by Camille Eide
“Yes.”
The super passed through the lobby and gave her a slit-eyed look. She turned her back to him and lowered her voice. “Vlad, my parents didn’t tell us where they were from. Or why they left Russia. I would very much like to speak with Katerina and to know why my parents came to the States and changed their names. They never spoke of it to us.”
“You do not know?”
Eliza stilled. “No. Do you?”
“Da.”
She gasped. The truth was here. Now. It would either set her free or add to her troubles.
“My mother told me story. During Russian Civil War, commoners were cold and starving from fuel and food shortages. The harsh winter claimed many lives and famine continued. Since payment for military service was rations and fuel, Vasily joined Red Guard. Lenin fooled people with talk of new regime. But after Bolsheviks took over Petrograd, Red Guard was used to wipe out imperialists. It was a time of much terror and bloodshed. Vasily witnessed atrocities he never imagined. He wanted out, but deserting Red Guard meant execution for Vasily and entire family, as well as relatives, friends—all people connected to him.”
Entire family ...
“There was an infant son. Do you know what happened to him?”
Vlad sighed. “Da. They had son named Ivan. But sadly, the child became sick and died.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” she said, her voice breaking.
“Vasily was desperate to save family and break ties with Lenin and communist regime. But the only way was to take wife and leave country. If he told any family where he was, they would be in danger. Deserters and those harboring them were executed. To protect family, Vasily took pregnant wife to Switzerland, on foot and under cover of night. Katerina arranged for Vasily and Lara to go from there to America hidden on cattle boat. To protect him and family, Katerina told Vasily to change name and disappear forever. She did not want to know this new name so she could not … be forced to give her brother away.”
You mean tortured. Eliza let the story sink in, stirring up new images of her parents and the heartbreak, cruelty, and injustice they had suffered. Her parents were not communist spies. They were two people who abhorred violence and injustice and risked their lives to protect their loved ones. They were grieving, young parents who fled and began a new life in a strange, new land where they knew no one. How hard they must have worked to conceal their nationality, all to protect those they loved.
“Thank you, Vlad,” Eliza said. “You don’t know how much this means to me to finally know their story. I am greatly indebted to you for this.”
“No owing, no debt. I am pleased to find you at last. There is someone else who will also be most pleased. May I send telegram to Katerina? She must know you and sister are alive and well.”
“Yes, I would be very grateful. Thank you so much.”
“I am certain she will send telegram, but she does not speak or write English. If you permit me, I will call you and translate her message for you.”
“Yes, please.” She felt no reason not to trust him with this information. He had just given her the most precious gift—the last pieces of the puzzle of her parents’ lives.
The pieces she had challenged God to provide.
As soon as she ended the call, she phoned Betty. As she told Betty the story, she could hear her sister crying.
“Betty, this was no coincidence. All these things leading us to the story of our parents and to our aunt. I think … maybe God is helping me.”
Silence. “Well, it doesn’t matter how it happened, I’m just glad it did. Promise me you’ll tell me just as soon as you hear any word from Aunt Katerina, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course. And now that I know why our parents were hiding their identities, I can put a stop to this HUAC harassment once and for all.”
“Oh, darling, I hope so. What a nightmare!”
Eliza glanced down at the ring on her finger and smiled. She had one more important piece of news for her sister. But perhaps Betty had heard enough for now. Eliza’s engagement news could wait one more day. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
32
Eliza went back to her room, still reeling from what she had learned. Telling Betty she would set the HUAC straight was just an impulse, but the more she thought about it, the more certain she felt. The truth would prevail, as John always said.
She returned downstairs and phoned John.
“Ah, Eliza, thank goodness. I was half afraid last night was only a dream.”
Eliza smiled. So she wasn’t the only one.
“I love you,” he said, deep voice thrumming across the line. “In case I forgot to mention that.”
She caught her lower lip with her teeth, but that did nothing to contain her smile. “I love you too. And you did tell me, but I don’t mind hearing it again.”
“That’s good,” he said. The line went quiet for a moment. “Say, I spoke to Nathaniel this morning. Nothing has changed. Millie is fading, sweetheart. I don’t think she has very long.”
Her stomach twisted. She was so helpless, just like the day she learned about her parents. Was there nothing she could do to keep from losing Millie too?
Eliza told him what she had learned about her parents, and how she hoped to hear from her aunt soon.
“That’s excellent news,” John said. “You can rest easy now.”
“I’ll rest a lot easier when I see the look on Agent Robinson’s face after I tell him he was wrong about my parents. In fact, I have half a mind to go to HUAC headquarters and tell him.”
“Is that so?”
The amusement in John’s tone sealed the deal. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll go right now. Why not put a stop to all this bullying?”
Another stretch of silence. “I’ll come with you.”
“But aren’t you afraid of them seeing us together?”
He laughed. “With you armed and ready to do battle? I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Meet me at the Shattuck in two hours,” she said, grinning.
