Conspiracy of Silence

by Martha Powers

  tug on her hand, and, after a momentary hesitation, he released it. “Yes. I work at the paper mill. You ought to come over and

  see the place. I’ll give you a personal tour of the plant.” “They have tours everyday,” Ruth added dryly. “If you want

  to go, Clare, I’d love to go with you. Haven’t been for a while.” “You’re mighty untrusting, Ruth,” Ed said, his mouth wide

  in a grin. “You know I’d take good care of this young lady. I’m as

  harmless as a toothless otter.”

  Ruth snorted in amusement then patted his arm for reassurance. “You’re a good man, Ed. I know you’d watch out for Clare.” “I hope Ruth is taking you to all the festivities this weekend.

  We’ve got a great parade and of course the bed races.” “Bed races? That sounds highly X-rated.”

  Ed laughed. “This is a family friendly town. It’s mostly

  teenagers who are in it. They build beds out of all kinds of things

  and then dress up in costumes. They come flying down the long

  hill coming into town. The kids love it.”

  “I can imagine,” Clare said. “We don’t have a lot of bed races

  in Chicago. I think it must be the streets. Much too flat for a good

  race.”

  Ed smiled. “So you’re up here from Chicago. What made you

  come here for a vacation?”

  “Ruth’s niece is my best friend. She’s always told me how

  beautiful and restful it is in Grand Rapids. And from what I’ve seen

  so far I have to agree.”

  “So you’re a friend of Gail. I used to see a lot of her when

  she’d come up for a week or two in the summer. How is she? Still

  single?”

  “Not for long,” Clare said. “She’s going to Hawaii next week

  tomake arrangements for one of those destination weddings. She’s

  going to be married in the fall.”

  “That’s great. Someone from Chicago?”

  “You’ll appreciate this,” Ruth interjected. “She’s marrying

  Tom, who is the principal of a grade school.”

  Ed threw back his head and laughed. Ruth turned to Clare to

  explain.

  “Gail’s finest achievement in elementary school was having

  cutschool more times than anyone in her class. The child was

  incorrigible.” Although Ruth shook her head in dismay, her eyes shone with pride. “How she ever managed to get through nurse’s

  training is a mystery to me.”

  “I think it’s because she found something she loved. And, of

  course, thanks to good background and breeding, she’s extremely

  bright.” Clare grinned, two fingers touching her forehead in salute

  toRuth.

  “Well, I can see your long day has taken toll of your senses.

  Time to go home.”

  Ed leaned over to help Ruth to her feet. While the older

  woman said her good-byes, Ed walked with Clare toward the hall

  doors. Clare glanced across to the table where Nathan Hanssen

  was sitting. He was staring at her and rose to his feet and started

  to leave the table when once more his daughter caught his attention. Clare turned away and followed Ed and Ruth. They stopped

  to thank Bianca who was waiting to bid farewell to the attendees. The breeze had picked up and the night air felt cool against

  her cheeks. She glanced at her watch and realized it was only eight

  thirty. The sky was darkening as night closed in. Unlike Chicago,

  where the city lights blotted out the stars, Clare could see a blanket of stars overhead. Ed helped Ruth into the car then came

  around to Clare’s side.

  “It was nice meeting you, Clare,” he said. “I hope I’ll see you

  sometime over the weekend. I’m one of the parade organizers so I

  won’t be free for much of the time, but I’ll keep my eye out for

  you.”

  “I’ll look for you too,” Clare said, starting the car. “Maybe you’d like to go for coffee sometime next week?” he

  asked as he leaned down to peer in the window. “Can I give you a

  call?”

  “I’d like that.” Clare smiled at the big man and his face reddened in pleasure.

  Ed stepped back and waved as Clare backed out of the parking space. Ruth was quiet on the drive. Now that they were alone,

  the older woman had sunk into a silent reverie. She didn’t speak

  until they arrived back at Heart’s Content.

  “Come in. I’ve got some wine or I can make some hot tea and

  we can talk for a bit. Unless you’d rather wait until morning.” “No, a glass of wine sounds excellent. The dinner at the

  church perked me up. “She turned to Ruth. “Are you sure you’re

  not too tired?”

  “Not at all, my dear. I’ve been conserving my energy this

  evening.”

  She unlocked the door and led Clare into the kitchen, which

  was slightly less filled with flowers than the rest of the house. Getting a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, she handed it to Clare.

  She opened the cupboard beside the sink and took down two crystal wine glasses and pointed to the door in the corner. “Gail said you liked New Zealand wines. I found a lovely one

  that I think you’ll like. Villa Maria. Penny Gabel who owns the

  wine shop recommended the vineyard. We can sit outside on the

  screened porch so you can get the full benefit of the weather. In

  Minnesota days as beautiful as this are somewhat rare. I’ll be right

  along with the rest.”

  Clare opened the screen door and stepped outside. She set the

  wine bottle on the glass-topped table. It wasn’t fully dark and she

  was transfixed by the view. Being at the top of a hill rather than

  down at the edge like the cottage, gave her a full glimpse of most

  of Lost Lake. Used to the blistering hot July days in Chicago,

  she breathed in the cool air that carried a scent of roses from the

  garden.

