Bells On Her Toes (Psychic Seasons

by ReGina Welling

  When he got upset, Peter tended to resemble his mother; his face pinched and tight, his tone condescending. “Explain yourself,” he ordered.

  Zack bristled so Gustavia cut in. “Valerie was disowned by her parents after she married a man Vivian coveted. Vivian made their lives hell until they gave in to her demand and cut off a daughter who had done nothing to deserve it. Sound familiar?”

  “How would you know anything about this? It all happened before I was born.”

  “Because I’ve met Valerie, and she’s told me her side of the story. It does not match what Vivian has told you.”

  Zack turned to Gustavia, “While you were getting dressed, I did a quick records search. The marriage certificate and her children’s birth records are a matter of public record, easily accessible.” Zack continued, his comments now directed to his father. “She had no reason to lie. Her first child was born a year and a half after her wedding; she was never an unwed mother. Never.”

  Peter’s mouth worked but no sound emerged. Janine patted his hand thinking how difficult it must be to accept that his mother had deceived him. She wasn’t surprised at all.

  Gustavia sat back, stunned and happy that her brother was standing up against their grandmother. For the first time, she felt the wonder of having a family member on her side; it was a spectacular feeling.

  “You’ve met her? How did that happen? Did she contact you? Maybe she’s after something.”

  Shaking her head in disgust, Gustavia hoped her father would listen to reason. Otherwise, she would consider him a lost cause, just like Vivian.

  “I met her completely by accident; she was just as surprised as I was when we realized we were family. And, before you ask, she’s the spitting image of Vivian, only with a much kinder face. I walked into a shop and there she was. It was a shock, I promise you.”

  “When Gustavia told me about her, I only had time for a quick records check, but her story holds. Considering she has never contacted anyone in the family, I doubt she’s on the take.” Gustavia rolled her eyes; Zack ignored her.

  Looking from one to the other, Peter wondered how he would ever maintain control over his children if they banded together this way. That thought was followed by another; why should he try to control them at all? They were adults, and he was not his mother.

  His mother. Peter still couldn’t completely accept what she’d done.

  Presenting his father with what he thought of as his “cop eye” Zack continued, “You didn’t know the truth. I can’t decide if that makes me feel better or worse.”

  _,.-'~'-.,_

  Deeply flustered, Peter brushed the topic of Valerie aside. He’d come here, at the insistence of his wife, to make amends with his daughter. He had to make her see it hadn’t been his fault.

  “Mother said you were too wild for us to handle.”

  “I was nine years old; how wild could I be? At first it was my drawing that offended her. It was considered “unseemly” so she removed all of my art supplies from the house. I had to hide my favorite books or she would have taken those, too.”

  “So you admit to being rebellious? Hiding things from her.”

  Wild fury at anyone who condoned the hiding of books or the stifling of creativity shot through her like fire.

  Standing now, Gustavia cried, “Did it never occur to you that I might have been rebelling against grandmother to get her to send me home? That I never felt safe or protected or loved? And you,” she pointed to her mother, “don’t you have anything to say?”

  “I won’t offer you excuses. There are none. Vivian made up her mind and we—I—didn’t have the fortitude to stand up to her. I know living with her can’t have been easy. She’s not a warm person.”

  “Understatement of the century,” Gustavia muttered. “She said you didn’t want me and I was lucky she’d taken me on, that I didn’t fit the wholesome image a senator’s daughter should portray, and it was necessary for you to distance yourself from anything that didn’t fit your station in life.”

  “Is that why you dress like this and do the things you do? It only proves her point.” Her father said.

  Lifting her chin and standing tall, Gustavia replied, “No, I dress like this because, despite being abandoned by my parents, I’ve managed to find happiness in my life with my work and with my friends. I dress like this because the people who love me, who truly love me, will accept me for what is inside, not for how I look. And I dress like this because it makes me happy.”

  “So it’s not a rebellion but a test? One we clearly failed.” Janine was trying to understand. Whatever her husband said or did, she was determined to find a way to get her daughter back. Only now was she realizing just how much of an effect Vivian had had on Gustavia and how many broken places there were.

  Weary of the conversation, Gustavia continued, “And just exactly which things did I do that you find unacceptable? I graduated with honors, am a successful author. I support myself nicely and have made a family with my friends. I’m happy, thank you for asking, with every area of my life that does not include dealing with you. If you’ve come here only to criticize and judge, you can leave.” There was little anger behind the words now, just a sense of resignation.

  Peter stood, intending to do as she asked. It was the final straw for Janine. “No. No. No.” Each repetition of the word getting louder and more emphatic. She turned to her husband, “I will not walk away from my daughter again. If you choose to leave, you will do so without me.” She turned to Gustavia, “I’m sorry. I know it’s late in coming. The words are not nearly enough, but I mean it. I’m sorry.”

  I’m sorry, Gustavia thought. Not I love you, just I’m sorry. Those were nice words to hear even if they left her feeling cold, bruised and battered.

  “Thank you.” She said tonelessly, wrapping her arms around herself and hoping they would go before she started to cry.

