"What on earth do you need to say to Duncan that you can't say here in front of us?" his mother asked.
"Please, Duncan. It's important." Esther was quiet now, sadness pulling her features down.
When Duncan's hand slipped out of mine, I felt as if my blood was filling my chest, surging into my throat. I wanted to call him back, as a sense of urgency pervaded the atmosphere. I didn't want him to go. So strong was the compulsion I almost got to my feet, but Esther showed me her palm. "Please, Miriam. I need to talk to Duncan, just the two of us."
It was about me. Had to be.
But I couldn't say anything, so I just nodded.
And then I started praying.
"First off, I don't appreciate what you said to Miriam," Duncan said, closing the door behind him. "Nor the way you were talking to her."
Esther shook her head as she leaned back against their father's roll-top desk, her hands resting on either side of her hips. The desk was as cluttered with papers as it was when his father ran the business. "I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. I'm still dealing with Jerrod's death. And Fran's."
"We all are," Duncan said. "So what is so important that you couldn't talk in front of everyone else? And please don't tell me it's about me getting out of the business."
"Why can't I talk to you about the business?"
"Because it's none of yours. I've worked my butt off for too many years trying to keep people happy, and I'm not doing it anymore." Duncan walked over to the window of the office and looked out over the yard. His parents' home was on one corner of the ranch, looking out over the river valley. He pulled in a deep sigh, the ticking of the grandfather clock in one corner of his father's office measuring out the time in heavy, solid increments.
"You tired of it?"
"I am. It's exhausting."
"And Mom and Dad?"
"They're fine. The money I paid Dad to buy him out is invested in solid stock. Plus, they have the insurance money from the accident."
"Speaking of insurance money, is that why Phil needs to come? Because of the insurance company?"
"He needs to go over a few things. Sounds like the mortgage insurance will pay off the house, but Jer and Fran's life insurance company are balking about paying out. Said because they were involved in a risky sport they aren't covered. He also wants to check on Jerrod’s business dealings. Go through some of his old tax files because of this guy who is putting a claim against the estate. He figures he can get it dismissed but just wanted to cover all his bases."
"So if the insurance company doesn’t pay out there might not be any money for Celia?"
Duncan wasn't interested in dealing with all of this. "The house can be sold. That money can be put in trust."
"Sold? But it was Jerrod's home—" she stopped there, pressing her fist against her mouth.
Her reaction was curious. "Fran's, too," he added.
Esther nodded, swiping at her eyes. "Yes. Of course." Then she released a harsh laugh as she pulled a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. "Not that she ever took care of it. It took Miriam the whole time she was here to clean it up. She did a good job."
"She is a tidy and organized person." While he was happy to hear praise for Miriam it bothered him that Esther would talk that way about their sister.
"You like her?" Esther asked, sniffing again. "Miriam?"
"I do. I like her a lot."
"You liked her already when you met at Fran's wedding, didn't you?"
"I did." He wasn't ready to talk about Miriam. Not when things were so new between them, so he shifted his attention back to his sister. "So, now that we're in private, away from everyone else, tell me what you couldn't tell me back there."
Esther bit her lip, looking down at the tissue she had been worrying while she talked. "I wanted to talk to you about Phil going through Jerrod’s papers."
"You pulled me away in private just to tell me that?"
"I didn’t want Mom and Dad asking a bunch of questions."
Duncan felt puzzled, but Esther wouldn’t catch his eye. He grew suspicious. “What's the deal, Esther? Miriam said you didn't want her going through the office, either."
"I didn't think she had any right to."
"Miriam was his sister, and probably had more right to do it than you did."
"Not really. She's just—"
"She's just his foster sister, right?" he said, annoyed with the insinuation that Miriam's relationship was less important than Esther's tenuous one.
"No. I didn't think that."
"At any rate, she is Celia's guardian," he pressed. He had made the mistake of not fighting for Miriam the last time. He wasn't making that mistake again. "You should have left all that to her."
"I couldn't," Esther said, an edge of panic in her voice, folding and unfolding the tissue she couldn't keep her eyes off of. "I couldn't leave it to her. I couldn't leave it to anyone else.”
"Why not?" he asked, anger edging his voice.
"Because." She stopped there, her hands still torturing the tissue.
"That's no answer."
Esther took a quick breath, tears suddenly spilling down her face. "I couldn't let her get into Jerrod's office for the same reason I can't let Phil in the office. I'm not done yet. I haven't found—" Again, she stopped.
"Found what? What are you looking for that's so important?"
Esther shook her head, her breathing shallow.
"Esther, look at me. What is going on? Why did you feel only you should clean out Jerrod's office?"
She spun around, away from him, still saying nothing.
"Tell me why," he pushed.
"I didn't want anyone to find all the letters or the e-mails,” she said finally, her voice quiet.
"What letters and e-mails?"
"The ones Jerrod and I wrote each other. The ones when we were…" She stopped, her voice breaking.
"Were what? When you and Jerrod were what?"
Esther took another breath. "When we were having an affair," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
"What?" Had he heard right? "An affair?"
She turned to face him now, holding her hand up, her eyes wide with fear. "Be quiet. I don't want Mom and Dad to hear."