  “I never get tired of the view,” Ruth said as she stepped out

  onto the porch.

  “You must spend many hours out here. I know I would.” Clare took the glasses from the older woman and set them on

  thetable. She opened the bottle and poured two glasses of wine

  and handed one to Ruth. Ruth raised her glass and touched the

  rim of Clare’s.

  “To your quest,” Ruth said. “No matter what you discover,

  may it give you peace of mind.”

  At the intent gaze in the older woman’s eyes, Clare felt a

  momentary chill. Refusing to give in to any sense of foreboding,

  she raised her glass in a return toast. “And to your hospitality.” “Umm. Very nice,” Ruth said, picking up the bottle to check

  the label. “I’ll have to get more of this.” She waved to a chair.

  “Please, sit.”

  Clare drank some wine, letting the coolness fill her mouth and

  then slowly swallowed. She could feel the tension in her neck from

  thelong day easing as she relaxed in the cushioned chair. Despite

  the excitement of her earlier discovery, she suspected she would

  sleep soundly tonight. Too many nights had been spent in tossing

  and turning as she tried to solve the mystery of her identity. “How do you think I should proceed now that I’ve discovered

  Rose’s real name?” Clare asked abruptly, breaking the silence that

  had surrounded them. “Do you think Rose has relatives still living

  here that I might ask? Do you know anyone named Gundersen?” Clare was surprised that Ruth didn’t answer immedia
tely.

  There was a stillness about the older woman that made her uneasy.

  Her fingers tensed around the stem of the wineglass and carefully

  she set the glass on the table.

  “You recognized the name Gundersen, didn’t you?” Clare

  said, an accusatory note in her voice as she stared across the table.

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  Ruth sighed. She turned her chair until she was facing Clare

  directly. Pursing her lips, she tapped them with two fingers as if

  gathering her thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, Clare. I didn’t mean to keep anything from you.

  I knew telling you before dinner wouldn’t be appropriate. I

  wanted you to see and meet some of the people in town before you

  could make any prejudgments. You’re right that I did recognize

  the name Gundersen. However, before I could talk to you, I

  needed to be sure that I was remembering the right Gundersens.

  So after you left the library, I began to check my facts.” An icy chill of anticipation ran through Clare’s body as she

  suspected Ruth already knew her real identity. She would know her

  name, she would know about her family, and she might even learn

  why there was such a conspiracy of silence around her background. “You knew my adoptive mother?” she asked, her hands

  clenched in the material of her skirt.

  “No, I didn’t know Rose,” Ruth said. “We were four years

  apart and when you’re a child that’s a huge gap. By the time she

  was in school, I had already moved to Duluth. I recognized the

  name Gundersen, but I had to go back through the newspaper files

  to get the story straight. Rose Gundersen was your aunt. Your biological mother was Rose’s sister Lily Gundersen Newton.” Clare’s hand jerked and she raised it to her throat, grasping

  the necklace in her fingers. For a moment she could barely catch

  her breath.

  “Rose said my heart necklace had belonged to her sister. She

  meant Lily Gundersen. All this time I’ve been wearing my

  mother’s necklace and never knew it.”

  “That appears to be the case,” Ruth said. “So in a way Rose

  left you clues to find the truth behind your identity.” “Does m . . . my m . . . mother still live here?” Clare whispered the words in a halting stammer. Her throat closed in fear of

  the answer.

  Ruth’s eyes glinted with tears as she shook her head. “No,

  Clare. Lily died twenty-five years ago.”

  Clare had always known that there was the possibility that her

  mother had died. Maybe even in childbirth. Although she had

  considered it, she had never really believed it. She had always

  hoped that her mother was alive and well, and that she would make

  a connection with her. A reunion of sorts. That dream crashed,

  leaving in it’s wake a deep sorrow, an almost physical pain. “She must have been very young when she died. How did it

  happen?”

  Silence filled the screened porch. In the gathering darkness,

  thelines in the older woman’s face appeared deeper than earlier in

  the day. Once again she touched her pursed lips with the fingers of

  her hand as if to hold back her words.

  “Was she sick? An accident? Please, Ruth, I need to know.

  How did she die?” Clare asked again, her tone soft yet demanding. “Your mother, Lily Newton, was murdered.”

  S

  Chapter Four

  “My mother was murdered?” Clare stared at Ruth as if she had lost her mind. “That can’t be true.” “Forgive me for telling you in such an abrupt fashion, but I couldn’t think of any other way. Now that you know who Rose was, it would be just a matter of a quick check before you found out yourself.”

  In the ensuing silence Clare fought a torrent of emotions. She had driven all the way to Minnesota in search of an identity and possibly a family and now all hope of such a happy conclusion was crushed. Worse than that, this new information made her feel as if she were in the middle of a nightmare.

  “There must be some mistake.”

  “No, Clare.” Ruth’s tone was unyielding. “After you left the library, I looked it up in the newspaper archives. I’ve brought home a folder from the clippings file at the library for you to go through later, but it might be easier if I give you a brief summary. Would you prefer that?”

