The Pieces We Keep (34 page)

T
he announcement unleashed a torrent of emotions. In August of 1945, the Japanese Empire submitted its unconditional surrender. Vivian’s initial joy was as genuine as that of any serviceman whooping and hollering through Times Square. One by one the Axis powers had fallen-first Italy, then Germany-and now the six-year war had come to an end.
Good had defeated evil,
people proclaimed, a justification for atrocities best left unspoken. They would cling to this oversimplified truth while trading pats on the back and placing flowers on graves.

In the meantime, newspaper headlines would revert to Hollywood scandals, and radio broadcasts to programs of entertainment. Foreign lands and borders worth the fiercest of battles would soon be reduced to a footnote.

But not every facet of war would fade so easily.

Among the survivors, few were left unscathed. Vivian was no exception. Once the whooping and hollering quieted, she felt the tender flare of old wounds. Much had been sacrificed on the road to victory. It was this thought that brought Mrs. Langtree to the forefront of her mind.

Vivian had made a habit of sending baked goods to the lone widow, whenever Gene went over to help with upkeep and repairs. But this time, on a bright September morning, Vivian would present the dish herself.

On the bus ride there, with little Judith at her side, it occurred to her that if the woman was as stringent about etiquette as she had been about rules, an unannounced visit might be unwelcome. Yet it was too late to fret; they were already on their way.

They soon disembarked in Ditmas Park to reach the gray and white Victorian house. With a warm pie pan in hand, Vivian guided her daughter up the steps of the wraparound porch. The planks were the very same that Vivian and Gene had painted together.

“Be on your best behavior, now,” she reminded Judith, before ringing the doorbell.

The two-year-old nodded, bouncing her pigtails, then fidgeted with the ruffles on her pink dress, the latest indulgence from Vivian’s mother.

Judith was a petite creature since birth. Hence, for those who bothered to calculate, premature delivery made for a natural assumption. For the ones who enjoyed more scandal, it could be theorized that an intimate premarital date had hastened the couple’s vows.

Either way, a paternal question was never raised, thanks in no small part to Judith’s looks. Aside from a slight curl to her hair, she was the spitting image of Vivian, with thick brown locks and copper eyes.

Only on occasion would Vivian note a flash of Isaak, from a slyness in Judith’s smile or the way she crinkled her chin, suggestive of a dimple. And if the situation allowed, Vivian’s mind would dip into a well of the past. There she would bathe in her fondest memories, scenes from another lifetime, and emerge at least comforted by a sense of Isaak at peace.

Still waiting at the door, Vivian followed up with a knock.

“Piddy,” Judith said, pointing to the lace curtains on the large bay window.

“You’re right, lovey bug. Those are very pretty.”

Among the greatest aspects of motherhood, Vivian had learned, was experiencing the wonder of things, even the seemingly mundane, as if for the first time. She was reminded of this now while admiring the house, with its charming turret and columns and latticework. The whole neighborhood, in fact, could have been plucked from a storybook. As could Judith, for that matter, a precious pixie of a girl with a heart pure as Gene’s.

Finally, the door opened.

Hair in a loose French twist, more silver now than blond, Mrs. Langtree peered through her spectacles. Though her floral housedress was finer than most, the absence of a suit came as a surprise. Vivian realized this must be how the woman began to dress after retiring from the switchboard, when the operators made way for the military staff.

“Mrs. Langtree,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

In deciphering the silence, Vivian could not tell if the woman was merely surprised or recognition had yet to settle.

“I . . . apologize for dropping by unexpectedly. We thought you might like a nice autumn dish.”

Mrs. Langtree glanced at the gift that wafted with sauteed garlic and onions. “A Victory feast,” she guessed. She said this with a fitting hint of dryness. The sweetness of victory had been tamped by the bitterness of personal loss.

“Nothing that fancy, I’m afraid. Just a shepherd’s pie fit for supper.”

Mrs. Langtree studied Vivian’s face, as though in search of her true motives. The woman was once known for her keen detection of lies. Which, come to think of it, might have unconsciously been Vivian’s reason for not coming here sooner. Secrets were but a branch on the tree of deceit.

Thankfully, Judith intervened with a squeak, a sun sneeze that flopped her wavy pigtails.

“Bless you,” Mrs. Langtree said, beating Vivian to the phrase, then dipped her head toward the girl. “I take it you’re the Judith I’ve heard all about.”

Judith tugged at her lip in an almost bashful gesture.

“According to your father, you’re a brilliant, enchanting, and very artistic young lady.”

In lieu of replying, Judith returned her focus to the ruffles on her dress.

