Diane had the attention of everyone in the room as each struggled to grasp what she was saying.
“I subscribed to the local paper,” she went on. “Even once we’d made it to Arizona. I paid to have it delivered through the mail. I read about Audrey’s reappearance, the search for the children.”
Diane stood, unable to sit under their microscope any longer. She moved to the windows, where Lars had stood and looked out so many times, wondering where his children were.
“Then the ruling of the judge, declaring Audrey unfit to stand trial. I told myself I wouldn’t have let her be sent to prison, I would have come back if that happened, to stand for her and tell the story she couldn’t manage. I like to think I would have.”
She turned to face them. “But that didn’t happen. She was sent to the hospital instead, her mental state in question. I convinced myself that was the best place for her, that she’d get the care she needed. You must understand. She was terrified of returning here. Absolutely terrified.”
Her lips tightened into a grimace. “But even that wasn’t enough for me to risk bringing Paige back,” she went on, unconsciously slipping into use of the name she’d called the child for nearly thirty years.
“It was Owen,” she continued, facing the windows again. “The newspapers ran photos of Owen and Lars, the family Audrey left behind. His eyes were so sad, so lost.”
Diane turned and took a step toward Owen. Her hand fluttered as she lifted her arm slightly, wanting to reach for him, but she let it fall back to her side. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her shirt.
“I believed, to the depths of my soul, you’d been left abandoned in the care of a monster.”
She crossed her arms, tucking anxious fingers beneath them.
“I’d justified stealing Paige away with the belief that I was keeping her safe. I reminded myself of that every day, reinforcing my own reasoning, as circular as it was. But what kind of person would I be if I saved one child while I left another alone to face whatever hell Audrey Jorgensen had been running from?”
“So you came back,” Owen said, face-to-face with the ugly secrets of a woman who’d been like a mother to him. His illusions were shattered. Jenna watched him struggle to sift through the wreckage in search of truth.
Diane nodded. “I couldn’t sleep nights, worrying about you, a boy I’d never met. Finally, I gave in. You were twelve then, almost thirteen. It was such a risk, bringing Paige so close to home. I knew I’d have to be vigilant, always, to keep you apart, keep her safe.” Diane shook her head slowly. “It was crazy to even consider it, but I couldn’t let it go. I was so afraid I’d find you damaged beyond repair, living here alone with your father.”
“Dad never hurt me,” Owen whispered. “He never would. He never raised a hand to my mother or to us.”
“I know that now,” Diane conceded, raising her shoulders, then letting them drop. “All I can say is, the mind can be a powerful force. I’d convinced myself of things that weren’t true, then fell into my own trap.”
“And once you realized?” Owen asked.
Diane busied her hands by dusting an imaginary speck from the back of the chair nearest her. She avoided Owen’s probing gaze. “I couldn’t give her back. I just couldn’t. She’d adjusted, even to being back in Minnesota. She’d come to think of me as her mother, come to think of herself as Paige. I wasn’t strong enough, and . . . and I’d come to love you, too, by then, hadn’t I.”
She tilted her trembling chin defiantly upward. “It was so incredibly selfish, but I . . . I can’t apologize for that.”
“I remember that day.” Lars’s voice strained beneath the weight of an immense anger. “You walked in through the door, right past me, and set your little bucket of cleaning supplies on the counter. ‘I hear you’re in need of a housekeeper,’ you said.”
“And I was right,” Diane said. “I’ve been wrong about many things . . . so many. But not that.”
“I thought Eleanor sent you,” Lars said.
“I thought you were some sort of fairy godmother,” Owen said quietly.
Diane’s face crumpled into sorrow. “Oh, Owen, I wanted to be,” she said. “I wanted so badly to be here for you if you needed someone.”
Owen was torn, and it was evident for all to see.
Diane hung her head and waited for whatever judgment he would pass.
Lars sprang to his feet, and Jenna was afraid she’d made a terrible mistake, bringing Diane here. Lars hovered over the woman who’d done this unspeakable thing, who now wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Lars,” Jenna said, pleading, though for what she couldn’t say.
He didn’t look at her. His jaw was clenched and tight as he stared down at his own hands, gnarled by work and grief and time.
With obvious effort, he shoved those hands in his pockets, perhaps to keep them from circling the woman’s neck. He turned his back to Diane, and Jenna let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
“He did need someone,” Lars said, his voice low and hurting. “I was a poor excuse for a father to him.”
“Dad—” Owen said, shaking his head.
“Yes, you were,” Diane said sharply, cutting Owen off. A remnant of the old Diane, for the briefest of moments.
Lars glanced around, shocked at her outburst.
“I’m sorry, Lars,” she said. “I’ll certainly have to answer to God for what I did to you . . . But the state of this place. The state of you.”
Diane’s face was a reprimand all its own.
“It took you years to get your act together,” she said.
Lars peered at her, and Jenna held her breath again.
The anger flared once more, then banked. Pain washed in to fill the space left behind. Slowly Lars squeezed his eyes closed, and his shoulders slumped forward in defeat.
It was a sliver, the first and barest hint of acceptance, and Diane’s composure crumbled beneath it.