He moved closer, lowering his voice. "You and Jerrod?" He couldn't wrap his head around the idea. Tried to put the information in some place that made sense. "How long?"
"For the past three years. He was going to leave Francine, but said he couldn't because of Celia."
"Nor should he have," Duncan said, his own heart heaving at the thought.
"But they were fighting all the time—"
"So that's what was going on."
Esther shot him a frown. "What do you mean?"
"Miriam said something about Celia complaining about the loud voices. She'd asked me if Fran and Jerrod ever fought. And they did." He turned on Esther. "Over you, I imagine." Then another thing clicked in his mind. “And that’s why Celia talks to you the way she does. She must have overheard them fighting about you.”
She straightened. "Don't look at me like that. It wasn't something I chose."
"But it's something you could have stopped. He was married. He had a daughter."
"He was hoping to take Celia with him. So we could be a family."
"That's not a family," Duncan said, anger slowly rising. "That's a disaster."
Then, as he said the words, he felt things finally clicking into place. "Is that why Fran named Miriam as Celia's guardian? Was it because you were cheating with her husband?"
"Don't talk like that. It wasn't like that," Esther countered, holding up her hand. "I loved him."
"That's a lame excuse and incredibly unoriginal. If you really loved him, you would have left him alone. You would have put his interests before yours."
"Like Miriam did with Celia?" Esther shot back, her eyes blazing with anger. "Like those kind of interests?"
"What do you mean?" A sense of dread trickled down his
neck. "What do you mean like Miriam did with Celia?"
Esther just stared at him, then swallowed, her eyes bright, her breathing shallow. She shook her head, waved him off. "Nothing. Never mind."
"You're hiding something else. I know it. What else are you hiding?"
"It's not my secret to tell."
"You said something about Miriam. You said, like Miriam did with Celia. What did you mean?”
Esther's face contorted, and he could see she was struggling. The niggling sense of dread wound more tightly around his gut.
"What did you mean?" he pressed, fear making him more angry than he liked. He grabbed her by the shoulders, feeling as if he had to shake it out of her. "Tell me what you meant?"
"It's Miriam," Esther spat out. "Miriam is Celia's natural mother. Jerrod and Fran adopted her from Miriam."
Her words floated past him in a fog as he tried to absorb what she was saying. He stepped away from her, clenching his fists.
"They never told us who the mother was, but it’s true," she said, the words flowing out of her now. "I found the adoption papers in Jerrod's office. Miriam Bristol is named as the mother."
"Miriam Bristol? Miriam is Celia's mother?"
"Yes. And that's why, I'm sure, Francine named her guardian."
Duncan felt like his legs couldn't hold him up. Like he would fall over, so he caught the edge of his father's desk, steadying himself. "Miriam gave Celia up? For adoption?"
"Yes. I didn't want to tell you, but you pushed me."
Duncan shook his head, trying to sort things out. Too many emotions had been dredged up the past few weeks, piling on top of what he and his family had already lost. He felt as if he'd been balanced on a knife's edge for so long. Only during the past few days had he felt like he'd found his footing again.
And now? This?
Miriam and Celia. Why hadn’t he seen it himself? The joke he made in the mall about how Miriam could be Celia’s mother, and she just laughed. Like it was nothing. She could have said something then. Or a dozen other times.
He thought they were close. That they had something. But she felt she had to hide this important piece of information from him.
Did she think he would never find out? Did she think this didn't matter?
A deep chill seeped into his soul, encasing his heart, rising up his throat to his face.
Miriam gave up Celia. She didn't want her own daughter.
Just like Kimberly hadn't wanted Tasha.
Chapter 17
I helped Mrs. Tiemstra clear the table, while Mr. Tiemstra wheeled his chair to the playroom, Celia right behind him. Then he closed the door. It was as if he sensed that the muted voices in the office, rising and falling, would soon spill over into the rest of the house.
What did Esther think she needed to tell Duncan in private? And they sounded like they were arguing.
I couldn't still my anxious thoughts. With trembling emotions I struggled to cling to what the pastor had preached about this morning as I rinsed dishes and put food away, listening to Mrs. Tiemstra's inconsequential chit-chat about people in the community and plans for Christmas.
Peace. God's perfect peace casts out fear. So why did anxiety wrap its chilly fingers around my gut? Why did I have this unyielding sense of impending doom?
Because anytime anything good comes into my life, it's yanked away.
I snapped the lid on the container holding the leftover soup, disappointed to see how my fingers trembled.
The door of the office burst open, and Duncan's heavy footfalls thundered down the hall. He came into the kitchen, stopped, and looked directly at me, his eyes cold. Hard. Unfeeling.
And there it was. My fears come to fruition.
"Why did you do it? Why didn't you tell me about Celia? Were you ever going to tell me you were her mother?"
My panicked gaze shot backward but, thankfully, the door to the playroom was closed.
My legs grew weak, undependable, and I grabbed the counter to steady myself. My breath came quick. Duncan knew. I didn't have a chance to tell him myself.
"I couldn't," was all I could say, as I tried to find my footing in the face of his battering anger. "I couldn't tell you."