“Gene tends to be a bit biased,” Vivian said out of humbleness but also reserve. Such flattery from the woman was uncharacteristic. “Anyhow,” Vivian went on, “here you are.” She handed over the meat pie. The perfectly browned crust attested to her vastly improved cooking skills. She had accumulated countless tips from fellow Army wives, generous friends she had come to adore.

“That’s very kind of you,” Mrs. Langtree said.

“It’s our pleasure.”

Quiet rose between them, and Vivian worried that her presence had stirred up old tragic memories. “Well, I’d say we’ve taken up enough of your time. Judith, tell Mrs. Langtree good-bye.”

Judith stepped forward. But rather than speaking or waving, she wrapped Mrs. Langtree’s legs in a hug. The girl overflowed with affection at home-especially for Gene, who doted on her to the brink of spoiling-but typically not to strangers.

Vivian was about to apologize, out of courtesy, and nudge the toddler free when Mrs. Langtree tentatively returned the gesture. The lines on her face visibly softened.

After Judith let go, Mrs. Langtree cleared her throat. “You know,” she said, “I was just going to put a pot of tea on. Would you ladies care to join me?”

Vivian blinked at the invitation. “We wouldn’t want to impose.”

Mrs. Langtree looked down at Judith. “I think I could scrounge up a few shortbread cookies, as well,” she said, and with something resembling a smile she guided Judith into the house.

 

That single afternoon, much to Vivian’s amazement, soon graduated into weekly visits. Over tea and cocoa, and a pie or cobbler when they had saved enough sugar-one of the last items still rationed-an unlikely friendship steadily bloomed.

They would talk about canning and gardening and Judith’s latest feats. Mrs. Langtree would relay humorous switchboard tales in exchange for descriptions of London. Past these, she and Vivian discussed marriage and their parents and childhood trips to the shore. Sometimes Mrs. Langtree tossed out amusing tales of her late husband-though it was still a rarity for her to speak at length of her beloved son, Neal.

They continued this way for months. Of course, they included Gene, too, in their periodic suppers.

Then on a Friday afternoon in the middle of March, after Judith had devoured her cupcake, leaving chocolaty crumbs and three burnt candles, Mrs. Langtree turned to Vivian with a serious face.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you,” she said. “And now is finally the time.”

A
udra hurried to fill a glass of water for Luanne, anticipating what the woman had come to say. Same as their initial meeting at the farm, tension lurked just beneath the surface.

“Thank you, dear.” Luanne accepted the glass, seated on Audra’s couch. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping in like this. When Sean told me that he was coming here, I realized it would be best to talk to you both at the same time.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Audra said, settling beside her.

Sean borrowed a chair from the dinner table to join them in the living room. Squared to the couch, he sent Audra a curious look over the purpose of the gathering.

As Luanne sipped her drink, her attention drifted to the framed photo of Jack on the end table, an old snapshot taken at the zoo. “Is your son around by any chance?” she asked with forced nonchalance.

No doubt, the woman had been thrown off by Audra’s transcendental theories. Rather than dismissing them as she should have, perhaps Luanne sought grounds for validation.

“Not for a while. He’s at his grandparents’ house until tonight.”

“Ah.” Luanne nodded.

“Speaking of which,” Audra said, utilizing the segue, “I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am for all my rambling at the gallery, about Jack and those ridiculous ideas. I really hope you haven’t wasted time on any of them.”

“No reason for apologies,” Luanne said, her eyes sullen behind her bifocals. “Not from you anyhow.”

Sean leaned forward, listening closer. “What is it you want to tell us, Aunt Lu?”

Luanne placed her glass on the table, the water’s surface rippling from the shake of her hand. She curled her fingers, layered them on the lap of her summer dress. “Audra, when your son came into the studio that night,” she said with a grave pause, “he called me Miss Moppet.”

Fabulous. The poor lady came all this way to decode a name derived from a cartoon character. “I can explain that. It’s just a silly game we play. He was actually calling you Miss Muppet—a cute name he made up.”

Luanne brushed right by this. “Do you know who Little Lulu is?”

“Um ... yes. If you mean from the comics.”

“As a little girl, my friends often called me Lulu, short for Luanne. My brother, Gene, gave it a twist of his own. He must have used the name till I was twelve, when I insisted I was too old for it.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand the connection....”

“Little Lulu’s last name,” she replied, “is Moppet. Gene was the only person who ever called me ‘Miss Moppet.’ ”

Audra flashed back to Jack’s journal. indeed,
Little Lulu
was one of the comic strips pasted inside. But then, so were
Blondie
and
Calvin and Hobbes.
“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

“The plane Jack was holding when I saw him. Does he carry it around a lot?”

