Finding the Way Back

by Jill Bisker

  I sat bolt upright, my heart beating as if it would leap out of my chest. In the corner of the room was a light glow that was getting brighter. In the glow I could see the faint outline of an old vanity with a mirror, as if I was seeing it through an opaque screen. Sitting on a stool in front of the vanity was a woman brushing out her long blonde hair. An old portable record player stood on the vanity top playing the music. I recognized it now. It was the Vera Lynn record I had found broken in my grandmother’s closet.

  Gazing into the mirror, the woman’s eyes met mine and she smiled sweetly at me. It was the woman I had seen on the first floor. My grandmother. She wore a pale blue peignoir set that I had seen hanging in the closet. It flowed out from her body, and she turned away from the mirror to look me in the face.

  “Hi ya’ Sweetie,” she said. The room got dark around the edge of my sight, I felt heat course through my body and my head started to spin. I lay back on the bed, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. She’ll be gone when you open your eyes, I told myself.

  Squinting, I peeked through my eyelids to see if I could still see her. She was still there. I sat up again and tried to speak. “I thought you were a dream,” I panted, my mouth going dry.

  “Nope. I’m here. I was hoping you would take this better, after all you’ve seen me several times now. I’m not really that unexpected am I?” she asked.

  Pinching myself, I wondered if I was dreaming or having some sort of mental breakdown. Then I realized I had been feeling presences since I’d moved in. It was time to accept that I was able to talk to ghosts. Weird. I closed my eyes again trying to feel the energy. Yup, it felt like there was a little fireplace in the corner giving off heat.

  “Still here,” she said watching me. “This is why we don’t show ourselves very often. There are so few people that can handle it.” She turned back to the mirror that wasn’t really even in the room. “Do you know how much energy I had to store before I could create this whole scene?” she asked, indicating the vanity and record player.

  “I don’t even know where to start. Are you my grandmother? Why do you appear to me? Am I clairvoyant? Why are you making the vanity and music appear anyway?” I was bursting with questions.

  “Yes, I am your grandmother. Why you? Because, yes, you have a special affinity, it’s easier for me to appear to you. It takes more energy to appear to someone else who doesn’t have the same ability as you. I’m not really sure why. I loved this vanity, and the music meant a lot to me at one time so I love hearing it again. I thought you’d be impressed if I gave you an entire vignette.”

  She faded a bit and the vanity disappeared. She moved to sit on my bed. “We can’t waste any more time. I’m almost out of energy but I wanted to introduce myself to you. I’ll have to save more before I can come back.”

  “So why haven’t you moved on?” I asked, as she faded some more.

  “I’m not ready yet. Oh drat, I shouldn’t have showed off, I must have mistaken how much—” she said as she faded into nothingness.

  I put out my hand to feel for her. Not even a glimpse or a flicker, just a cold spot where she had been sitting.

  It took quite a while before I could settle back down to sleep. I decided against waking Connie as it wouldn’t change anything, just rob her of sleep. How was I going to explain this? I not only saw an apparition, but it actually spoke to me. I lay there thinking of a million questions I wanted to ask. It seemed odd that I wasn’t scared of her when she appeared to me, because I had been before when other things occurred. Maybe it was because I didn’t know what was happening before.

  * * * *

  Connie woke me in the morning and we got ready to visit our mothers. Now, I was sorry the first question I had asked my grandmother hadn’t been about my mother’s father. As always, hindsight was twenty-twenty. Before locking up the house I remembered to grab the photo album we had found and walked out to my car.

  “Someone should mow the yard or we should find someone to do it. It’s getting to be a field out here,” Connie said on the way out. I was thinking about how I was going to bring up last night’s visit in a way that wasn’t going to make me sound crazy. Connie had seen our grandmother the first time so it shouldn’t be so hard.

  I got behind the wheel and started the engine. Turning off the radio I started, “I have to tell you about something that happened last night. I need you just to listen without interrupting and then you can yell at me or whatever.”