“I’m sorry.” Ugly tears began pouring from her. “I’m so sorry.”
Owen took one jerky step in her direction, then stopped himself short, but the needful onslaught of tears was too much for him. He sent his father an apologetic glance, then moved to the older woman’s side. He took her in his arms, and the sobs grew louder.
He held her, patting her gingerly on the back until the tears had given way to hitching, gulping sniffles.
He led her to the recliner, guiding her to take a seat.
“I’m so sorry,” she said again, once the worst had passed. “I knew. I think I knew as soon as I arrived. I told myself it was better this way. You weren’t the parent that child needed. But I knew.”
She sniffed and scrubbed her hands across her face.
“You were no monster. Neglectful, maybe. Hurting. But you weren’t a bad man.”
Her voice trembled. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”
Lars gave a great, deep sigh, taking his turn to stare out the windows into the snow-covered darkness beyond.
“Maybe,” he said hoarsely. “Maybe not.”
Jenna blinked. Diane slowly lifted her head to stare at his back.
“I may not have been a monster, Diane . . . But I . . . I was careless,” he said. “I was careless with what I’d been given. And a careless man is a bad man, too, in his own way.”
Silence fell at his pronouncement.
Lars cleared his throat, but his voice cracked anyway when he spoke again.
“Is she . . . is she happy?” he asked in a tremulous whisper.
Jenna’s chin quivered and she pressed her knuckles hard against her mouth, afraid to break the fragile spell that had conjured such a lovely and delicate hope.
“Did she grow up happy, Diane?”
The housekeeper broke into tears again, but she managed to nod through the snot and the sobs.
“Yes,” she said, smiling and crying at the same time. “Yes, she’s happy.”
“Oh God.” Lars let out a sharp exhale. “G
od,” he murmured, gripping the back of a chair for support. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Jesus, whatever else . . . thank you for that.”
“Sit down, Dad.” Owen led him to the sofa before the old man’s legs went out from beneath him.
Beverly, who’d been as quiet as Jenna and Hannah through it all, finally spoke up. “Have you told her?”
Diane jerkily inclined her head. She gulped back more tears and stared at her shoes. “She was . . . understandably upset.”
Jenna had been with Diane when she broke the news and thought that was the understatement of the night.
“She asked for some time. I hope you’ll respect that, but . . . she wants to meet you.”
The pools that formed in Lars’s eyes were as abiding as any ocean and just as deep.
“There’s something else, though.” For the first time, Diane showed a hint of fear. “Something you need to know.”
“Does Mommy hate me?”
“Oh, honey,” Diane soothed. “No, she doesn’t hate you.”
Months had passed since the girl had been delivered into her arms. She’d tried to explain to the child that her mother had left her with Diane to keep her safe. That she needed to play pretend now. Play pretend that Diane was her mother.
“You can call me Mama, if you want,” she’d said. “That way, it’s different than your mommy. Because she wants me to keep you safe while she can’t.”
It was hard to guess how much the little girl understood. She was so young. The news reports confirmed Francie Jorgensen was only four years old.
Diane could only hope that, with time, she’d forget. That this new life they were making together would paper over her old life, her old family.
The importance of that happening couldn’t be underestimated, because even with the child’s hair cut shorter and dyed a light auburn, they had to be careful.
No distance would be far enough if the child slipped in front of the wrong person and admitted Diane wasn’t her mother at all.
Pushing the near-constant stream of worries from her mind, Diane knelt before the little girl she’d grown to love so ferociously in such a short span of time.
“Your mommy couldn’t possibly hate you, sweetheart. Not ever.”
“But she hasn’t come back.” The child’s voice was as thin as a reed.
“Oh, love.” Diane ran her hands down the girl’s arms. “She’s just doing what she believes is best. Don’t you worry about it for one more minute, okay?”
The little girl nodded, and Diane hoped she’d let it go, at least for the moment.
“Will is dead, isn’t he?”
The child’s words stole Diane’s breath. She pulled the poor, sweet thing into her arms and hugged her tightly.
Her voice wavered when she said, “He’s gone up to heaven to be an angel now, love.”
Nothing existed but the warm weight in Diane’s arms.
“Is that why Mommy left me?”
Diane pulled back and lightly placed her finger beneath the child’s chin, tilting her head upward to meet her eyes.
“No, honey. Your mommy just couldn’t take care of you anymore. She wanted to, she just wasn’t able to. So I get to take care of you now and be your mama.”
“She’s not mad at me?” the little girl asked, seeking comfort and confirmation in her new mama’s face.
“Of course not, sweetheart. Why would she be mad at you?”
Tears began to pool in the little girl’s eyes.
“Because she told me to be good and quiet and look after my baby brother and she’d be right back.” The words picked up speed and fell from her mouth in one long stream. “But he woke up from his nap and he didn’t want to be good and quiet. I told him to shush, that Mommy would be right back, but he was fussy and crying.”
Diane’s heart skipped a beat.
“You were watching your baby brother?” she asked slowly. “All alone?”
The child nodded gravely, wiping her sniffles against the back of her hand.