“Yes—I suppose.”

“He rubs it like a worry stone.” It was less of a guess than a statement.

Reluctantly, Audra nodded.

“A family friend once carved Gene a toy wooden soldier. He took it everywhere as a kid, was always rubbing it with his thumb. The facial features were barely there when he was done with it.”

Audra glanced at Sean, who seemed to arrive at the same implication: that Jack’s behavior could be traced not to Isaak, but to Gene.

The clues skittered through Audra’s head. As an officer in Intelligence, Gene would have had knowledge of submarines and aircrafts and likely the saboteurs’ case. It was just as plausible, married to Vivian, he would have been acquainted with the necklace.

Again, though, the links were interpretative and far-reaching, skewed by personal hopes.

“Luanne, I’m sure there are similarities. But really, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have given you the impression that—”

“You talked about unfinished business. How some people believe that’s why spirits return, in one form or another. And I was thinking, maybe there are even souls who are in charge of carrying another’s message.”

Audra preferred to discount all of this but no longer felt an authority on absolutes. “I guess ... it’s possible.”

Luanne nodded and looked thoughtfully at Sean. “Dear,” she said, “the letter and necklace out of your grandmother’s things—do you remember much about the day you found them?”

Sean shrugged, pondering. “Just that they were stored away in the basement. To be honest,” he said, “I didn’t realize you were aware I’d kept them.”

Until now, Audra had forgotten she still had the manila envelope he’d let her borrow, containing the referenced letter and article clippings.

“You brought them to me one day,” Luanne said to him,

“when you happened across the box. You wanted to know about the notes and letters, all of them from Isaak. That’s what he went by—his middle name—though his given name was Jakob.”

“Jakob?” Sean said. “You’re saying it’s the same person?”

Luanne answered with a quiet, “Yes.”

Sean looked at Audra, who nodded that she already knew. What she didn’t know was how much more information awaited. And she couldn’t deny being intrigued.

“Please,” she said, “keep going.”

Lifting her posture, Luanne continued. “Sean, there’s a very specific reason you kept that necklace you’re still wearing. It belonged to a man who, by blood, was your real grandfather.”

Sean narrowed his eyes. He shook his head. “What about Grandpa Gene?”

Luanne sighed and murmured, “I’d hoped this would be easier, telling you the second time.”

“Does Mom know about this?”

“Not yet,” Luanne said. “Once you found out, I knew it was finally time to tell her. But she was so worried, with you shipping out just a few days later. And you agreed that delaying it would change nothing at this point....”

“Wait ... I remember now.” The recollection was assembling. “You and I were going to talk to her together ... after I was back from my tour.”

Luanne nodded. “We were.”

He shoved his fingers through his hair. “Grandpa Gene knew. Didn’t he?”

“Apparently so. Of course, he never said a word to me. I only learned this from reading it in Vivian’s diaries.” She suddenly turned to Audra. “Oh, I know that sounds horrible, invading someone’s privacy like that.”

Audra was well aware how it sounded, having committed the infraction herself. “It’s okay, I understand,” she said, but Luanne proceeded to explain.

“Just after they died, there was a night when Judith had been crying up a storm. She still missed her parents tucking her in. I was exhausted and missing them just as much. I pulled out some of Vivian’s old diaries, to hear her voice again. What I came across was a story about her first love. How she’d met Isaak in London, but lost track of him. Then one night he showed up in New York, in a German uniform of all things. He asked for her help to turn in a group of spies, just as you talked about. And they managed to succeed—but not before the two of them ... had...”

Wrinkles around Luanne’s mouth deepened as she trailed off. The insinuation spoke for itself. “She wrote about feeling confused and regretful. But when I realized Isaak was Judith’s father, that my brother had only gotten married for honorable reasons, I shut the book. All I could think about was getting rid of any evidence in order to protect Judith. I lit the fireplace in the middle of the night while she and Fred were asleep. I was about to toss it all in: the letters and notes from Viv’s jewelry box, the diaries, even the necklace. But I couldn’t go through with it. Rightfully they belonged to Judith.”

Luanne closed her eyes briefly, as though viewing the flames and pile of keepsakes. “Someday I was going to tell her the truth. But it was never the appropriate time for a conversation like that. I guess, eventually, I’d pushed it so far out of my mind, it just seemed like a bad dream.”

Sean appeared to be remembering all of this and more. “That’s why you’ve always avoided the subject. Especially when Mom wanted to hear about her parents.”