  I told her the entire story of the night before while I drove. I felt like I hadn’t taken a breath in the whole dissertation but I had to get it out quickly.

  She didn’t say anything the whole time I talked. When I finished, she exclaimed, “This is super cool! How could you not tell me right away? Imagine getting a chance to interact with a ghost! I can’t wait for it to happen again, only I hope it’s me next time.”

  I was pleased that she hadn’t reacted badly, but I couldn’t share just yet the part where Teoline said it was easier to appear to me. We stopped at the curb in front of her mother’s condo and Connie put her hand out on my arm.

  “Let’s not mention your latest sighting. The question about their father is going to be hard enough to talk about, so let’s not muddy the waters. We can talk about it after they accept the other news,” Connie added.

  “I agree,” I said, opening the door to my car.

  We walked up the sidewalk to Aunt Shelly’s home. She lived in a condo in a quiet part of town next to a lake. We knocked lightly on the door then walked in. “We’re here, Mom,” Connie called.

  The condo was a one level open concept plan with two bedrooms and one bath. It was a perfect little place for a woman who was growing older but wanted independence. My mother was a couple of condos down. The sisters loved living near each other. They had their own space but they could spend a lot of time together.

  Connie and I had tried to talk them into sharing a place but this arrangement actually worked out better than we could have hoped. Both women were very neat and organized, but while Connie’s mom decorated in the traditional style, my mom loved everything sleek and modern. This way each woman could have things her own way in her own place. In a family as stubborn as ours, this was no small distinction.

  We found Aunt Shelly in the kitchen, drinking coffee and making a list. I had to smile—all the women in our family were notorious for making lists.

  “Hi ya, Mum,” Connie said, sticking her head into the refrigerator. “Got anything good to eat?”

  “Look next to the coffee maker,” her Mom replied, not looking up yet.

  We saw them at the same time. “Scones!”

  Aunt Shelly smiled at us then went back to work. “I knew you two would like that. You’re welcome to a cup of coffee to go with it if you like.”

  “Yes, please,” I answered. “Don’t get up. We’ll help ourselves.” I got the coffee while Connie served up the scones. Sitting down at the table, I took a bite and knew I wouldn’t have to spit this out, these melted in my mouth. “There is nothing as light and delicious as your scones, Aunt Shelly,” I said.

  “Num,” Connie added.

  “And?” Aunt Shelly asked.

  “Thank you,” we both chimed together.

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “So what’s going on? I gather there is a reason you wanted to come see me since you’ve both been so busy at the house.” We could never get anything past our mothers when we were growing up and it seemed that some things never changed.

  Connie and I looked at one another silently trying to make the other start the story by making faces and nodding our heads at one another. Finally I just said, “We had tea at Louise and Ruth’s house yesterday.”

  “That’s nice, and how are the ladies doing?” Aunt Shelly asked politely, but I could tell her mind was still on her list.

  “Good. They seemed good. Anyway we were pumping them for any information they may have on the house,” I said.

  “Yes, and they
knew something?” She stopped writing and looked up at us.

  “Well, kind of. They told us a story but it wasn’t really about the house. It was about your mother,” Connie said, taking her turn.

  “Okay. And ... ?” she prodded again.

  “And Ruth told us that you and my mother don’t have the same father,” I blurted out then held my breath waiting for her reply.

  Aunt Shelly nodded and took a deep breath. “Laney, have you talked to Tess about this yet?”

  I shook my head.

  “I wish she was here. I hate to say too much without her here. But, yes, it’s true. Actually, it’s shocking it hasn’t come up with you girls sooner.”

  “What?” I asked, appalled. “You knew and didn’t tell us something like that?”