  For an instant, Clare debated whether she wanted to know anything more. If she said no, she need not face the grim reality of her search. She could pretend that the trail she was following had led to nothing. The weakness was momentary; she knew she couldn’t turn back now. In order to reclaim her life, she needed to find answers to her questions. Nodding, she sat up straighter in her chair.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather hear it from you.”

  She watched as Ruth took a fortifying drink of her wine, then settled back in her own chair. Her eyes were kind as she looked at Clare.

  “I did not know your mother or your father nor did I live here at the time of her death, so I’m only able to tell you what I’ve managedto glean from a cursory look at the newspaper files.”

  Clare nodded, unable to trust her voice.

  “Rose Gunderson was born in Grand Rapids. She was your mother’s older sister. Eleven years older than Lily. Rose was living and working in Minneapolis, although she owned a house here. Lily and your father, Jimmy Newton, were living in Rose’s house.”

  “Was I here too?”

  “Yes. I didn’t have time to do much research, but according to the newspaper accounts I’m assuming you were born in Grand Rapids since your parents had been living in Rose’s place for four years. You were almost four years old when your mother died.”

  “No wonder I couldn’t find any information prior to that time,” Clare said.

  “Lily and Jimmy had been married for four years. Your mother was working as a waitress at the Forest Lake restaurant. Your father worked for the Blandin Paper Company doing something in graphic design.”

  Ruth paused, staring at Clare, gauging her reaction and then, satisfied, she continued.

  “Your mother died in 1982 during the Fourth of July weekend. Your parents and your Aunt Rose had gone to a dance that Saturday night at the Bovey City Hall. That’s the next town over. There was some trouble at the dance. A fight. Your parents returned home with your aunt. At four o’clock on Sunday morning, your father called the chief of police and told him your mother was missing. A search was conducted, but it wasn’t until morning that your mother’s body was found on the lakeshore.”

  “My mother drowned?” Clare asked.

  “No. Lily was shot.”

  The shock of the words jolted through her body. Murder was a big city crime. Murder didn’t happen in small picturesque towns. Most of all, murder didn’t happen to people she knew. And yet, incredibly, her own mother had been killed. In her own mind she couldn’t bring herself to use the word murder.

  “I know it’s a stunner, Clare. A lot to take in. I sat for a long time today after you left trying to decide how much to tell you without overloading you.”

  Clare took a shuddering breath, then reached for the wine and took a sip to combat the dryness in her mouth.

  “It’s dark,” Ruth said. “Would you like to go inside?”

  “Not unless you do. I’m enjoying the fresh air.” She took another sip of wine, trying to take in what she had heard. It was so long ago that there was an unreality to the story as if she were listening to the plot of a book. She started at a sudden thought. “Twenty-five years ago. I was four when my mother died. Did the newspaper mention me? At least I would feel as if I really existed.”

  Ruth smiled cautiously. “You do in fact exist. Would you like
to know your birth name?”

  Clare had forgotten that her name might have been a total fabrication. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The word was barely audible when she replied, “Yes.”

  “Your name is Abigail Clare Newton.”

  “Abigail Clare Newton. Abigail Newton. Abigail Clare.” She listened to the sound of the words as she spoke them aloud. “Wouldn’t you think that I’d recognize my own name? I’m glad Rose kept at least one of the names. Clare. It doesn’t sound so totally foreign. I don’t feel like an Abigail.”

  “In the newspaper they mentioned that you were called Abby.”

  “Abby? It’s weird but that sounds familiar. I must have some memory of being called by that name.”

  “You were four years old. Lodged in your brain there are probably remembrances that might come to the forefront now that you’re looking into this. Would it help if I called you Abigail or Abby?” Ruth asked, curiosity in her tone.

  “No! I’ve been Clare all these years. I don’t know if I’ll ever be Abigail, let alone Abby.” Her voice was sharp and she fought against the anger that rose at this latest example of the falseness of her life. “Sorry for snapping at you.”

  “It’s a lot to take in. I’m sure that you’ve spent five months feeling totally disoriented. It’s as if you suddenly learned that there really were UFOs and that you were actually from another planet.”

  “That’s exactly how it feels. I have no sense of place anymore.” Clare sighed. “You better tell me the rest. I’d rather get it over with than have to hear it piecemeal.”

  “I’ll keep it brief,” Ruth said. “When your mother’s body was found, your father was suspected of the murder. The chief of police asked if he had a gun. Jimmy admitted that he did, but when they went to the house the gun couldn’t be found.”

  “Except for the usual fact that the spouse is always a suspect, was there any evidence against him?” Clare asked.

  “There was evidence of a fire in the fireplace. Since it had been a particularly hot night, that was suspicious. When they sifted the ashes, they discovered a zipper and some buttons. The assumption was that he’d burned his bloody clothing.”

  Clare nodded. “You said there was a fight at the dance that night. Was Jimmy involved?”

  “Yes. According to the newspapers there had been a lot of drinking outside of the hall where the dance was held. Jimmy got in a fight with another man and it took a number of people there to separate the two. The conventional wisdom was that Jimmy was jealous and angry over the attentions being paid to your mother by the other man.”