Luanne’s face, as before, gained a pinkish tint. “Also, because I was angry with Vivian. Or at least I wanted to be. That way I wouldn’t feel guilt over their deaths.”

At this, Sean sank back into his seat, increasing the distance between them. If Luanne had told him this part before, he clearly didn’t recall. “Why would it be your fault?”

Once more, Audra yearned to reach out and comfort him, wary of what was coming.

“Because I was jealous,” Luanne replied, and slowly shook her head. “See, what no one knew, except for my parents, was that I came down with an infection when I was seventeen. I couldn’t have babies anymore. So from then on, I wouldn’t give a fellow more than two dates before I’d casually mention how I had read the most interesting article about orphans, and I’d ask him how he felt about adopting someday. Back then, adopting was different than it is now. Every fellow would dismiss the idea, insisting he’d have his hands full with his own children. And later, when they phoned looking for another date, I’d simply have lost interest.

“Finally, though,” she said, a soft smile forming, “I met Fred. I was so crazy about him that I waited until the fourth date to give him my test. I was terrified to get the usual answer, but he shocked me. He said he had no qualms whatsoever about adopting, even preferred the idea of giving a child a home that otherwise wouldn’t have one. As it turned out, he had been adopted as a baby himself. If he’d proposed that very night, I would have said yes.”

Her pleasant expression held for a moment. Then, as if Sean’s question returned to her, the reminiscent warmth swiftly waned.

“We’d only been married a few months when Gene and Vivian asked us to watch Judith. They wanted to go to Cape Cod for the week, a belated honeymoon of sorts. By then, I’d fallen completely in love with that little girl. So much so, part of me secretly wished she could be mine....” Luanne attempted to say more but failed as her eyes clouded over.

It was then that Audra heard Tess’s words, an echo of her tough-love talk at the cemetery. Just like Meredith, even like Sean, they all harbored guilt over a tragedy that couldn’t be stopped. In the absence of someone to blame, it was all too easy to point that finger at yourself.

This was Audra’s thought, yet Sean was the one who voiced it.

“You know there was nothing you could have done, don’t you? Aunt Lu, they didn’t die in a boating accident because you wished you could somehow trade places.”

“Oh, yes,” Luanne said with little hesitation. “I realized that—after a while. All part of the healing process, I suppose.”

Whether from this particular story, the collection of admissions, or the emotional drain of the day, Audra was overcome by the ease with which she could lay down her own burden. She just regretted that it had taken the catharsis of other people’s turmoil to get here.

Audra offered, “I’m still sorry, Luanne, for bringing up parts of your past that you probably wanted to leave alone.”

“Well, I’m not,” Luanne said, seeming genuine.

Audra couldn’t imagine why anyone would be grateful about all of this, until Luanne continued.

“After we spoke at the gallery, I forced myself to go pull out that box. For the next several nights, I read the rest of the diaries. The last entry was dated about a year before they passed away. The busyness of life, I assume, hadn’t left Viv with much time to write. But leading up to that, it was filled with how much she and Gene had truly fallen in love. I’d sensed it from being around them, of course, but reading it in her own personal words helped confirm what I’d always hoped inside.”

Sean was leaning forward again, more relaxed now. By rebuilding another section of his history, maybe his nights would become restful sooner—much like Jack’s could if only someone knew the answers.

At this stage, Audra figured, what could it hurt to ask?

“In Vivian’s diaries, it didn’t say anything about what really happened to Isaak, did it?”

Luanne replied solemnly, “It did, dear. She said he was executed.”

Oh, boy. Audra would have to find a tactful way to provide the latest update.

“About that,” she began, and Sean raised a brow. “There’s a woman Sean put me in touch with to help do some research. She claims Isaak was only given prison time. And that years later, he was granted clemency for collaborating and was deported to Germany. But then he disappeared.”

Luanne’s eyes widened. “I never heard a thing about it.”

Audra immediately saw there was no need to speculate over Isaak’s true demise. If there was ever an airplane connection, it seemed they would never know.

“Whatever the case,” Sean said to Luanne, “I’d say it’s time for us to follow through and tell Mom together.”

In a heavy manner, Luanne agreed. “I don’t expect forgiveness—I’ ve withheld too much for too long. But she does deserve to know.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Audra assured her, “if you explain everything like you did just now.”

Luanne extended a grateful look. Then she shook her head and let out a dry laugh. “I was a fool to think I could outrun the past. It has much quicker feet than I do anymore.”

When Sean’s lips spread into a smile, Audra’s did the same. It went without saying that the past kept a faster pace than them all.