  Estelle, who had been watching the entire scene, had had enough. How could such an intelligent woman continue to be a complete dolt? Couldn’t she see her daughter’s pain, the need to hear those three little words? It wasn’t the first time she’d wished for the chance to speak her mind, but at least this time she could do something. With a flick of her considerable will, she shielded her presence from sight and spoke directly to Janine sounding like the voice of conscience, “She needs to know you love her.”

  The words brought tears to her eyes and propelled Janine to her feet as she moved to Gustavia and enveloped her in a hug. “I love you. So much. Oh, I’ve missed you. Can you ever forgive me?”

  At first Gustavia remained quiescent; it had been thirteen years since she’d been in her mother’s arms. It felt warm and safe and familiar and alien all at the same time.

  “Please, I love you so much.” Janine repeated as she begged for forgiveness.

  Now Gustavia began to cry in earnest as she held on tightly; her heart overflowing with emotion. Peter watched with envy. He wanted to be part of it all; he wanted to accept his daughter, be accepted by her. He recognized his reticence as part of Vivian’s legacy.

  Standing at a crossroads, Peter needed to choose between the cold aloofness he had always cultivated and the warmth and light that comes from being part of a loving family.

  There might be consequences for meddling this way, and she felt slightly guilty about doing it, but Estelle gave him a tiny mental nudge anyway. “You can choose to be like your mother or you can choose to love your daughter without limits. Don’t be a fool.”

  With an inarticulate cry, Peter decided. He launched himself toward his wife and daughter, his voice choked with emotion, “Oh, please, please forgive me. Let me be part of your life; let me love you,” and was pulled into the embrace.

  Zack watched with satisfaction before joining the group hug. His family was finally whole again.

  Chapter 25

  When Finn called that night, it was an exultant Gustavia who answered.

  “Whoa,” he said, “did you win th
e lottery or something?”

  “Near enough. My parents--I think we are becoming a family again.” She was overwhelmed with so many emotions. “We talked for hours. I can’t remember when I’ve felt this good.”

  “I’m happy for you.” She could hear the smile in his voice, the sincerity.

  They talked for almost two hours. It was more than nice. It was a glimpse of what could be.

  _,.-'~'-.,_

  She’d gotten her car, her baby, back for the second time. This time, when Zack’s mechanic friend dropped her off, the Maverick had all new glass; and Gustavia had even managed to repair Gertrude. If the Gypsy angel looked a little worse for the wear, Gustavia didn’t care. Everyone had their scars, most would heal with time. This was something she was coming to understand as she placed the battered figure in its place of honor.

  Still, her heart beat sped up as she got closer to the address Valerie had given her. She was going to visit her aunt, the aunt who looked just like her grandmother. It was completely freaky; like one of those weird 3D pictures—the kind where you turn it just slightly and the image changes; nice grandmotherly face then evil grandmotherly face. Gustavia shivered then shook it off. Valerie was a sweetheart, and she was grateful for the chance to visit and get to know her aunt better.

  Pulling into the drive she looked at the classic craftsman style home then took a moment to just sit, breathe and center herself. Why was she was so nervous? Gustavia expected Valerie to be warm and welcoming. It was just all this “family is important” pressure. With an effort, she let it go and relaxed.

  Nestled in one of the older neighborhoods, the house sat squarely in a pool of shade provided by towering maple trees. Potted plants and window boxes crowded with brightly blooming chrysanthemums gave a cheerful greeting.

  Gustavia had barely stepped onto the porch before the front door opened, allowing Valerie to greet her warmly. All the tension melted away in the face of such welcome as she followed the older woman into the house. Gustavia looked around with interest; a person’s decorating choices always said a lot about their personality. If her theory was correct, she and Valerie had plenty in common.

  Just off the entrance, the living room, while not cluttered, contained a blend of highly polished antiques mixed in with a few quirkier pieces. Her aunt’s taste in art was just as varied; Gustavia was especially drawn to one particular oil painting hanging over a gorgeous mahogany Georgian demi-lune table.

  “That’s an Estelle McLaren, isn’t it?” She asked.

  “Yes. She was a lovely artist.”

  “And a lovely person. I knew her.”

  “I met her once a long time ago. We both attended a charity dinner and struck up a conversation. Such a warm personality but no nonsense at the same time.” Her words raised a lump in Gustavia’s throat.

  “An apt description.”

  “When I saw this painting, it just spoke to me. I had to have it.”

  Gustavia knew the painting well. Against a lovely garden background a young woman posed facing away, head bowed to show the graceful line of her neck, the side of her cheek where a single tear slid. Of course Gustavia knew the painting; it was her neck, her cheek so lovingly portrayed.

  She turned to Valerie, eyes shining. “It’s me. I posed for that painting. Did you know?”

  At first, there was no answer. Gustavia turned to look searchingly at her great aunt who slowly shook her head. “No, I didn’t know.” The words were quiet, little more than a whisper.

  Accepting the answer at its face value, Gustavia continued. “I spoke to my father. He had a very different story of why you were no longer part of the family. She lied to him. All these years she told him you’d left home in disgrace. Peter believed her.”

  “Of course he did. She is his mother, and he had no reason to doubt.”

  “That’s all changed.”