  “Well, it really has nothing to do with the house. I always swore that as far as I was concerned, your mother was my full-blooded sister, and it didn’t matter who her father was. It never affected our relationship. If we told everyone and talked about it, we felt that it would emphasize that we weren’t full sisters, when in our hearts and to each other, we always were. The fact that we’re having this conversation now is exactly what I mean. We’re discussing how Tess and I are only half-sisters, when I know that all my life there was no ‘half’ about it. Do you understand?”

  I could see her point. Once again, I thought I knew my mother, and I really didn’t. It made me wonder how well we knew the people who were close to us. Do we see them as they are or do we only see what we think we know? “When did you find out?”

  “My father used to throw it in our mother’s face every time they fought. He would say how wonderful he’d been to her to take her in when she was in that condition and then take care of her bastard child. It’s amazing what adults say in the presence of children when they are angry. It was hard enough on Tess to hear that in her own home without other people having to emphasize it all the time. Good Lord, we were little, maybe five or six, and she thanked me for being nice to her even though she was only my half-sister. Talk about the wisdom of children—I firmly told her that we were full sisters no matter what, and that we were never to speak of it again. And wouldn’t you know we haven’t spoken of it since that day. It was wrong of us not to tell you two, but it became such a part of who we are that there just was never a time that seemed right to bring it up. Can you forgive us for keeping a secret like that?” I looked in my aunt’s face, a woman I loved for so many years. My respect for her couldn’t possibly be diminished by a secret that was decades old and had never hurt me.

  “Oh, Aunt Shelly.” Connie and I stood up and hugged her. There was nothing more to say.

  We drove to my mom’s place even though it was just a few doors down. Upon arriving, I grabbed the photo album and tucked it under my arm. The condo was the same layout as my aunt’s except it was the mirror image. However, it looked like a totally different home due to the different tastes of the tenants. In the kitchen my mother was standing on a wooden stool in her stocking feet reaching up onto the top shelf of her cupboard.

  “Seriously, Mother,” I said. “Must you climb stools and other slippery surfaces in your socks? One day I’m going find you on the floor somewhere with a crack in your skull. Then I will be pissed.” I knew I shouldn’t even waste my breath. You could never tell my mother what to do.

  “Don’t use that word, Laney, it’s not lady-like. And who are you to scold? You’re as bad as I am. Hand me that casserole dish, please.” She indicated a glass dish with a cover sitting on the counter.

  “Why is everyone always trying to tell me how to be a lady?” I picked up the dish and handed it to her as I stood holding the stool, making sure she didn’t fall. She placed the dish then took my hand as she climbed down.

  I hugged my mother and then we all went to the table. “Coffee anyone?” she asked.

  “No, if I have any more coffee, I’ll float away,” I answered.

  “You sounded serious when you called. Should I be nervous?”

  “Not at all. They finally heard about Mother,” Aunt Shelly answered, giving my mom a knowing look.

  “What about Mother?” she asked, looking at us puzzled. After no one spoke, it dawned on her. “I see,” she said softly, then sat at the kitchen table. “We honestly didn’t deliberately hide if from anyone. It was more like we buffed out a slight scratch on a fine piece of furniture so that it didn’t matter that it was ever there. When you started having those weird experiences at the house, I should have mentioned this to you but I couldn’t imagine it could have anything to do with it. We can talk about it now. What do you want to know?”

  “We would never want to reopen old wounds, Mom. My only fear is that it might have something to do with what we’re experiencing.”

  “I guess you never know,” she agreed. “Shelly and I don’t really know anything beyond the simple facts, but if you have more questions you can ask us anything. We were too young to have spoken to our mother about it and people were probably too well-mannered to mention it to us directly.”

  “So how much is true and how much is gossip? I really don’t even know what to ask.”

  “What we do know,” my mom said. “Is that Soren was definitely not my father. My real father left my mother after they found out she was pregnant, and no one ever heard from him again. Why he left, where he went, whether he really loved her, we’ll never know. They were young. It was probably just one of those things—he got scared and ran. I never even heard his name. Soren was good enough to take her in and care for her and me, and he never let her forget it.”