“Mommy said she’d be right back, with Owen this time, but Will didn’t understand. I just wanted him to stop crying.”
She shook her little head back and forth, pleading for Diane to understand. “I didn’t mean anything bad.”
Tiny pearls of baby teeth winked in the light as the child’s lower lip began to tremble.
“Oh, baby. Of course you didn’t.” Diane pulled her into another hug. “Shh now. Shh.”
But the girl started to cry in earnest, words spilling from her mouth, words that could never be unheard.
“I took him down to the water,” she said in her tiny voice. “He liked to play there. It would make him giggle and laugh and he’d be happy, even if he wasn’t very quiet.”
Oh God in heaven. Dear God.
“And it worked. Mommy would be proud when she got back with Owen, and we’d play pretend and tell stories, and I could be a princess. Then Willie saw the frog, and it croaked and jumped, and he giggled, but when I tried to catch it for him, it hopped away. Will started to cry really loud then.”
Diane could do nothing but hold tight as the little girl let loose the story she’d kept locked inside all this time.
“Mommy told us to be quiet, though, and Will crying wasn’t quiet, so I told him to stay put and if he’d stop crying I’d catch the frog for him. But it just kept jumping and leaping and I couldn’t catch it, no matter how hard I tried.”
Oh Jesus, help me, Diane prayed.
“And when I got back, Willie was floating in the water.” The little girl’s voice started to rise. “I thought he was sleeping, but he didn’t wake up. And when Mommy came back, she couldn’t wake him up either. And I don’t want him to be an angel! I just want him to be my baby brother again!”
The poor lost child cried and cried while Diane rocked her back and forth, giving what little comfort she could.
“Shh now,” Diane murmured. “Shh. It’s all over now. Over and done, just like a dream. Just like a bad dream, but you’re awake now and Mama will make it all better. Shh. Just a dream, Paige.”
Diane had been unwilling to refer to the child as Francie, even in her mind. It was too dangerous. But she’d been unable to call her Paige often. Saying the name had conjured the face of another little girl, one whose loss would always be part of her. But it was time to let that dream go too.
“Just a dream, love. A dream of a little girl named Francie, but you’re Paige now, and Mama’s going to be here for you always. It’s going to be all right.”
It was far from the last time Diane would say those words. In time, the words became more. It took time and persistence, but those words eventually became a new reality for Diane and her daughter, Paige.
59
“All this time,” Lars said with a stunned breath. “All these years, I thought Audrey . . . When they found Will, I thought Audrey . . . Oh God. I thought Audrey hurt them. I was so afraid Audrey had killed our babies.”
Lars squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop the tears.
“It was an accident,” Diane whispered. “A terrible, terrible accident.”
The word accident, delivered with such sorrow, rang like a church bell inside of Jenna.
An unidentified voice on the telephone. “Mrs. Shaw, there’s been an accident.”
Her friends. “Such a tragic accident.”
Her husband’s family. “Mechanical malfunction. An accident.”
Whispered conversations, all in black. “Such a shame. An accident.”
The words flew about, blackbirds in a cage, trying to break free.
Cassie’s voice, so close, in the middle of it all.
“Mom. It was an accident.”
Across the room, a father and son embraced each other, and great-grandmother and great-granddaughter did the same, while an old woman cried tears of guilt and regret.
Jenna, dizzy with vertigo, turned and fled.
She was grateful for the clash of frigid air. Her
feverish body was burning her from the inside out.
She gripped the post of the porch, her chest heaving, fast and loose. She concentrated on the fog of breath condensing in the air in front of her and began to count the puffs.
One. Two.
Buckle my shoe.
This old man, he played three.
A memory of Matt’s voice echoed from a great distance. “What exactly is involved in playing knick-knack, paddy-whack anyway? And why does it need to happen on my knee? The old man sounds kind of sketchy.”
A strangled laugh broke from her and floated away into the night.
The tears, the hated tears she’d been holding back for so long. The pressure of them was building, straining their bonds.
She grasped for a peace she didn’t know if she’d ever find again.
“I miss you, Matt,” she whispered, sending the message on a wing of hope into the wintry air. “I miss you all so much.”
The words were woefully inadequate, but somehow the act of saying them aloud helped Jenna find a tiny thread of sanity. She clung to it, holding tight with both hands.
The sound of the cabin door opening and closing entered her consciousness.
“First rule of Minnesota winter, missy,” Lars said. “If you’re going to have an emotional breakdown outdoors, in the middle of the night, you’ve got to dress for it.”
He draped Jenna’s puffy orange coat around her shoulders. She hugged it close and gave him a tremulous smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was just . . .”
“A lot to take in,” he finished for her. “It’s all right.”
Lars cleared his throat and spoke again, “I recall I told you once I don’t believe in debts.”
She tilted her head and observed his profile. There was something new there. Something had shifted inside Lars Jorgensen at his core.
Jenna studied him. One corner of her mouth lifted slowly once she hit upon what it was.
There was a peace that hadn’t been there before.
“A lot can change in the course of a day, Jenna Shaw,” he said. “I owe you a debt I can never repay.”
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