  “Tell me about yourself. What do you do? Do you have a family of your own?” Valerie changed the subject as though the past were too painful to deal with.

  “I write children’s books, and I’m still single. I think I’m in a relationship, or something that might become one. It’s complicated.” Explaining her current romantic situation would take more time than Gustavia wanted to spend. “Tell me about you, though. I’d like to hear about your family.”

  “The boutique where we met—it belongs to my daughter. I only work there once in a while. I also have a son. My husband died several years ago so I live here alone now.”

  They talked for several hours. Valerie pulled out photo albums from her own childhood, providing Gustavia with a deeper sense of her family history. Gustavia told her story, and it was a revelation to tell it all to someone who understood.

  By unspoken mutual agreement, they skirted the topic of Vivian.

  Finally, when Gustavia was just about to leave, Valerie said, “There’s something I’d like you to have.” Going over to a small hutch, she opened the top left drawer and pulled out a box which she presented to her niece.

  With shaking hands, Gustavia opened the box to reveal a small, round, somewhat plain locket containing a photo of Valerie, Vivian, and their parents.

  “I had these made for my own children. it only seemed right that they have some memento of my side of the family. It took me a long time to come to a place where I could accept that they’d just let me go because it was easier than dealing with Vivian; but, in the end, I needed to be rid of the animosity. For myself, not for them. So to commemorate my new found acceptance, we all got a family portrait locket.”

  Those words rang a bell inside Gustavia’s head, one that echoed with Julius’ voice. What was it he had said just before he’d faded away? “Not every family portrait is a pretty one,” then something else, and then, “you can’t just lock it away.” Family portrait locket. That was the key to Julie’s next secret stash.

  With an effort, Gustavia pulled her focus back to Valerie and, thanking her for the gift, set a date to meet her new cousins. It was still a lot to take, this wealth of family after having so little. Gustavia was a bit overwhelmed by it all, though in a good way.

  Before pulling out of the drive, Gustavia checked her brakes. It was a new habit; one she had adopted since the accident. Then, she drove straight to Hayward House and Julie.

  _,.-'~'-.,_

  Slamming through the door impatiently Gustavia yelled out, “Jules, I’ve figured out the clue. I know what the key is.” She did a little dance. “Jules, where are you?”

  No answer, not even from Lola.

  They probably couldn’t hear her over the banging and shuffling noises coming from the workers on the roof. Eventually, Gustavia found the pair of them in the gazebo. Julie working on her laptop while Lola sat quietly at her owner’s feet. Julie looked up as Gustavia bounded up the steps, her mouth quirking.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad the work is getting done and, hey, the view from here is amazing at times, but these people are driving me crazy with the pounding.”

  Waving that away as a given, Gustavia burst out, “I figured it out. The key. I know what it is.”

  Julie’s eyes widened. “And how did you do that?”

  “Julius gave me the hint, and then today I was at Valerie’s—Oh—hey, I was at Valerie’s; she invited me—and she gave me a gift. A locket with a family portrait in it, and I remembered how Julius kept harping about how family is important. Wasn’t there a locket in with all the silver we found? One with a family picture inside? The locket, it’s the key.”

  “Whoa, take a breath.”

  “That’s it. I just know it. We have to call everyone to come check it out.”

  _,.-'~'-.,_

  From his vantage point on the roof Finn watched the Maverick coast to a stop, watched as the swirl of a brightly colored skirt danced around nearly bare feet. She never looked up, never saw him there. If she had, Gustavia would have seen his true feelings; they were plastered all over his face.

  The slamming of the back doo
r sent a subtle vibration through the house; he felt it, even through sturdy work boots, as he watched that spot of color make its way across the grass toward the gazebo. She was revving about something. Finn could tell by her posture, by the bounce of her step, by the gleam in her eye.

  That million-watt smile. Even from this distance, it had the power to deliver a sucker punch to the gut.

  If life were simple, he knew what he would do; climb down off this roof, take her in his arms and never let her go. If life were simple.

  But, it wasn’t. Not simple. Fragile. He knew that better than anyone. How it could all change; how it could be ripped away when you least expect it.

  Closing his eyes, he remembered how it felt to hold her close, to swallow the sigh of her breath, to feel her heart kick against his own. He wondered how he’d gotten sucked in, how she had managed to make it so that any day that went by without his seeing her or talking to her was empty and dull. Frowning, he decided she must be a witch and he was under her spell.

  That was it; that was why he felt compelled to climb down the ladder and go to her. That thought made him furious. So furious he was already on the ground before he realized he had followed his thoughts with action.

  She looked up as he stalked across the lawn, saw by the set lines of his body that he was in another of his moods, ready to push at her again. “Not this time, he’s reached my limit,” She spoke quietly to Julie and stood to face Finn.

  Conviction a fire in his belly, he strode forward. Six feet or so from the gazebo, he stopped cold, his stomach dropping into his shoes. The look of cold fury on her face spoke more eloquently than any words she might have mustered. Drawing herself up to full height, she pointed behind him and said, “Turn around and walk away, Finn. Now. Whatever this was—the friendship, the more than friendship—it’s over. Don’t speak. Don’t call me again. Just walk away.”