The moon shadows on the lawn and the side of the house were dreamlike, and she realized she was finally getting sleepy. From where she stood, she could just see the corner of Dory’s house and the upstairs guest room window. Olympia did a double take. Did I just see something move in there? Was that a person in the window, or was it the cast shadow of a tree branch across the glass?
She was so tired that her eyes must be playing tricks on her. She remembered being frightened out of her wits by tree shadows on her bedroom wall when she was little. On a windy night with a full moon rising, the angular skeletal shadows turned into vampires and monsters crawling across the walls and the ceiling, slowly creeping down to get her. She shook off the memory. She told herself that was then and this is now, and what you see is the shadow of a tree branch. Time to go to bed, Olympia. You’re hallucinating.
As she was drifting off to sleep, just before the final descent, she heard the sound of a car starting and wondered who in the neighborhood would be going out at this hour of the night. Then she slept.
Thirteen
December 1, 1860
To my consummate joy I have discovered the Widener Library at Harvard College. Every day that weather and walking conditions permit, I ensconce myself at one of the great long polished oak tables and read until my eyes grow weary and darkness begins to fall. I will thus continue for as long as I can, until even the most bulky of winter cloaks and shawls no longer disguise my condition. I am sadly amused that a woman’s pregnancy is delicately referred to as her ‘confinement’. Is it because well-bred women in the so-called family way are expected to stay hidden from view? It must be, because for a woman to be obviously pregnant means she has just as obviously engaged in sexual intercourse, and we aren’t supposed to admit to that. I find it all to be distressingly hypocritical, and despite the protestations of my darling aunt, I refused to stay hidden.
Once she knew that I planned to keep the baby, she begged me to stay on with her in Cambridge saying she would love to have a child in the house. But after swearing on her well-worn family Bible that I…no, we would visit often, she understood that this was something I had chosen to do myself. And so we wait. With no house and garden chores to occupy my time, I have only my reading, and knitting for my coming child, to pass the shortening days. Alas, the nights are a different matter. In the dark, with no one as witness, I put my hands on my growing belly and think of the man that both honor and decency decree…that I must never see again.
More anon, LFW
~
Olympia surprised herself by sleeping until almost seven the next morning, but upon waking, her first thought was of her daughter. This morning, within the hour, she would speak to the child, now a woman … the child she held only once, minutes after she was born, before she was taken away. The child she had ached to see and touch every single day that had passed since that time, and now she was a total mess. Maybe she should have allowed Frederick to come. No, I need to do this myself.
She thought back to the day only weeks ago when she had told him about her daughter and what it was like trying to find her. She didn’t know what to expect, but after hearing the story he simply put his arms around her and said how wonderful it was and was there any way he could help. No shock, no condemnation, only tenderness and caring for her pain and now her thread of hope. Yes, this one was different. Her two sons, Malcolm and Randall, had been more reserved in their responses to the news of their half-sister, but after a few cautious questions, they said they were glad they knew, and maybe one day they might like to meet her, and let it go at that. All in all it had been better than she feared and less than she’d hoped for.
She got up, showered and dressed but decided against having any coffee; she was already totally wired. After feeding the cats she went and stood by the window and looked over at Dory’s house. It appeared unchanged from the night before. Maybe I should go over and check it. She was stalling, putting off for a last few minutes what she most wanted and most feared.
Just do it, Olympia, nothing can be worse than what you’ve been through all these years. Oh, yes it can!
She picked up the piece of paper with her daughter’s number on it and reached for the phone. Then she had to sit down because her legs suddenly seemed to have taken on a life of their own. She tried squeezing her eyes shut but realized she couldn’t see the dial pad. Finally, she took a deep breath and with a trembling finger tapped in the number. Then she almost hung up when she heard the phone, wherever it was, start ringing. Three rings, four rings. If she didn’t pick up, Olympia would not leave a message. Not this time. She started to replace the receiver when she heard a sleepy voice.
“M-m-hello?”
“Laura? Laura Wilstrom?”
“This is Laura.”
“Laura, this is Olympia Brown. I’m your birth mother.”
“I wondered if you’d call.” The words were measured and cool.
Olympia could not control her voice or her shaking hands or the tears that ran out of her eyes and dripped off her chin. “Thank God I’ve found you,” was all she could get out before her emotions took over completely. When she regained some small measure of control, she added, “You said in your message you were willing to meet me. You have no idea how long I have prayed for this to happen. Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“Well, that’s not too hard to take. I guess you’re doing pretty well.”
“I don’t live here year-round, Laura. I’m a minister, and I took a summer position in a community church here. I can get away. It might just take me a little longer because of the ferry and all.”
“You married?” asked her daughter.
“No, not any more. All of that was a long time ago.”
“Me either. I’m living in Somerville. We could meet somewhere in between.”
“I could come there,” said Olympia.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
The shaking started again. Olympia clenched her fists. “The weather is supposed to be pretty good for the next few days. We could meet in Boston, in the Public Garden. We could walk or sit on a bench and talk or even go for a coffee or something, if you wanted.”
