Heartwood (33 page)

The Colony, which was perched high on a hill in the priciest section of Riverdale, resembled Versailles. There was no other way to put it. To reach it, Iris had to drive through a stone gate, which looked like something one would find at a château in the Loire Valley, and wind her way through an acre of formal gardens that were dotted with fountains and statues before she finally reached the main building.

She stopped the car and sat still, hoping that her heart would stop pounding against her rib cage—which it had been doing for the last hour. But if anything, sitting still made the pounding
worse. Before she’d left her house, Iris had had a moment of craziness, and decided to take the portrait with her. But then sanity had returned, and she’d realized that Leah Sherman would not need to see it. The woman had owned it once. And she knew the story behind it. She had told Iris she did when they had talked on the phone. That was why Iris was here—to hear Leah Sherman’s story.

But now Iris was thinking maybe she wouldn’t get out of the car. Maybe she would just turn on the ignition and drive back through the endless garden down to the Henry Hudson Parkway and then head back to her home, where she would be safe. Where she wouldn’t have to hear whatever it was that Leah Sherman had to tell her. Iris’s heart would probably stop pounding then. But she didn’t turn on the ignition and she didn’t drive away.

A doorman stuck his head in her window and asked her for her car keys. She heard him say something about valet parking, but she wasn’t really paying attention. In a daze, she handed over her keys and he opened her car door, and there was nothing to it, she had to go into Versailles. She entered the lobby and had a vague impression of high ceilings, and walls painted in mellow shades of gold and cream. She forced herself to look more closely and saw elaborate crown moldings, crystal wall sconces and a matching chandelier. There was a velvety carpet beneath her feet, the windows were swagged with gold silk, and scattered everywhere were comfortable-looking sofas and chairs, accompanied by end tables, coffee tables and lamps. Iris started to shiver, even though it was warm in the lobby.

Leah Sherman was waiting for her, standing next to the front desk. Iris recognized her immediately; Ms. Sherman hadn’t
changed much since the days when Anna and Iris had shopped at Chez Lea.

She hasn’t seen me yet
, Iris thought.
There’s still time to run
.

But she stayed rooted to the floor. Now she was shivering
and
her heart was pounding. Suddenly, Leah Sherman spotted her, and gave a little wave. It was too late to escape now. If she had really wanted to. Leah Sherman was headed her way.

The woman had never been a great beauty, Iris remembered. One of Anna’s friends had said once that the proprietress of Chez Lea, with her snub nose and dark round eyes, had a monkey face. But Leah’s figure had been superb, and she’d carried herself like a queen. She’d also known fashion and had been able to predict trends months before they came into being. And of course, she’d always been exquisitely turned out. She still was, Iris noted as the woman came toward her. Ms. Sherman had let her hair go completely white and was wearing it in a flattering bob that curved forward to brush her jawline. Her hands were beautifully manicured, and her makeup had been expertly, but discreetly, applied, as was appropriate for a woman her age. She was wearing gold jewelry—a wide bracelet and a matching chain around her neck—and a lilac-colored suit that set off her white hair and dark eyes and was cut to showcase the fact that her legs were still very good indeed.

As she approached Iris, the ebullient smile Iris remembered from the old days was missing. But that was to be expected. She knew from their phone conversation what Iris wanted to discuss.

“Mrs. Stern,” Leah Sherman said. “I’d have known you anywhere. You haven’t changed.”

“It’s Iris, please. And neither have you.”

“Thank you. And I’m Leah.” They stood facing each other, not knowing what to say next for what seemed like a very long time. Finally Leah led the way to the elevator.

“This is a beautiful place,” Iris said—to say something—as they were whisked up to the sixteenth floor.

“I think so. I moved here a couple of years ago, after my husband died. I had a large house in town and it was too much for one person. This is what they call a progressive care facility—right now I have my own apartment and total independence, but if I should start to need help as I get older, I can move to another area where there’s more assistance. The people here will decide when or if that’s necessary for me, which is why I chose this place. I want to spare my stepdaughters from having to make that choice for me. I’ve seen what that can do to families.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Talking seemed to help stop the shivering, Iris had discovered. Nothing could stop her pounding heart.

