Finding the Way Back (28 page)

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
enough 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.