"Why not?"
I looked at him, his blazing eyes and behind the anger saw confusion and a hurt betrayal.
And what would he say if I told him the truth? If this was how he reacted to my first secret, how would he to the second?
"I had to. I had no choice."
"Choice." He shook his head, emitting a disgusted sigh. "There’s always a choice."
"No. There isn’t." I struggled to keep my own growing anger in check. "I did what I thought was best for Celia. I’m not sorry I did it and I would do it again."
"So you were willing to give up your child."
I tried to separate his anger from his words and find my footing in the storm that was washing over me. "I had to," was all I could say.
"Did you ever really want her?"
For a moment my mind sifted back to that moment when I found out I was pregnant. When I realized that Gregg was the father. After all he had put me through. After I took the fall because of him. After I ended up in prison because of him. How he avoided me. The confusion I felt, and the fear.
And those emotions must have shown on my face, because as I hesitated, Duncan stepped back. Away from me.
"You couldn’t trust me with the truth? You couldn’t tell me that you gave up your own child?”
I had no defense.
“Then you had a chance to take her back. But you couldn’t do it then either? You told me over and over again that you couldn’t take care of her.”
His growing anger battered at me as my mind floundered for reasons. Excuses.
“You're no different than Kimberly," was all he said, before I could formulate my thoughts, his words piercing like darts. "You're just like her."
Then he strode out of the kitchen, slamming the door of the porch behind him, the sound echoing like a shot.
I could only stare at the closed door, my heart banging against my ribs.
"My goodness, girl. Is it true?" Mrs. Tiemstra asked, turning to me as if I knew. "What he said about you and Celia? About you being her mother?"
But I was spared replying by the sound of Esther's crying. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen, one arm hugging her midsection, the other resting on the doorframe, as if to hold herself up.
"Honey, what's wrong?" Mrs. Tiemstra turned away from me, tossed the towel she'd been drying the dishes with aside, and slipped an arm around her daughter's shoulders, pulling her close.
But Esther held herself stiff in her mother's arms. "Where's Celia?"
"She's with Dad in the playroom," Mrs. Tiemstra said. "They're watching cartoons. Honey, what is going on?"
Esther turned to me, tears now streaming down her cheeks in earnest. "I'm so sorry, Miriam. I tried to keep quiet. I didn't want to tell him, but I made a mistake and he kept pushing me. I told him. About you and Celia."
"What do you mean you told him about Miriam and Celia?" Mrs. Tiemstra looked from me to Esther, genuinely confused. "Duncan said something about Miriam being Celia’s mother."
I could hear Celia giggling beyond the closed door, Mr. Tiemstra's deep chuckles joining in. This was what I had wanted for my daughter, I thought. This family. These roots.
I yanked myself back to the moment and the time at hand. "It’s true," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner."
"We need to talk, Miriam," Mrs. Tiemstra said in a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone. "Esther, you go make sure Celia is taken care of." She laid her hand on her daughter's shoulder before she left and gave her a faint smile.
Esther just nodded, and though I was curious as to what that was about, I had larger things weighing on my shoulders.
A few moments later, we were all bundled up, walking down the sidewalk, our boots squeaking on the cold snow, the air cooling
my heated cheeks.
Mrs. Tiemstra tucked her hands in the pockets of her down jacket, looking up at the trees covered with layers of snow like frosting on a cake. "I usually love this time of the year," she said, her breath making puffs of fog in the chilly air. "That sense of expectation. But this year…" her voice broke, then she gave me an uncertain smile. "This season will be hard for you as well, I'm sure."
I just nodded, not trusting myself to articulate the many reasons why it would be. Right now, Duncan's anger with me was the most pressing reason. That moment of joy and peace I thought I could hold on to had been torn out of my hands.
And yet, at the same time, another measure of relief flowed in behind the pain. I didn't have to keep it a secret anymore. I could tell people the truth about Celia. I could lay my claim to her.
“I have a secret of my own to tell,” Mrs. Tiemstra said, looking ahead as she spoke. "I know you and Duncan cared for each other when you met at Francine and Jerrod's wedding."
I didn't reply. I was still processing my own emotions.
"I need to tell you that I still feel bad about what I had said to Duncan. After the wedding. How I told him not to waste his time with you. To get back together with Kimberly." She released a light laugh but it held no humor. "I loved Kimberly. I watched her grow from a little girl into a beautiful woman. Her parents were our good friends, and remained so even after they moved away a year after the accident." Her voice grew wistful. "Too many losses in the past while."
Again, I kept quiet, not sure where this conversation was going, but thankful for her apology.
"I was being an interfering mother, thinking I knew what was best for my boy and that Kimberly would be the perfect wife for him. I was so sad when he broke up with her. Then when I found out that he was going on a date with a girl he'd been dancing with all night…" She sighed. "A girl I only knew as Jerrod's foster sister, I got a little nervous. I spoke with Jerrod to find out more about you. When he said that he didn't think the relationship was a good idea and that he had his own reservations about you, I overreacted. I am afraid that what I did wasn't very Christian. I judged based on what someone else had told me."
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