“Well, as you said, it is a lovely place and I enjoy being with other people. I was so isolated in my house, I’m finding I like apartment living.”

Leah had a penthouse suite—there were two of them. Each had two bedrooms and two baths, Leah told Iris, and a terrace that wrapped around three sides of the apartment.

“We residents furnish our apartments ourselves,” she added as she ushered Iris into a living room that somehow managed to be both grand and cozy. And very feminine. “So even though this is a much smaller space than my home, I was able to bring most of my favorite things with me.” She gestured to a painting on the wall that Iris was pretty sure was an original Matisse.

Leah didn’t offer the usual polite tour of her home and Iris didn’t ask for one. The business ahead of them was serious.
They sat on the comfortable sofa in the bright living room, and Leah drew in a deep breath. “So you want to know about that portrait you found.”

I’ll always remember this moment
, Iris thought.
For the rest of my life, I’ll remember sitting here on this sofa with the sunshine streaming in those windows, and the tree branches framing the Hudson River in the background
.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that the story behind the picture has something to do with Paul Werner,” Leah said.

Iris nodded. She couldn’t answer out loud because her lips were too stiff to form words.

“I knew Paul all of my life,” Leah began. “His aunt adopted me when I lost my own mother as a child, so I was almost like family. Paul was a good man, he was kind and generous—well, you know all of that. But when he was young, he was too afraid of disappointing people. It was his big failing. In his twenties he was engaged to be married to a girl he’d known all of his life. But he fell in love with someone else. She was a maid in his mother’s house. She was beautiful and smart and full of life and curiosity—as Paul was. As his fiancée was not.”

“I see,” Iris managed to say through her stiff lips.

“Paul didn’t have the courage to end his engagement and he married his fiancée. The girl he loved married someone else too. I know that Paul was never really happy in his marriage. I can’t tell you what the girl’s marriage was like. But I do know that the feelings she and Paul had for each other were the kind that last a lifetime.”

Iris nodded.

“Paul and the girl went their separate ways for a few years. But of course he never forgot her. Not ever. One day she came back into his life—she literally showed up on his doorstep.
She had an appointment to see Paul’s mother, but she’d gotten the date wrong and Paul’s mother was out of town. Paul and the woman he had never forgotten were in the house alone together.” Leah paused.

The hard part is coming. She’s trying to find the best way to say it
, Iris thought. “What happened?” she asked in a voice that seemed to have gotten steadier for some reason.

“Paul and … the woman … they made love that afternoon. There’s no other way to say it. It was love and it was inevitable. For those two people it had to happen. I know that may be hard to accept.” She stopped. She was looking at Iris, waiting for permission to continue.

Iris gave it. “Go on.”

“A baby was born as result of that afternoon. Paul was never acknowledged as the father and he and the mother kept their secret for the rest of their lives. For Paul it was a heartbreaking decision, but they both believed it was in the best interest of the child. Years later, when that child and her husband were in trouble, Paul told the husband who he was and offered to help them. Which he then did.”

“Paul’s child was a girl,” Iris said softly.

“Yes.”

“And her husband knew the secret.”

And protected her from it for all those years. Oh my darling
.

“Paul’s wife died, and so did the husband of the woman he loved. But even though they were both free, they stayed apart.”

“Because the child … their daughter … might have figured out the truth.”

“They were afraid it would hurt her too much if she knew.”

Of course they were. I wonder if they were right. I can’t tell right now, I’m too numb
.

Leah had finished her tale. Iris stood up. But then she didn’t know what to do next. There was no etiquette, no code of manners that would cover this. She sat back down again.

“Is there anything else you want to ask me?” Leah asked gently.

“I don’t think so.”

“Would you like me to tell you the woman’s name?”