Eliza waited outside the Shattuck Hotel for John’s cab to arrive. A small army of photographers were camped around the hotel’s entrance. Had they somehow learned John was coming? She went to one of the men and asked what was going on. The man, wearing a press badge, told here there were rumors that the HUAC was preparing to make an announcement, and he was there to get the scoop.
She went inside the hotel lobby to wait where she could see the street from the windows, out of sight of the cameras.
John’s cab pulled up out front. When he exited, several of the photojournalists rushed the cab and snapped shots of him.
John smiled and waved at them, ignoring their questions. He met Eliza in the lobby and hurried her toward the stairs.
A kiss would have to wait.
At the reception desk outside the Whitecotton Room, Eliza asked for Agent Robinson and was directed to the lobby on the mezzanine, as the panel was in session. She and John waited at the far end of the smaller upper lobby, as far out of view of passersby as possible. Being with someone as recognizable as John would take some getting used to.
Finally, a clerk called Eliza’s name and led her and John inside. Four men were seated at the long table today, but only two of them were from the day before. And no sign of Robinson.
“Eliza Saunderson?” one of the men asked.
“Yes. I’m here to see Agent Robinson.”
“Agent Robinson is not here.” The man took a folder from the other man and spoke in low tones, then turned to Eliza. “What is the nature of your visit?”
Disappointed she couldn’t tell the agent directly, she went ahead. “I was here yesterday and was questioned at length about my family. I’m here today because I’ve just learned the truth about my parents and the reason for their name change and move to the United States from Russia. I would like to go on record with this information.”
The men studied her.
One of them spoke to John. “And you a
re?”
“John Vincent.”
“Also known as Johnny Devine?”
“Yes.”
“What is your interest in Mrs. Saunderson’s case?”
“I am here for moral support.” John smiled at Eliza.
As one man shuffled through a stack of folders, the other one told Eliza to proceed.
She told them the story of her father’s desertion from the Red Guard, her parents’ risky defection, and the reason for changing their names. She explained that her father wanted nothing to do with communism after seeing Lenin’s regime firsthand.
One man wrote, while the other continued to look through folders.
Finally, the one writing looked up at Eliza. “Do you have anything else to say?”
“Yes.” She glanced at John to bolster her courage, then faced the men. “I want to say that, as an American citizen, I am appalled by the way this committee has handled these investigations. This is a country for which freedom and liberty were hard-won by the lives and deaths of patriots, and yet a branch of our own government makes false accusations and is prepared to pronounce guilt on its own people, which is both damaging and unwarranted. If I have a political position, it is that I am revolted by injustice. But that revolt makes me neither a dissident nor a communist. I am a proud American patriot who has something to say and nothing to hide.”
Breathe. You did it.
“Mrs. Saunderson,” one man said, “I will make a note of this in your file. You may be interested to know that Agent Robinson is no longer with this agency. Our new field director, Charles Hamilton, will be reviewing Agent Robinson’s case files. If we need any more information from you, we will contact you. But at this point, you may consider yourself no longer a person of interest in these investigations. You are dismissed.”
Eliza drew a sharp breath. “And my sister?”
“What is her name?”
“Betty Cunningham.”
The man peered at the folder in front of him and shook his head. “Your sister is of no interest to us.”
She heaved a sigh and turned to John. “It looks like God answers prayer.”
“He certainly does.” John smiled. “Shall we go?”
“Mr. Vincent?” The other man held a thick folder in his hand.
“Yes?”
“We do have a few questions for you. If you please.”
Oh no. What had she gotten him into?
“Fine,” John said. “I also have nothing to hide.”
“What is your relationship with ‘D.M.’?”
Eliza froze.
John didn’t say a word. His stony expression was impossible to read.
The agent scanned the contents of the folder in his hand. “We have reports that you receive regular correspondence from someone we suspect is actress Deborah Marlow.”
No. This can’t be happening.
John stood silent.
God, make him tell them it isn’t true, please …
“Mrs. Marlow has admitted to attending Communist Party meetings with her husband, Douglas Kelley, and their lifelong friend, John Garfield. I ask again, are you in regular contact with Deborah Marlow?”
John’s gaze remained fixed on the agent.
Heart breaking over his silence, Eliza held herself still. His silence could only mean one thing: he still had feelings for the woman and didn’t want to admit it in front of Eliza.
“Would you like me to leave?” she whispered.
John shook his head, his eyes never leaving the agent.
“Do you refuse to answer the question?” the agent asked.
John’s lips tightened. “Any communication I’ve had with Mrs. Marlow does not concern this committee in any way.”
Eliza couldn’t feel her legs. So it was true. The letters were from Deborah.
The men spoke in low tones to each other, then one turned to John. “We’ll need more than that.”
“I’m sorry, but I am obliged to say no more.”
“You will be subpoenaed to testify.”
“I understand.”
Eliza’s heart sank. Was John withholding the details of a political association, or a personal one? Was protecting his relationship with Deborah worth facing a Congressional hearing?
“We will also be forced to subpoena Mrs. Saunderson.”
