for making this.”
“My pleasure, Elyse.”
Branch and Holly left soon afterwards, saying something about studying, but both promised to keep in touch.
Ace gathered up the crumpled sheets of tissue paper as well as the Christmas bag.
“By the way, Elyse, I’ve been meaning to tell you that Sebastian is doing very well.”
“That’s great, Ace. I’ll come by someday and introduce him to Missy. See how they get along.”
“Come by anytime, we’ll be there.”
She thanked him again for the baby’s gift. He said goodnight to her and to Emerald, and as he walked through the now empty
store he glanced at the display window, wondering if he should work up a new display, something new. At the moment, however, he had no new ideas at all.
He got into his car and sat in the dark a moment before putting the key in the ignition. He had seen the photograph of Barry Marshall on Elyse’s desk in her office. There was a strong resemblance to the two girls he’d seen that night.
One was about three months old, and the other about twenty-two years old. Was there any connection between Holly and the man in the photo, with his tennis racket in hand, seemingly ready for a serious tennis game?
As Ace drove home that night, the disturbing photo on his mind, he wondered, Should I be concerned by what I saw?
Chapter 28
“Branch, I have to tell you something. Before she died, my grandmother gave me those documents that prove that I am Barry Marshall’s daughter.”
“Oh, my God, are you kidding me?”
“I am not. I really don’t know what I should do about . . .”
“Don’t make any decision in a hurry.”
“That’s why I’m asking you what you think.”
“Somehow, Holly, I think she has to be told.”
“Probably so,” she sighed.
Branch suggested to Holly that perhaps she should make copies of all the documents that she had so that she could keep the originals and still have copies to give to Elyse Marshall.
“She might want to talk this over with her lawyer, you know,” he said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she did. Seek legal counsel, that is.”
Holly agreed with a nod, but then she asked him, “After I make the copies, what then?”
They had cleared away the leftover food, washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. They were seated on a loveseat, the only furniture in Holly’s small living room besides an occasional chair and a small television set. Her coffee table was a pair of crates on top of which she had placed a large metal tray.
“What do you mean?”
“Should I mail them to her? Take them to her? Call her on the phone? Branch, I . . . I don’t know what to do!”
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