That would be an afterthought at this point. But so many sacrifices had been made to keep this story secret. A man had gone to his grave without ever revealing that he had a child and grandchildren. Another man had risked his life. And a woman … a beloved mother and wife and grandmother … had given up the man she loved.

“No. I don’t need to hear you say the name,” Iris said. She stood up again. “Thank you. You’ve been very kind.”

Leah walked her to the door. But instead of opening it, she said, “There’s just one more thing. Paul and this woman were special. They had the kind of connection that is very rare, they truly were soul mates. I knew them both so I can say that. I’ll always wish they could have had a few years together. As far as I’m concerned, love like that shouldn’t go to waste. But they were honorable in ways that I’m not. And it was very important to them to feel that they’d done the right thing.”

“I understand,” Iris said.

She drove back home slowly. She felt as if she’d been in an accident, or was recovering from a serious illness and needed to be careful because she was still wobbly. When she was home, she made herself a cup of tea and ate a slice of toast, and noticed again that it was food for a convalescent.

She sat in her living room and waited for the emotions to come. She waited to feel the rage and the pain sweep over her
and drown her. Her whole life had been a lie: she should feel crushed by that. She should be destroyed.

Instead she felt lighter. Because she realized that nothing important had changed. Joseph Friedman had been her father and she still loved him with all her heart. She still had the same history, the same family, the same heartaches and joys. None of it had been taken away from her. All that had happened was, the doubts and suspicions that had haunted her since she was a child had been validated. She had been validated. And she finally understood her mother.

She thought of the girl Leah had described, the beautiful, smart maid who was so curious and eager for life. That girl had been so young—little more than a child—when she’d fallen in love with a rich boy she couldn’t have. But the child had made a life for herself anyway. She’d made her choices, and she’d lived the consequences of those choices without complaint. Brave child. Brave woman.
My mother
.

I’m so glad I found out now and not earlier. Everyone was right, there was a time when this would have devastated me. But now, I’m just grateful to know. Now, at last I can empathize. Empathy is the secret of survival. Because life is not fair and love is almost impossible unless you can put yourself in another’s shoes
.

As she thought these things, suddenly Iris knew her time of waiting was over. She knew now who the new Iris Stern was and how she would live. The portrait was where she’d left it, leaning against the couch. She rewrapped it and took it back to the cellar, down to the filing cabinets full of Theo’s old medical records. She placed it there, sandwiched between two of the cabinets so it wouldn’t get warped. She couldn’t hang it anywhere in the house, but she didn’t want to destroy it either. This seemed to be a safe place for it.

Having disposed of the portrait she went up to her bedroom. She walked to the closet, and looked at the clothes hanging on Theo’s side. She opened his bureau drawers and looked in them too. Then she began emptying them. She pulled the shirts out gently, marveling at the silky cotton her husband had so loved, running her fingers over the monograms, which had always seemed a little vain to her but they had pleased him so. Oh he had been a peacock in his way, her Theo.

She took blazers and suits and ties and sweaters and pants off racks and shelves and hangers. She breathed in the scent of their owner, and then she packed the clothes in boxes—some for her sons, some for dear friends, the rest for a homeless shelter Theo had supported. She had thought once that she would need help in making these decisions, and perhaps the old Iris would have. The new Iris did not hesitate as she put a cashmere vest in a box for Phil and a blazer in another box for Jimmy.

She opened a drawer and found cuff links and tie clips and wristwatches—Theo hadn’t been a man to wear jewelry, so there were only a few pieces, but they were all made of eighteen karat gold. These treasures she would not give out right away. She would wrap them as gifts and over the years she would hand them out on special occasions, thereby keeping Theo’s memory alive, and giving herself pleasure.

The bed was covered with the boxes she had filled. She would have to move them to the floor so she could sleep tonight. In the morning she would tell the recipients the boxes were coming and send them on their way. But now as she looked at the bed, she said out loud what she had been thinking for the past hours.