“That’ll work. When do you think?”
Olympia wanted to scream, “I can be on the next ferry, or I can try walking on water, if you want me to,” but she realized that neither was practical or possible. “Would next Monday be good for you? If it rains, we can find a restaurant or a church to go into. We could meet near the swan boats.”
“Monday would work. Eleven o’clock. I can take a personal day.”
A personal day. Of course, she’s is a grown woman now. She has a job, and she’s going to have a baby, I’m going to be a grandmother, and I only just found out my daughter’s name and what she looks like.
“Eleven is perfect. By the swan boats? I’ll be carrying a teddy bear.”
“A teddy bear?”
“For the baby.”
“Oh, OK.”
“Laura, there’s so much to say, and I don’t know how to say it or where to begin. The most important thing for you to know right now is that I love you and I’ve always loved you. Not a day has passed since I gave birth to you that I haven’t wondered where you were and how you were doing.”
“So why did you wait so long?” Her voice was flat.
“I wanted to, but the people in the Department of Records told me it was best not to contact you. They said that it could make things difficult for you and your adoptive parents.”
“My parents.”
“Can we begin this conversation on Monday, Laura?”
“That’s probably a good idea.” There was a long silence before she spoke again. “I’m glad you called me. I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“And I wasn’t sure what I’d say when I did. I guess we managed.”
“We managed. I guess I’ll see you o
n Monday.”
When Olympia hung up the phone, the only thing she could think of to do was to take off her clothes and go back into the shower. When she emerged, bright pink from the hot water and her eyes puffy from crying, she splashed cold water on her face, rubbed her swollen eyes with ice, and set off for the church. She had a nine-thirty appointment, and it was nine-fifteen. Shift gears, Olympia. You’re a minister, and you’ve got a job to do.
At nine-thirty exactly Jack Winters walked through the door of the church office.
True to his promise of the night before, he was carrying two steaming containers of coffee from a local restaurant and a white paper bakery sack. Given the start to her morning, Olympia had not had much of a breakfast and was grateful for his thoughtfulness. He set the paper bag on the edge of the desk between them and handed Olympia one of the containers.
“Basic black, high test for the minister-lady,” he paused dramatically, “and her choice of sugar-free, fat-free oat bran muffins with free range, organic, corn fed raisins, or without.”
Olympia chuckled, popped back the drinking tab on the top of the coffee and eyed the package containing the muffins. “Is that to counteract the inherent dangers of caffeine? Or are you determined make me healthy in spite of myself? I have a priest friend who sometimes thinks he’s my personal trainer and drags me off for brisk, health-giving walks whenever he can.” She was trying to keep the conversation light, at least for now.
“Despite the healthy ingredients, these are really pretty good. Janney and I get them by the dozen and freeze them. We thaw out two at a time for breakfast when we stay on the boat. It’s probably one of the few healthy things we do.” He bit his lip and looked down at the floor. “I guess it didn’t work.”
“Sit down, Jack. Let’s have our coffee and give me one of those muffins you’re so enthusiastic about. I’ll have the one with the raisins, and when we’re finished we can talk more about what you told me last night. I’m not in any hurry. I got a good night’s sleep despite all the excitement last night. Once we got Dory West over to the Scott-Norton’s and settled in, it was clear sailing. Well, not by a long-shot, if I were to be honest, but we are talking about your problems, not mine, Mr. Winters. I don’t have to be home until this afternoon, when the insurance adjusters come to meet with Mrs. West.”
The look on his face said that he had no idea what Olympia was talking about. So she filled him in on the details of what had happened, how it happened, who was there, and her own dismay at seeing Dory so upset.
“William Bateson, huh? Little Willie on the spot, always there when you need him whether you think so or not. I tell you, Olympia, I don’t like that guy.”
Olympia started to speak, but Jack Winters continued, warming to his rant, “Oh, I know, he’s fussy and he sucks up to the old ladies … oops, ‘scuse me, Rev, but I think there is something going on underneath that swishy appearance of his. Maybe it’s a guy thing, you know, two roosters in the hen yard, newcomer on my patch and all that, but he’s hardly a rooster. Everyone I know thinks he’s gay. Not that it matters one way or another to me. It’s a gut feeling, Olympia. Don’t trust him, OK? Or at least be careful what you tell him.”
Olympia held her coffee up to her nose and inhaled. The smell was heavenly. It was the first real coffee she’d had since she arrived on the island. While she swirled and sniffed the contents of her cup, she was asking herself how exactly she should respond to this. Neutrally.
“You’re not out of line, Jack, you are expressing an opinion. I’m new here, and I didn’t know a soul in the church or on the island, but I heard what you said, and I thank you for your concern. Of course, anything said here stays here.”
Olympia leaned back in her chair and swiveled so they were facing each other. She didn’t tell Jack he wasn’t the only one who had reservations about William Bateson, but she prudently decided to change the subject.
“How is Janney feeling this morning?”