John cast a pained glance at Eliza, then squared his shoulders and faced the man for seconds that felt like hours. “Fine. I’ll tell you the nature of my correspondence with Mrs. Marlow if you will promise to leave Eliza out of this. Will you give me your word?”
“We can’t make any promises until we’ve heard more.”
John stiffened.
Eliza stared at his profile, willing him to turn and give her some assurance, but he didn’t.
“Very well,” he said. “In 1948, I wrote letters to people I had harmed or wronged in some way with my … reckless behavior in the past. Specifically, to ask for forgiveness. I wrote a letter to Deborah Marlow to apologize for … uh … compromising her marriage. She wrote back to tell me all was forgiven, and … to ask for my forgiveness as well.” John’s jaw tightened. He cleared his throat. “That’s when I learned she’d been keeping a secret. Her daughter, who was seven years old at that time, was not her husband’s child.” He closed his eyes. “She is, in fact … mine.”
The room fell silent.
No … not again … no, this is a bad dream … it has to be …
But she wasn’t dreaming. Once again, the man in her life had given a child to the wrong woman.
She couldn’t breathe.
“The girl is now twelve, and both the child and Doug Kelley believe he is her father. Mrs. Marlow believes it would be devastating to the child if the truth were ever known. She made me promise not to tell a soul. For the sake of the child, I was obliged to agree.”
The agents talked to each other at length, but Eliza could only stare at him, numbed by the weight of this new truth.
“No one is ever to know,” John said to the panel. “So I must ask you to keep this strictly confidential. I beg of you, don’t destroy a little girl’s life by leaking the truth. Please.”
The imploring tone in his voice crushed Eliza.
John had a little girl.
He and Deborah Marlow, the woman Eliza had suspected he loved, shared a child together.
“So, all this time you’ve been lying?”
John’s eyes closed.
“The truth will prevail, John? Aren’t you the one who said God will take care of me if I tell the truth? You persuaded me to admit my family is Russian to a bloodthirsty, anti-Soviet government committee, and all the while you’ve been keeping a secret like this?”
“Eliza,” he whispered. “I’m sorry—”
“For what? Getting caught living a lie? For telling me to be honest and trust God when you can’t even do that? Or doesn’t it apply to you? What other secrets are you keeping—a wife? Maybe you were waiting for our honeymoon to spring that on me?”
John turned to her with a haunted look. “Eliza, please let me—”
“And what about your book? Is that all lies too?” Yes, stupid girl. You’ve been duped by a roving cheat. Again.
Eliza turned and ran.
“Eliza, wait—”
“One moment, Mr. Vincent,” an agent said, his voice sharp. “In light of your relationship with admitted communists, we need you to answer some more—”
Eliza left the room and kept going. She crossed to the mezzanine and headed for the staircase in a daze. She needed air, she needed—
She needed her world to stop caving in.
33
Eliza got off the bus at the corner of 35th and MacArthur and headed for home. But the thought of being alone in her empty room made her want to curl up into a ball and cry, so she passed her building and kept walking. She needed to clear her head.
Humiliated not once, but twice. Because men were animals.
Or maybe because you’re a gul
lible girl with pitifully poor judgment.
Driven by a painful truth she didn’t want to face, she lifted her chin and kept going, past the market, past a tavern, keeping a brisk pace to stay ahead of the easterly breeze. The few leaf-bearing trees lining the street were barren now, braced for winter. The sun hid behind a dull haze, withholding its warmth. Store windows enticed passersby with Christmas trees and plastic snowmen, their colors faded from too many years on display. A man was hanging a strand of Christmas lights in an insurance office window.
Eliza walked faster.
She and John might have been married by Christmas, if his secret not been forced out of him. When was he going to tell her?
Or was he even planning to tell her at all?
What a complete fool she would have been then. Finding out John had been lying after the wedding would have been far more humiliating. It was good that she found out now. The pain and embarrassment would be short-lived with less entanglement. It would serve as a valuable lesson to her.
As Eliza neared Lucky’s, a whiff of grilling onions and coffee turned her stomach. Too many times she had ignored her hunger, too many times she had repressed her worries about landing another job.
Worrying was like crying; it never solved anything.
Passing the diner, she pressed on, her shoes striking the sidewalk like the rapid ping of gunfire. Nothing had changed. She was jobless again. And alone.
Are other women this gullible? Or am I the only childless thirty-three-year-old with nothing to my name but an ancient typewriter and a stack of dusty manuscripts?
Eliza’s gaze dropped to her left hand. The ring twinkled cheerily in spite of the overcast skies. She kept going, her blurry eyes fixed on the ground while she dodged pedestrians and aimed to stay ahead of the heaviness bearing down on her. A heaviness that threatened to squash the tender hope she’d finally allowed to take root in her heart. There was no one who could help shoulder this burden. Betty would never understand. No one could. No one except—
Millie.
The kind, wise woman had heard only hints of Eliza’s deepest struggles, and yet, somehow she understood and had offered comfort and wisdom. If only Millie were …