  My thoughts raced as I tried to figure out how the pieces fit together. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe it had nothing to do with the ghostly experiences. “Thanks, Mom,” I finally said. “I’m sorry this had to come up. We won’t mention it again.”

  “Well, after all these years maybe we should be more open about it. Sometimes things have more power when they’re hidden and secret. By exposing things in the light they become less threatening. Now tell me—what did you bring along?” she asked, looking at the album I put down on the table.

  “I finally found a photo album. We looked through it but I don’t remember who any of these people are.”

  Opening the album, I stood up so my mother and her sister could look through the pages as Connie and I leaned over from behind.

  “This is Soren’s family,” Aunt Shelly said as she gazed at the first pictures. “This is his mother, Inga, and father, Emil. They both immigrated to this country from Norway. They met after they settled here in Minnesota. They left their families behind when they came, then occasionally as they prospered one or two members would join them. Our father and his siblings were the first generation of his family to be born in America. He had two siblings, a brother and sister. The brother died in World War Two and the sister became estranged from him. Can you imagine leaving your family and never seeing them again? An occasional letter would have been their only way to connect after they left. Rarely did one have the money to travel back to their home country. She moved to California and we never heard from that part of our family again.” As we paged through the book we learned of family members we’d never heard of, family stories which resonated with us now.

  After discussing family history we went out to sit on the back patio for a while. The sun shone down with its spring warmth, making everything smell refreshingly new and growing. Spring was a gift after the numbingly cold winter.

  Leaning back into my chair, I let the sun shine down on my face. I closed my eyes and listened to the songbirds as they went about their day. It seemed like a long time since I had just sat and had a quiet moment. From behind my closed eyes I heard Connie ask, “So have you found out anything about the house?”

  “Not much,” my mom said. “Most of what we found was tax records and other dry data—deed information, stuff like that. The local historical society didn’t have anything relevant. The time period we are looking for isn’t really old en
ough for real interest.”

  “I thought we might go to the library later to look for old newspapers,” my aunt added. “There were different owners before our parents moved in. Maybe there was some other tragedy we don’t know about.”

  I nodded absently. I had a hard time keeping my mind on the conversation. We had already been through so many struggles and difficulties. What was going to be next? I wasn’t sure I could bear to hear about any more heartbreak.

  Chapter Thirty

  We had a lovely rest of the morning and it was a relief to be away from the house and the work we’d been doing for days. Pulling up to the house I could see the front door standing wide open through the porch windows. “Now what?” I asked irritably. Connie and I sat in the car staring at the house. “I feel like we can’t leave this place for a moment. It’s driving me crazy.”

  “What do you think?” Connie asked. “Should we go in alone, or should we call someone to help us check it out?”

  I hesitated, unsure what to do. I wanted to call Emmett but I was afraid that after the day before he would think I was manufacturing a reason to see him. I could call Glen or Dean but I hated to interrupt them at work. Did we dare call the police for a possible otherworldly occurrence? But what if Saundra had broken in again? That would be more believable.

  “We had all the locks changed. How likely is it that Saundra broke in again?” I asked, voicing the thought. I slid out of the vehicle and walked around to the sidewalk. Connie joined me and we stared at the house again.

  “We stand around looking at the house so much the neighbors must really have their tongues wagging,” Connie said, sounding a little depressed.

  “Let’s walk around the house and just look in the windows,” I suggested.

  “Couldn’t hurt,” Connie agreed.

  We walked around the side of the house, pushing past the overgrown bushes, the branches catching on my hair and clothing as I tried to see in through the windows. The windows on the side of the house were a little higher up so I had to stand on my tippy toes to peek into the living room. Everything looked as we left it, so I went to the window of the study. Books lay on the floor and boxes were dumped all over the room, disrupting the items we had already started to sort. I hoped nothing had gotten broken in the disturbance.