“Oh, fine,” said Jack peeling the plastic cover away from the top of his own coffee cup. “She never has a hangover. I don’t know how she does it with what she puts away, but she almost always wakes up ready to go on a moment’s notice.”
Olympia picked up her muffin and was methodically stripping the sticky paper away from the bottom. “A lot of alcoholics don’t have hangovers. According to some experts it’s one of the seven deadly signs. Maybe they just never sober up enough to have one.”
Jack was dodging the real subject of the visit, and they both knew it.
Olympia put down her coffee. “So tell me, Jack, what about you? When and how are you going to tell Janney?”
The man across from her stared down into his lap.
“I haven’t given myself much time. Today is Thursday, and I have to go into Boston on Monday—Sunday night really. They expect me to be in the hospital at six in the morning. I think that’s cruel and abusive, but condemned men don’t have much say in these matters.”
“For heaven’s sake, Jack, you are not condemned. You might be seriously ill, but you won’t know the extent of anything until you have the procedure and they actually go in and look.” Olympia spoke more sharply that she intended, and the anxious man looked up with a start and then nodded in resigned agreement.
“So until we know for sure, let’s concentrate on two things. The first is keeping as positive an attitude as you possibly can, meaning whatever is going on, you are going to fight back like hell. And the second is telling your wife, who may or may not be able to help. So I guess we have a third issue, and that is, you may have to face this without her. She may totally freak out when she hears the news. Most alcoholics drink because life is just too painful to face without booze. Your situation is going to seriously rock an unstable boat, but you can’t not tell her. How and when is the question before us.”
Jack crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that. I guess that’s probably one reason why I haven’t told her. Here’s what you don’t know, Olympia. Our only son was killed in a skiing accident almost ten years ago. That’s when the drinking got out of hand. I don’t think she can take anything else.”
“Oh, God, I am so sorry. That’s awful.” Olympia’s thoughts flashed for an instant to her own two sons, to all of her children and how fiercely she loved them. His pain had to be unimaginable. “But Jack, what about you? Your loss is as great as hers. You are having to bear your grief alone.”
“I learned to be tough,” he said quietly. “I didn’t have a choice, it was either that or lose my wife, too. The happy-flirty-Jack mask covers a lot, Olympia. You are one of the few I’ve ever let look behind it.”
“Who else?”
“I have a little sister.”
“I didn’t know that either. Have you told her yet?”
“Yup. Called her the minute I got the diagnosis.” Jack nodded and took a sip of his coffee. “She lives in L.A. She’s a doctor. She’s flying in tomorrow. She knows everything, Janney, the booze, our son, and now the cancer. She knows things even before I tell her. She’s my twin—five minutes younger than me. That’s what makes her the little sister. It’s our twin-joke.”
Olympia blew out a long sigh of relief.
“So you are not totally alone. Would it help to have her there when you tell Janney?”
Jack nodded. “That’s the plan. Melody, that’s her name, knows all the medical terms and what they mean, and she knows Janney. In spite of the booze, Melody and Janney really get along. Allan, that was our son, he really loved her, too. Called her his A.M., for Auntie Melody. It was their little joke. She was as devastated as we were when he was killed She doesn’t have any kids. She never married.”
Olympia looked at the man seated before her and wondered how much a single human being could take. She would do her best to help, but in less than eight weeks how much could she really do? Could she do anything at all? Olympia realized that despite the dramatic intensity of the last three days, she
already cared about these people. She wanted to be there for them, for Jack and Janney right now and for Dory and Julia and Leigh—for all of them.
The telephone jangled its unpleasant way into the silence between, and Olympia let the machine answer it. It was a routine call about the time of the service on Sunday, and the recorded voice did everything that was necessary.
“When tomorrow is Melody arriving?”
“She flies into Logan Airport on the red eye at 7:00 a.m., and then she’s going to take a Cape Air flight down here. Have you ever flown on one of those things? They’ve got a great safety record. Most of the ones that come here are nine-seaters, and one of those nine seats is beside the pilot. They are not for the faint hearted or the readily nauseous. I speak from experience.”
Olympia vowed on the spot, safety record or not, never to include Cape Air on her list of island experiences. She had been known to throw up on a merry-go-round.
Jack had moved them deftly out of the seriousness of his situation and was making ready to go, gathering up his hardly touched coffee and the other muffin.
“Hey, you want this?” He held out the other muffin. Despite its lack of fat and calories and the politically correct raisins, he was right. They were delicious. She accepted and told him that she would enjoy it later, then stood and held out her hand.
“Thank you, Olympia. Talking about it doesn’t really change anything. I still have cancer, and on Monday I’m going to find out how bad it is, but … I guess I don’t feel so alone with it any more. You’re a good listener. So is my sister. I think you two are going to hit it off.” Jack took her extended hand and held it in both of his. “Thank you for this, Reverend.”
“I look forward to meeting your sister. If you feel you want to, let me know how the conversation with Janney goes.”
A Despicable Mission (Olympia Brown Mysteries) Page 7